#lith hawke

[kuroosdarling]

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ FEATURING ꒱ : virgin!kenma (&kuroo)

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI !! threesome (?), cuckholding, kenma bein a lil fucked out, kuroo on a power trip hehe yknow the vibes

check out the others here !

everything was so wet, so warm — so tight. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as good as this, no. he knows he’s never felt something as good as this.

hot pleasure swarms around in his head and the only thing he can feel is your cunt squeezing around his cock as if it was desperately begging for his cum already. but he tried his hardest to restrain from filling you up too soon.

“that’s it, you feel that kenma? feel how good her little pussy is?” kuroo coos from behind you. kenma’s eye flutter open just so he can glare at the older man who also happens to be your boyfriend. 

but he just ends up ignoring him. so instead, he looks up at you, perched up on his cock like a goddess. your fingernails dig into his chest and he lets out a soft groan. between you and kuroo, he didn’t know who was more dastardly. all he knew was he was thankful for kuroo suggesting he lost his virginity to you.

all kenma could do was hold onto your hips as you slowly start to rock against him. his grip was so tight, he almost felt bad. but judging by the way you started to move faster, he figured you didn’t really mind it.

“that’s it, nice and slow.” kuroo purred, circling around the two of you like a hawk about to strike. his eyes were glued to where you and kenma were currently connected, absolutely mesmerized by the way your drooling cunt was swallowing up kenma’s cock. “doesn’t she feel heavenly, kenma?”

kenma’s attention briefly cut over to kuroo, watching him as his hazel eyes were set on you, filled with so much adoration it only pushed kenma closer to the edge that he didn’t want to reach yet. 

but that had nothing on the way you looked right now. an absolute vision as you started to play with your breasts, teasing your nipples between your fingers as you mewled out his name. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a prettier sound than his name tumbling from your lips.

“ken-“ you gasp out when he finds your clit. or rather, when kuroo takes his hand and guides him to your neglected nub. kuroo whispers in his ear, telling him to start moving his fingers around in a small circle over the bundle of nerves. reluctantly, kenma listened and was instantly rewarded with your pretty moans getting louder.

“keep rubbing her there and she’ll be putty in your hands.” kuroo teases, reaching out to stroke your arm, watching how your tits bounce with each roll of your hips. “she’s even more insatiable after she cums, so if you need me to take over, i can manage.”

“like hell you will.” kenma hisses out, possessively clawing his fingers into your hips. the thought of kuroo fucking you right after kenma fills you with his cum sent him into a frenzy. there was a part of him that didn’t even want kuroo to look at you right now, wanting this memorable moment entirely to himself. but he’d be lying if he said the whole situation wasn’t hot — that fucking his best friends girlfriend in front of him wasn’t exactly what he had been dreaming of for weeks, if not months.

but kenma can’t string together another thought, completely lost in the way your velvety walls tighten around him, almost sweetly coaxing him for his release. and he wanted to give in — so, so badly. but kuroo hadn’t let him cum yet even though he could feel the overwhelming sensation shooting down his spine, ready to fill you up with everything he had in him. 

“come on, kenma, talk to me.” kuroo mockingly whines out the words as he takes his place behind you. he watches how you’re seated up on kenmas cock, slowly rocking your hips — much too slow for his liking but he doesn’t do anything to fix it. yet. kuroo kisses underneath your ear, looking down at kenma who can’t help but make eye contact again. 

“shut up kuro.” he spits out, bringing his lithe fingers to your sensitive nipples— just like how you showed him earlier. you moan at the contact, tossing your head back onto kuroo’s shoulder. kuroo laughs; a vicious sound. its harsh tone tickles your ear and crawls down your spine as your hips stutter.

“i think she likes hearing your voice.” kuroo purrs, kissing down your neck before gripping your hips, just below where kenma’s hands previously were. he starts moving you a bit faster, causing you and the man under you to moan in sync. “aw, you guys are just so cute.”

“tetsu-“ you gasp out, splaying your hands back onto kenma’s chest as kuroo sets the pace for you guys. you couldn’t help but to fall right into your boyfriend's hands, but kenma had other plans.

taken over by a deep need to fuck you harder or maybe just driven by the irritation that he got merely from kuroo being kuroo; kenma starts ruthlessly thrusting upward into you, tossing his head back to loudly moan your name out into the room. 

all you could do was keep your head locked onto kuroo’s shoulder, letting kenma set the pace and soaking in all the sweet sounds he let out. kuroo tried to combat it, whispering sweet praises in your ear and wrapping his arms around your waist as his best friend continued to drive into your cunt.

deep down, kenma knew that kuroo had to give the okay for both of you to cum, but it was quickly hurtling towards the end. by the pitch of your cries, kuroo knew it too. and he was eager to have his turn with you.

“you're making him feel so good baby, i can tell.” he nudged his head against yours, making sure he had a clear view of kenma, smirking down at the younger man. “go ahead and fill her up kenma, i know you’ve been desperate to.”

but once kuroo gave the okay, something else overcame kenma when he realized he wouldn’t be satisfied until you came first, trying to milk his cock for everything he’s worth.

maybe he wanted to see how insatiable you really got, or maybe he just wanted to piss kuroo off while he had another round with you. either way, he was just getting started and he didn’t care how much he wanted to cum; he knew he needed to have you begging him for more first.

#⁺. ʚ now streaming: #ᥫ᭡ : cherry chaser chronicles #kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume smut #kenma smut #kenma kozume #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut

[lentiku]

imagine him...

tongue deep inside your pretty pussy, groaning from the taste of you on his lips. you're tugging at the locks of hair on his head, begging for release from the stimulation and countless orgasms that he's put you through.

you can feel your wetness seeping into the mattress below you, a small puddle of your cum pooling between the globes of your ass cheeks. the slurping coming from him only makes your toes curl, and another moan leaves your hoarse throat as he sucks on your clit.

"such a pretty girl, your cunt is so pretty and wet, all for me," he groans, sending vibrations straight to your core as your legs start to shake again. his fingers are back inside you, prodding at that spongey sweet spot that you can never seem to reach on your own. his long, girthy fingers can reach it so easily compared to your smaller, lithe ones. his free hand moves up to toy with your nipple, making you whimper under his touch, back arching off the mattress.

"such a good girl for me. making such a big mess and clenching around my fingers," he speaks, making you tug on his hair harder as his fingertips make you see stars, "can't wait to have this pretty pussy on my cock later, you're gonna take me so well baby," his words go straight to your core, and your toes curl as you cum on his fingers, a loud moan of his name echoing around your shared room as his tongue dives down to lap at your sweetness before returning to suckle on your pretty clit.

characters imagined;

eren, jean, levi, erwin, diluc, alhaitham, neuvi, ayato, dain, dottore, pantalone, wrio, zhongli, blade, ratio, jing yuan, welt, tsuki, daichi, iwa, kuroo, oikawa, ukai, miya twins, issei, sakusa, bokuto, PRO HEROS bakugo, izu, hitoshi, kiri, tamaki, aizawa, hawks, your fav character <3

#attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #bhna x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut #fav character x reader #fav character x reader smut #lenti writes <3 #lenti SMUT

[takami-takami]

I Think I Love You.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. fluff.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is in denial. tooth rotting fluff.

It takes Keigo eons to realize that he loves you.

As intelligent as he is, for every intuitive observation that turns the tides of his hero missions, he isn't the best at analyzing his own feelings. He prefers to put his emotions in a box, to scribble a smile on the lid, lock it with the heaviest brass he can find, and call it a day.

He's handling everything perfectly, thank you very much.

But when he tries to put his friendship with you in that box, you keep opening the damn lid. You keep crawling out, perching yourself on top and blinking up at him. Frustrated, he attempts to shove you back down with frantic hands, using all his weight; but for the first time in his life, it just isn't working quite as it used to.

So after months of coughing and telling himself his chest aches around you because you're such good friends, of explaining he's obsessed with you like you're a goddamn love interest in a movie because you're just so platonically compatible, of practically scribbling your name in his notepad with little hearts around it during commission board meetings, he finally flops face first on his bed and groans.

He's got a crush.

Are crushes supposed to make you think about owning a cozy cabin somewhere quiet together, where he can listen to your breathing without any distractions? Do other men fantasize about what they'd write for their wedding vows at some flower-adorned, ivory altar when they think about their crushes? He hopes they do. Maybe then, he could write this stupid tightness in his chest away as some childish, grade-school crush. That's a lot easier to deal with than love.

Yeah, this is a crush. Everybody gets those, right? He can work with that.

It comes to a boiling point on a too-quiet Saturday evening. You're practically sitting in his lap as you watch some television show he's just a bit too distracted to follow. It's not weird that his arms wrap themselves around your front, and it's not weird that his chin finds its resting place on your right shoulder.

"Oh my god, I love this actor," you nestle back against him snugly. "He's so cute, it's not even fair."

Keigo's jaw clenches.

"Hmm. I don't see it."

Narrowing his eyes, he tries to soothe himself by analyzing the wretched actor's features. He already knows your type— he knows you so well, better than anyone could ever hope to, he seethes— but it helps to remind himself. He's blonde, lithe yet muscular, with a patch of stubble to boot.

Keigo does it better. His arms tighten around you as he places a platonic kiss on your shoulder to ground himself.

The next day, he decides to pick up an extra early patrol shift. He won't be sleeping, anyway.

If Saturday's the boiling point of the kettle that is his emotions, then Sunday's the fever pitch. The screeching whistle becomes impossible to ignore.

You slept over at his place that night— which is, again, not weird in the slightest— so he's greeted by the sight of you when he walks through the doors of his dimly lit bedroom after work.

But this time, it's not a comforting sight. His heart rate slams suddenly, nearly knocking him to his knees.

You're fussing over your appearance in the mirror, putting together the finishing touches on your look for the gala Keigo (should not have) invited you to tonight. Your jewelry clinks with your movements, echoing off the walls of his head and knocking each thought out somewhere he can't reach.

When you turn to meet his gaze, you don't mention the way his mouth is hanging open ever so slightly.

"Oh! You gonna get ready soon? We have to leave in—"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words spill from his lips before he even has a chance to cover them with his hands, to shove them back down his throat. The bubbles of regret start to well up in him, thrums of panic making him scramble to take it back. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, this isn't, he's not meant for, you're too—

You throw your arms over his shoulders as you honest to god laugh.

His hitched "mmph" when you plant your lips against him melts your heart. Shaky palms find their place against your hips, finally having the permission they've begged for all this time.

"Fucking finally," you sigh.

#hes so cuteee #felt fluffy today #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks imagine #mha imagines #bnha imagines #keigo takami comfort #hawks comfort

[134340am]

stick that in your skillet and let it simmer

hawks x gn!reader, 0.6k, sfw + cw food (read the prelude here)

one step back into the agency, the sheen of golden sunlight shining on his skin fading to a cool white under the building’s fluorescent lights, and hawks already has his wings poised and ready to capture. 

the subject of his watchful gaze? you.

you look up from your laptop to see your boss—big boss who owns the place and pays you your monthly salary—and four crimson feathers flying your way before you could utter a greeting.

“WAIT!” you yelp, throwing your hands out in front of your face in fear. 

the feathers stop short of you.

“i had lunch,” you explained meekly, peeking at your boss through your fingers. “i promise. i can even show you my receipt from the restaurant.” 

“ah, lovely.” hawks said, sauntering in. “good to know you’ve learnt your lesson.” his feathers relax, three of them darting back into his wings while one stayed to tickle your cheek mischievously. 

you chuckle at the sensation, reaching out to grab the lithe, little feather. it flits away out of your grasp, stopping momentarily for a playful twirl that almost mimicked a hand waving goodbye,  before disappearing from sight.

“whaddya eat?” hawks asks, leaning against your desk. within this distance, you got a close-up view of his biceps bulging under his jacket, along with the delicious sight of his black undershirt stretching across his toned chest.

“i had soup. have you eaten too, hawks?” you ask politely, struggling to keep your eyes on his face.

“oooh, i had soup too,” he says with a bright grin, eyes flickering from your face to the little plastic succulent sitting beside your pen holder. “tummy wasn’t feeling too good. must be the yoghurt i had for breakfast.” 

swooping in close to you without warning, almost nose to nose with you now, he cups his mouth and says in a low, exaggerated whisper, “i think i’m becoming lactose intolerant. but don’t tell anyone.” 

your eyes widen in surprise, fingernails digging into your palms nervously at how close he is—close enough for you to smell the wind on him, close enough for you to see how shiny his golden-brown eyes are.

“i— uh, hope the soup was to your taste, then,” you stuttered, trying to keep your composure. you definitely did not want your boss questioning why you were so fidgety and stiff. the sooner this conversation ended, the sooner you could go back to being a regular receptionist at the number two hero’s agency. (no big deal at all.)

hawks laughed heartily. “it was more than to my taste. it was breathtakingly, show stoppingly incredible. hey, maybe we should have soup together next time.”

“oh, um. sure, i can arrange for that,” you say, pulling your laptop closer to you and pulling up a new page. “if you don’t have a preferred place, we can order from the restaurant around the corner: they do bulk orders and can definitely feed the whole agency, but first i need to check if everyone’s updated their dietary requirements on the staff portal—”

“nah, screw that. it can just be the two of us. and sure, i like the soup from there. their french onion is super pungent and stinky, but so good. totally worth the farts.” 

you don’t hear anything beyond his first sentence. the world around you two seemed to be vacuum sealed into a little snow globe, where all you could see was hawks and his pretty eyes and charming smile and stunning set of crimson wings.

he was still talking about their menu, something about garlic breadsticks and a free-flow salad bar, when you interrupt him.

“the two of us? as in— just us, and no one else?”

“yeah, like a date.” hawks shrugs, voice dripping with nonchalance. without any regard for your exponentially increasing heart rate, he pushed up the sleeve of his jacket to tap at an imaginary watch, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips. “oops, looks like lunch is over.”

hawks ambled off with a quick flutter of his fingers, leaving you dumbfounded in your seat.

“see ya tomorrow, sweets! don’t be late!”

a/n: yes, the title is from animal crossing. yes, i am aware i am terrible at titles. thank you for reading and i’m offering you a virtual bowl of soup 🍲

(masterlist)

#this is ur daily reminder to eat lunch on time #and to unapologetically use your full lunch hour!!! u deserve it #(hawks said so) #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #hawks fluff #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #yuna writes

[theatrum-tenebrarum]

'The Oldest Game' - the myth and folklore of the battle between Morpheus and Lucifer in 'The Sandman' on Netflix (a folklorist chimes in)

Lucifer and Morpheus in a 'wizard's duel', 'The Sandman' episode 4 'A Hope in Hell'

The memorable, grandiose scene in which Dream and the Morning Star face-off in a battle of cosmic scale is no mere magic of visual effects – it is a shamanic, shape-shifting dance of transformation which has its roots in myth and folklore.

It is a continuous chase in which its participants take on different shapes with one goal in mind: to overpower one another. In this form the mythical chase found its expression in the so-called 'wizard's duel', which we find in various European fairy tales and now before our eyes - as the Morning Star once again takes on the skin of the Serpent, poisoning the hunter-donning Morpheus in a visually stunning cosmic play.

Where does the transformation chase come from?

The Carmina Gadelica, a compendium of folkloric texts gathered in Scotland by the folklorist Alexander Carmichael in the 19th century, mentions a magical spell, or rather an occult power by the name of 'fith-fath' which can make one transform into something else or render them invisible. It is said that these transformations might have even occurred involuntarily. The Carmina Gadelica accentuates the importance of these spells to hunters, travelers and warriors, so that they could stay invisible and unrecognizable to animals and possible enemies.

The Mabinogion, a compilation of the earliest Celtic tales (first published in 1840), tells the story of Ceridwen, an enchantress of Welsh myth who had made a 'Cauldron of Inspiration'. The reason for making this magical cauldron is to help her disfigured son Morfran (Morvran ab Tegid) gain knowledge of the mysteries and the things to come. In this way, Ceridwen thought she could give her son a chance to prove himself to the world. As the year-long process of brewing a magical brew in the cauldron had begun, she employed a youth by the name of Gwion Bach to keep watch of the brew and to stir it as needed. One day, three drops of the brew fell out of the cauldron and found themselves on Gwion's finger. Feeling drawn to the liquid's power, he licked them off and instantly absorbed the mystical knowledge of all there is to come. Therefore, he knew this one thing as well – he must run, run from the wrath of Ceridwen, as this power was not his to have.

The sorceress sees him and begins the chase. Gwion, now having the power of transformation, turned into a hare trying to evade her. Ceridwen is now a lithe greyhound and there is no way for the hare to escape. Gwion runs towards a river and turning into a fish, escapes into the quick waters. A hungry and angry otter is the next form of Ceridwen, as she is hunting the fish. Gwion, swimming for his life, dons the wings of a bird in order to fly out of the water. The sorceress keeps up and turns herself into a hawk, a deadly bird of prey, ready to finish the shamanic, deadly chase. However, Gwion manages to outsmart her by becoming a grain of wheat on the floor of a barn, blending into the surroundings and becoming unnoticable. That is when Ceridwen becomes a black hen and finding the grains, eats Gwion in the process. It is this Gwion, now imbued with the magical powers of the Cauldron of Inspiration, who later gets 'born again' and becomes the mythical poet Taliesin.

One whose knowledge transgresses time and space, as this knowledge is beyond them both. Shapeshifting is a primordial memory, an ancient form of magic so deeply ingrained into our cultural muscle that it is continually expressing itself. Masked dances of old, ritual plays, the theatre and the movies – all a part of the same magical urge to transform, to move to another state of existence.

- Heidi (@theatrum-tenebrarum)

„I am a serpent. Horse-biting, poison-toothed.“ (Lucifer as a serpent in the transformation chase)

"I am a bird of prey. Snake-devouring, talons-ripping.“ (Morpheus as a bird of prey in the transformation chase, outsmarting Lucifer)

„I am a universe. All things encompassing, all life embracing.“ (Morpheus as a universe in the transformation chase)

„I am anti-life. The Beast of Judgement. The dark at the end of everything.“ (Lucifer, whose grand shadow looms in the background, is now anti-life, extinguishing the Life of a Universe)

Heidi (@theatrum-tenebrarum)

#thesandman #sandman #the sandman netflix #gwendoline christie #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #dream #morpheus #sandman netflix #hell #a hope in hell #folklore #folkloric #folklorist #neil gaiman #tom sturridge #myth #mythology #celtic mythology #mabinogi #ceridwen #tv #netflix series #analysis #cultural anthropology #shamanic #inspiration #anthropologist #shapeshifing #folkloreinpopularmedia

[charlizekkelly]

“𝙒𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙪𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡.”

✩

Kade Artus is enigmatic, a dazzling personality with a Cheshire Cat grin etched permanently across his face like the artwork decorating his skin. As lithe as a bird of prey and artistic as the artists of old, perfecting his skills until even the Gods envy him.

The hawk-like one with a mischievous glint to his eyes is a lure like no other, capturing his prey’s interest before he goes from light…to dark. Welcoming all into his thrall as easily as a hawk descends on its prey until it’s too late for them to escape.

His talons sinking into those foolish enough to fall into his thrall until the only way out is into his world of bloodshed…or a death by his hands🪶🌞

As always, a MASSIVE thank you to @btheriella_art for drawing Kade and finishing my Celacali crew. He’s hot and the tattoos just…AHH. thank you, thank you, thank you❤️‍🔥

SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT - Live October 31. Pre-order on Amazon and add it to your Goodreads now✨

🦇Touch her and 💀

🦇Polyamory

🦇Knife-to-throat

🦇Agathokakological characters

🦇Corruption kink

🦇Delphic heroine

🦇Blood play

🦇Fang-for-a-fang

#shadows of the night #kade artus #charlizekkelly #the lost boys retelling #character art #art commissions #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #tlb #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #david tlb

[asterbats]

Ahhhh designs based off of this post. TLDR your typical HawkLeaf Three AU.

Design Notes under the cut

-Leafpool is a beanpole to me, tall and lithe. You poke her and she crumbles to dust. I also saw a design of her with three white paws on here that was captioned “Squirrelflight took one of her socks” and that’s adorable so I’m stealing it. Sad Girl i love her

-Hawkfrost was supposed to look like a cold brown but he just looks gray. Oops. Ah well. Tried to give him like mid twenties bad boy energy idk if it’s coming through. Love his stupid goatee. Here I imagine he has more depth and maybe was actually friends with Leafpaw before the daddy issues kicked in, idk.

-Lionblaze is huge and got his dad’s bulk, white marks, and stripes... and hair I guess. He’s kinda just the same because I always imagined he got everything from Leafpool in canon, just threw more Hawk in there.

-Hollyleaf probably shouldn’t be a black cat, idk cat genetics and tbh I don’t really care about that lol. But also.... I love black cats so I wanna keep her the same. My excuse is that she looks like great grandma Leopardfoot. Also she probably throws them all for a loop while trying to find their bio parents.

-Jayfeather obviously changed the most lol. I always thought Sasha was a siamese cat, but apparently she isn’t. I don’t care about canon though, so in this she is and Jay takes after her. Added the feathers as an homage, but I don’t think his prefix would be Jay- at all. Maybe another bird? Tempted to give him -frost as a suffix as well but uh, after seeing him try to kill her dad, I don’t think Leafpool would wanna name her son after Hawkfrost at all.

#leafpool #hawkfrost #hawkleaf #sorta. i dont actually ship it i just think this concept is extremely interesting #lionblaze #jayfeather #hollyleaf #warrior cats #warriors #wc #power of three

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post #4: Say goodbye to the old me

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by dindooku

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 5.6K (fourth post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

_______________________________

“Hey! Watch it! I–oh…I, um…” the Trandoshan’s words died on his lips the moment he looked up to discover who he’d bumped into.  

The Mandalorian hated working on Coruscant. It was noisy, crowded, and endlessly labyrinthian. Most of the filters in his helmet were rendered useless due to the sheer number of life forms in such close proximity. Continuous vehicle traffic across every level of the city overloaded his motion sensors. 

The frenetic energy of the megalopolis set him on edge.

But what Mando really hated, what he absolutely loathed, was visiting the Uscru District. It was all the worst parts about a place like Daiyu—gambling dens, night clubs, garish neon lights, vendors shouting, the flashing, stochastic holograms—made somehow worse because it was repacked for gawking tourists. 

Acrobats hung from cables crisscrossing overhead, their lithe bodies shimmering, while street musicians played for coins. Instrument cases littered the walkway, and goods were hawked on the pavement.   

He felt uncentered. The next idiot who tripped over him to stare slack-jawed at some fucking juggler was getting bodied. 

Luckily, it didn’t come to that. Mando couldn’t afford the delay.

The Mandalorian turned onto Daring Way, toward the sky bridge that would take him to the Floating World. Tourists liked to keep to well-lit thoroughfares, so the foot traffic here was sparser, and he made better time. Soon, the soft, glowing lights of the pleasure quarter came into view. 

Music spilled out from decadent parlors where the doors and windows had been flung open to lure passersby. Beings of every gender and species could be seen lounging, sprawled out on display, wearing little more than scraps of fabric and gaudy jewels. 

Each house catered to a different clientele, their specialty made known by the facade of the building or else the costumes worn by hosts welcoming their clients inside. 

Most tourists never entered the brothels of the Floating World. They just came to take in the scene and watch the crowd, which was a sight in itself. Amongst the extravagant fashions and decor of the houses, many visitors donned elaborate masks or robes to conceal their identities.   

So the Mandalorian was surprised to discover that the Dark Garden had no hosts waiting in the doorway and nothing on display in the windows. Instead, they were closed, sealed tight behind intricately carved black shutters. 

The whole building was black. Its gleaming stone exterior looked more like a palatial mansion than a pleasure house.  

The woman stationed behind the desk in the entryway was also dressed in black. It was a stark contrast to her pale pink skin, white-blond hair, and nearly colorless gray eyes. She looked up at him from between two onyx vases overflowing with vibrant red blossoms that matched her painted lips. 

“Welcome, sir. We appreciate your business. Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I’m not in need of your…services. I’ve come to see Mistress Anassa. She’ll know why I’m here.”

“Mistress Anassa is very busy,” she smiled apologetically. “Her clients book months in advance. I cannot promise she will have time to—”

He slid several gold peggats across the highly polished surface of the reception desk. 

“Tell her a Mandalorian is waiting. I’ll be here until she finds the time.”

“Very well, sir. Please come with me.” 

She led him through a dark passage to a lounge filled with curved sofas and circular ottomans, where clients–some wearing masks, others with their faces bared–sat huddled in conversation, drinking from elegant carafes or smoking ornate water pipes. 

The hostess directed him to an alcove beneath a cluster of illuminated, floating orbs. 

“Can I offer the Mandalorian anything while he waits? Company, perhaps?” She lowered her voice as she leaned in to place a pillow behind his back. “We cater to every desire here.”

“My desire,” he said evenly, “is for solitude.”

“As you like,” she smiled again, leaving him to wait for Mistress Anassa. 

But he was conspicuous sitting alone, and it wasn’t long before another hostess dressed in black strode toward him. She walked over on towering heels he imagined Thuli would have loved, to see if the Mandalorian was in need of attention.

She artfully placed one of the gilt carafes onto the lacquered table beside him and poured a drink. “May I offer the gentleman anything else?” 

Her voice was as supple as her corsetted leather dress. 

“No. Thank you, I–” 

The sight of two luminous violet eyes caught him by surprise, and his heart stuttered. He turned sharply to see a woman entering the parlor. On second glance, she looked nothing like Thulindhara. But the eyes were unmistakable—their iridescent sheen, how they glowed bright like full moons. She was Hapan. 

“Perhaps the Mandalorian sees something to his liking?” 

It wasn’t her, yet the thrill that rose inside him didn’t ebb. It clutched the breath from his lungs and twisted his stomach into knots. 

Mando knew he would miss her, but he hadn’t expected to feel her absence as a physical pain. 

“No,” he said. “Thank you. But, no. I’m here to see Mistress Anassa.”

He watched as the woman who wasn’t Thuli walked up to a Keshiri couple at the bar, gesturing them to follow her down a long corridor hidden behind a pair of lush velvet curtains.

Beside him, the hostess offered the drink she’d poured, and he accepted it. Not for the sake of politeness but because he felt compelled to hold something in his hands. Sensing his discomposure, she looked meaningfully towards the curtains as they fell back into place and whispered, “They say to lie with a Hapan is to open the door to heaven.”

The Mandalorian had heard that said many times and always dismissed it as a self-serving rumor. He didn’t pay for sex, but mercenaries loved to talk about how they would spend their take on Hapan courtesans. The most expensive pussy in the galaxy, they said. Once you’re between her thighs, you’ll forget your own name.  

Now, Mando understood the truth of these stories. Well…he hadn’t forgotten his name, but she did taste like heaven. 

For most of his life, sex had been about release. Lust was simply another physical need. Like hunger or sleep, he met those needs for the sake of his body. When a woman felt so inclined, he obliged—helmet sealed, armor intact—and let her take what satisfaction she could find.

With Thuli, he learned that sex could be something beyond physical pleasure. They shared a connection unlike anything he’d experienced. Real intimacy. Mando hadn’t kissed a woman since…he’d barely been a man. Still a child, really. 

To be with Thulani, naked and vulnerable as he had never been before, was not about release. It was fulfillment. Satisfaction of body and soul. And, yes, part of that was being between her thighs.

In the abstract, he’d been a little intimidated, but in the moment, it had felt entirely natural. He wanted to linger over her every curve, to put his mouth over every inch of her body, and he had loved all of it—the way she tasted, her fingers tugging at his hair, how her hips lifted with his touch.

It made him feel powerful in a way he hadn’t expected, drinking her in until she was soaked and breathless under his tongue. 

Then, a door had opened—a door between their consciousness, when he’d felt her pleasure cresting through his body, rippling over his skin in waves that matched the stroking of his fingers. She’d lost all control, and his whole being suffused with her ecstasy, so intensely passionate that he saw stars behind his eyes. Maybe it was heaven? 

Thulani’s trick was making people believe in her openness, yet Mando recognized how rigidly she held herself in check. He sensed the wild, fierce nature in her heart that she constrained. It made him feel both immeasurably powerful and deeply gratified to be the one who made her unravel.  

“The Mandalorian asked for me?”

A woman in a crisply tailored black suit stood before him. He did not immediately recognize her species, but the horns that spiraled around her long, folded ears and convex nose reminded him of a dray goat.

“You’re Mistress Anasssa? The proprietor of this…establishment.”

“Mmm, the Mandalorian is polite for a mercenary,” she sat beside him on the bench and reached out with slender fingers (no hooves) to take the glass from between his hands. It struck him at once how artfully the gesture was both sensual and dominating. “In answer to your question…” she drank deeply. “Yes. The gentleman would be wise not to let the crystal and chandeliers fool him. This is a dungeon. And I am its master.” 

“I see.” It was all he could think to say. “Boss Set’ki said you’d be expecting me.”

“My apologies. I was otherwise occupied when the Mandalorian arrived.” She looked at the untouched carafe on the table. “I am sorry my vintage is not to his taste. And none of my ladies, either, I hear. If it is males he prefers, the gentleman need only—”

“That is beyond my purpose, Mistress Anassa. I’m here on business.”

“I doubt the Mandalorian would burden himself with such formality if he intended to capture me,” the mistress smiled curiously. “What is his business?”  

“I’m interested in one of your clients.”

She scoffed. “The gentleman must realize discretion is an essential tenet of my profession. Why would I betray my client to help him?”

“Because Set’ki owes me a debt. And while you may be the master of this dungeon, your master is Boss Set’ki.”

Her features became resolute. “Then let us discuss this matter in private.”

The Mistress rose and walked toward the velvet curtains. Mando followed her down the long corridor until she stopped before a door with gold flowers embossed along its hinges.

She placed a tasseled fob against the keypad. “I hope the Mandalorian will appreciate that it is to everyone’s benefit if he appears to be another of my clients?”

“Very well,” he said and stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. The black walls did not surprise him, but the abundance of those same red flowers, blooming from vases and wall hangings did. They matched the illuminated floor tiles that pulsed with crimson light. 

Otherwise, the room was sparsely furnished to accommodate the…equipment. There was a saltire cross with a rack of whips and paddles positioned beside it and a polished steel beam with manacles chained to its post. A length of rope dangled from one of the ceiling beams overhead. Instead of a bed, a quilted leather couch sat in a far corner of the room. 

Plastered across one of the walls was a diagram of knots with cautionary notes about circulation and nerve damage. 

“I’m sure the Mandalorian must be very accomplished at tying knots,” Mistress Anassa said from over his shoulder.

“I prefer cuffs.”

“Mmm…” He felt her eyes rake over him with heightened interest. “I have never met a Mandalorian before, but I begin to see why you inspire so much fascination. The armor, the brute force, stalking, capture, imprisonment—all potent themes for bondage role play.”

“I am Mandalorian. Violence is my trade. Weapons are part of my religion.” Mando turned to face her. “I’m not playing a game, Mistress.”

He could tell Anassa enjoyed hearing him call her that. 

“Of course. Though I’m sure someone has offered to suck your cock in exchange for their freedom. Can you honestly say their begging has never aroused you?”

Her tone was frank, not seductive. A businesswoman appraising a commodity. 

“I think the Mistress has a false impression about the sorts of people I’m sent to collect.”

At that, she laughed. “Still…I see the appeal. If you’re ever interested in a new line of work, I believe the Mandalorian and I could make a great deal of money together.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mando recalled that Thulani had said much the same thing. A Mandalorian would make good coin at one of those Keyorin brothels.

He suddenly wondered if this was something Thuli might enjoy. Bondage? Role play? The clamps and paddles didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he wouldn’t be opposed to tying her up if that’s what she wanted.

Mando looked at the steel beam, and his mind couldn’t help but stray towards fantasies of throwing her over it and fucking her senseless. 

“About your client, Mistress Anassa.”

“What is it you wish to know?”  

“This man, Ronan Carr,” he took the holo-puck from his pocket and activated its profile. “I’m told he makes use of your services when his wife is out of town.” 

Mistress Anassa schooled her features, but it was too late. He’d seen the look of panic cross her eyes the instant she recognized the man’s face.

“The Senator will be leaving on a diplomatic mission. Does Carr have an appointment scheduled for her departure?”

The Mandalorian suspected that Ronan Carr had an appointment booked for later that day. He’d been following Carr for the past week. Yesterday, the man had reserved an entire hotel floor under a false name and given his personal assistant the night off. 

“He does,” the Mistress confirmed. “But I won’t help you. Boss Set’ki may kill me for my refusal. I will accept that punishment. A political assassination would condemn every soul under my care. That I will not accept.” 

“I have no intention of killing Ronan Carr,” he assured her. “It’s information I want.”

“I suppose that is his trade,” her eyes weighed the Mandalorian, and she dropped the artful persona. “You won’t harm him? No kidnapping or torture?”

“If those are your terms, then I will agree. I only want to talk to him.”

“What if I have other terms?” The Mistress asked shrewdly.

“Name them.”

“I don’t want any of my people harmed.”

He nodded. “Do you know who you’ll send?” 

“Yes, there are a few he favors.” 

“Then give me some token or signal. But tell no one of this.” 

She paused before coming to a decision. “I will go with them tonight. To ensure all will be as you promise.”

“These are your terms?”

“He’s a good client,” she waved her well-manicured hand vaguely, “And if word got out? If he thought I’d helped you?”

“Ronan Carr won’t risk the Senator discovering his…hobbies.”

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Here,” he pulled out a folded wallet and handed it to her. “To compensate for your loss of business. Though I expect a man with his proclivities should be back before long.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a curt bow. “You know where to find him?”

“Carr has gone to great lengths to conceal his plans, but yes, I know where he’ll be tonight.” And without really intending to, the Mandalorian said, “His desires make him weak.”

Mando was surprised at the scorn in his voice. Surprised to hear himself say that. Did he believe desire made him weak? His desire for Thuli?  

It certainly made it difficult to concentrate. How many times did he think about her each day? 

Maker, if he was being honest…he woke up thinking about Thulani, and the thought seemed to last all day. He worried about whether she was safe. He’d make some stray observation and imagine her reaction. He saw something beautiful in a window and wondered if she would like it. 

When he lay inside the sleeping compartment alone, surrounded by her scent, he thought of Thuli’s mouth on him, those delicate fingers stroking his cock, and his body ached. He could not bring himself off without thinking about her. 

Mistress Anassa looked at him with genuine sympathy as though she could sense his turmoil. 

“Shame is Ronan Carr’s weakness,” she said. “If he were honest about his desires, you would have no power over him. His wife might even oblige. But shame feeds arousal. Maybe you can understand that?”

“Excuse me?”

Shame. Was that at the root of his sudden anger? The Mandalorian was not ashamed of his relationship with Thuli. He did not believe she made him weak.

But he did feel shame about his own selfish cowardice. That in her absence, he’d realized how deeply he cared for her, and it killed him knowing he could never say those words. 

Why? Because they gave her power over him? No. Whether he said the words or not, didn’t change his feelings. But to say them aloud would be a promise. One he couldn’t make.   

She’d met him on those terms, yet he felt ashamed he couldn’t give her more. She deserved better than a man who could not share his name or his face or his life with her. It would always come back to that.

“Shame is one of the most effective tools of repression,” Mistress Anassa shrugged. “But repression simply fuels temptation. Temptation transforms into desire. Desire generates more shame.” 

Anassa opened a hidden panel in the wall and beckoned him forward. Lightly placing her fingers over a wooden slat, she slid it open, and a pinhole of light pierced through the room. The muffled sounds of moaning grew louder.

Gesturing toward the peephole, she said, “It’s only when we embrace our desires that we become free of this endless cycle.” 

Curiosity getting the better of him, the Mandalorian looked. What he saw was the Keshiri couple from the parlor. The man was fully clothed, on all fours, hands and knees braced against the ground. His partner was naked, splayed on his back, while the Hapan woman fucked her roughly from behind with a strap-on.

“They were honest with each other about their desires. Now, it creates a bond rather than a wedge.”

Mando hadn’t anticipated that visiting a sex dungeon would prompt so much soul-searching. His eyes strayed back to the peephole, towards the Keshiri in the throws of climax, eyes shut tight as though she might die from ecstasy. 

While he felt ashamed that he could not tell Thulani he loved her, he could at least ensure she felt loved. When he worshipped her body, when he fulfilled her desires, when he made her unravel—she would know the depth of his feelings.     

“I’ve heard it said that true Mandalorians do not remove their armor. Perhaps the gentleman prefers to watch?”

He pulled the slot closed. “I’ve seen enough.”

**********

One thing the Mandalorian did appreciate about Coruscant was the simplicity of bribing government officials. As with any vast bureaucracy, front line New Republic workers like the port operatives were overlooked and underpaid. 

Flush with cash from Ryun Vos, Mando was able to dock under fake tabs at a shipyard centrally located in a safe and discreet area. Money made all things possible on Coruscant.

“Please tell me something in that bag is fried?” Nito moaned as the Mandalorian stepped inside the Razor Crest. 

“I got some of everything, so your odds are good.”

The Ardennian was sitting at a makeshift table of stacked cargo containers with the Child seated in his lap. He had his mechanic’s apron on while the kid was stripped to his breechcloth. And they were both covered in paint.

“There better be a bath planned for after this,” Mando growled, reaching to wipe the Child’s talons clean with a take-out napkin.

“What? Yeah. Sorry,” Nito said dimly. “Yes! Oil bread. And rice balls! Fuck yeah!” 

The Mandalorian thought vaguely that Thulani would try to curb Nito’s swearing, but he only had so much paternal energy left in him today, and he needed it for the baby.

Mando pulled the fried bread out of reach and replaced it with the box of bean pods. “Hey, kid, you need to eat at least five of these.” 

His enormous ears wilted in disappointment.

“How’s the programming going?” Mando asked, searching for the sweet and sour broth.

Nito shoved a rice ball in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “Do you have any idea how complex a unified operating system for an industrial plant—with residential facilities can be?”

“No,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m paying you.”

“Paying me in more than dumplings, I hope.” Nito laughed cheerily. “Assuming it’s the Imperial coding language, I think it is…”

“We’re going to find out tonight.”

“You got Carr?”

“I know how to get to him,” Mando said. “We leave in three hours. Spend at least one of those cleaning up the kid.”

“Okay. Okay.” 

The Mandalorian was relieved to have such a tidy solution for Ronan Carr. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for reconnaissance or planning. He was a blunt instrument—brute force, as Mistress Anassa had said. But Nito proved that hacking the man’s communicator could be useful. Coruscant was not the Outer Rim. Best to be cautious here. 

Months ago, he would have stormed the hotel, shoved a blaster in Carr’s face, and broken the man’s fingers until he talked. Now, when Mando considered this approach, the crew from Dark Garden weighed on his conscience. Not everything needs to end in a shoot-out, Thuli had chided him. She wasn’t even here, yet her memory was wringing these little bits of decency from him.

Nito snapped his fingers in front of Mando’s viewplate. “You in there?”

“What?” He shook his head.

“You’ve been staring at those dumplings for an eternity. I want to eat them.”

Mando passed the container. 

“I was telling you about this utter stroke of genius I had.” The Ardennian lifted the kid onto the table and pulled something out from his apron pocket. “So, he’s green, right? Well, I painted his face. And when I put on the bonnet…See! He’s Mirialan.”

Underneath the paint splatters, Mando recognized the geometric facial markings.

“That’s–that is pretty genius.”

Nito beamed. Thuli told him things would be easier with the kids if he put in a little effort. So far, it was working. 

“I mean, he hates having his ears tucked, but it’s only temporary, buddy. Just to keep you safe.”

The Child squirmed and pounded his fists against his thighs. 

Mando had to suppress a laugh. “Bean pods and bonnets. Guess you got it pretty rough, kid.”

The baby stopped mid-tantrum to glare at the Mandalorian.

“Anyway,” Nito went on. “We had the paint out, so I found some packing paper…and look what he made.”

Mando tilted his head and squinted, “It’s a…bantha?”

“It’s the Razor Crest,” Nito snorted.

“If you say so.”

The kid squealed until Mando handed him a meat pie.

“I miss her too, you know.” 

“What?”

“Fish dumplings are Thuli’s favorite,” Nito said quietly. “It’s hard not to miss her when she makes everything so…” he shrugged, “cozy when she’s around.”  

The Mandalorian nodded. “You heard from her today?”

His heart twisted painfully in anticipation. It did every day when he asked that question. But he knew she must have checked in that morning. Nito would be inconsolable if she hadn’t.

“Yeah, I got the signal.”

Good. She's alive. Hopefully safe. “We’ll see her soon,” Mando assured them. “We’re stocked up on supplies, weapons, equipment. Once we get what we need from Carr, we can make a course for Lakaran.”

“Did you get a gift to bring her now that you guys are, you know, sleeping together?”

The Mandalorian choked on his soup. The steel jaw of his helmet caught him painfully on the lip, and he had to pound his chest a few times before he could breathe again. “Did she–ahem–did she say something…about…?”

“Didn’t have to,” Nito waved a furry hand. “For months, you’ve both just wreaked of longing and frustration. Then you came back and smelled…satisfied. Pretty logical conclusion.”

“You can smell that?”

“Oh yeah! It’s kind of funny that humans can’t since all of your emotions get communicated through hormones and sweat glands.”

Mando shook his head again. “I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this,” he sighed. “But while we’re on the subject, there are some…things I should…we should probably…discuss before we leave to find Carr.” 

“What? Like, sex stuff?”

The Mandalorian groaned. Where do I even start…? 

**********

The hotel Ronan Carr had booked was elegant enough for his aristocratic tastes while also offering the assurance of privacy. There was a separate entrance and elevator for the penthouse floor so he could avoid bumping into anyone from his social circle—or his wife’s senatorial colleagues—in the lobby. 

Mando opted to gain entry from the roof. 

“You hear something?” One of the bodyguards asked. 

But just as their partner began to answer, the Mandalorian slipped behind him and placed a blade to the man’s throat. In an instant, he had grabbed the guard’s wrist and raised his blaster. Mando shot the other bodyguard before they could cry out in warning. 

To stage this right, the knife needed to go in at just the right angle. But the man continued to struggle under Mando’s grip, trying to break free from his hold. The guard tried everything—stomping on the Mandalorian’s foot, slamming his head against the Beskar, thrusting his shoulders against Mando’s arm around his neck.

The bounty hunter might as well be a statue for all the give there was in his frame. The guard’s death was inevitable, but he refused to make peace with it. 

Mando hooked his leg around the man’s ankle and sent them both hurtling toward the ground. The force of impact drove the knife into the guard’s throat.

A wet splatter hit his view plate when the man coughed blood onto the Mandalorian’s helmet. Yet he still fought. Hands flailed blindly until Mando drove the blade deeper, severing the spinal cord. And finally, the fingers clawing at his wrists fell limp.    

He rolled the bodyguard onto his back and returned the blaster to the man’s right hand. Should be enough to cover my tracks.

Mistress Anassa had left the south-facing balcony doors unlocked, just as he instructed. They slid open with a soft rolling hush before he made his way silently through the suite. She was waiting for him in the study, hunched over a display monitor. 

“You look a sight,” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Can I get you a towel?”

“No.” The blood was war paint. It would make what came next that much easier. "I staged the guards. You can claim a fight broke out, and you had to get your people to safety."

Anassa cleared her throat and nodded. It was the first time he’d seen her unsettled. “The false name on the hotel reservation avoids a paper trail, but I can’t decide whether Carr realizes Set’ki is tracking all of this.”

“Do you record him every time?”

She glared at Mando. “No, but I had a feeling my master wanted some insurance. I don’t expect Ronan Carr will be making any future appointments with Dark Garden after tonight.” 

Involving Set’ki and Anassa—at all—was an unnecessary risk. The Mandalorian had done it to ensure the safety of her employees, and he didn’t feel any remorse about the Mistress’s bottom line. 

“Tell them to leave the room.”

She crossed her arms with a frustrated sigh. “I know I don’t have a say in any of this, but it shouldn’t go unspoken, this is a gross violation of my professional ethics.”

“You’re arguing ethics after admitting to blackmail?” 

“Those restraints are intended to aid his submission. He needs to feel safe to surrender control. And instead, you’ve co-opted them for violence.”

Mando huffed. “Are you referring to the silk scarves tied around his wrists and ankles?”

“The type of restraints are irrelevant. Bondage is a kink that depends on trust. It’s a choice to be helpless. Consent is based entirely on trust. This is a violation of trust. I feel the weight of what this will do to his psyche, and I ask you to acknowledge that before you step inside that room.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t fathom why she was looking to him to absolve her guilt. 

“And I told you, violence is my profession. Get—your people—out.”

From the display screen, Mando watched as the Mistress entered the bedroom. Her sudden presence startled the other women, but she quickly ushered them into the hallway and closed the door behind her. 

When he was confident they were gone, the bounty hunter opened the bedroom door. The first thing he did was drape a towel over Set’ki’s camera. Mando didn’t want any record of his presence on Coruscant.

He approached the chair Carr was bound to without bothering to stifle his footsteps. The man had a sensory deprivation mask covering his eyes and ears. He hadn’t sensed the ladies from Dark Garden leave the room, and he was becoming agitated, sitting in a puddle of urine, confused as to why they didn’t end the session. 

Ronan Carr paid to be tied down and tickled until he pissed himself. The kink wasn’t inherently sexual. It didn’t make him hard. He didn’t come, and nobody brought him to completion. The tickling made him laugh and his muscles spasm, and eventually, the stress on his pelvic floor emptied his bladder. 

Then, he slept for ten hours. It simply…relaxed the man. 

“Whoa!” Nito said when the Mandalorian explained this. “So it’s like getting a massage? But, like, a really extreme massage.” 

It wasn’t not sexual…he paid to be tickled by beautiful women, after all. 

As he ripped the mask off, Mando tried not to think about Anassa’s sanctimonious pleading. He felt no remorse for Ronan Carr, either.

The bounty hunter unholstered his blaster and pointed it in the man’s face so it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. On cue, Carr jumped, recoiling in terror at the sight of the Mandalorian.

“Don’t cry for help," Mando said, his voice cold and stern. "You don’t want anyone coming through that door to find you like this, do you?”

Ronan Carr shook his head. 

“Good. Do what I say, and I won’t have to hurt you,” he growled. “Tell me you understand.”

Ronan Carr took a deep, steadying breath. “I understand.” The man’s voice quavered, but he didn’t panic. Some people became paralyzed with fear and that made interrogation harder. If Carr could keep it together, this would be over quickly.

“Untie yourself.”

Despite Mistress Anassa’s speech about trust and surrender, her words were meaningless sentiment. Ronan Carr had never given up control. The scarves were tied with enough slack that he could easily lift his hands over the headrest and pull free the knots at his wrists. After that, he only needed to lean forward to release his ankles.     

“Where is everyone?” Carr asked nervously, massaging his wrists.

The man was wiry, more muscular than the bounty hunter expected from someone who spent his life behind a desk. Intimidation was his best tactic to keep Carr in check. Use of physical force would only complicate things. And he made a deal with Anassa.

“You don’t need to know what I did with them. Worry about yourself.”

After a lifetime of doing this work, Mando knew most people’s imagination was far darker than any threat he could make. The man looked at the blood splattered across his helmet, and all the color drained from Ronan Carr’s face.

“What is it you want?”

“I need something, and you’re the person who can get it for me.”

“My wife—”

“This has nothing to do with the Senator. And it doesn’t have to. You give me what I want, and she won’t discover what you get up to under the name ‘Kirk Satu.’” Carr’s eyes went wide with horror. “The piss play makes for an awkward conversation, but I think all the bank transfers will be harder to explain.”  

Now, he had the man’s full attention. “What do you want?”

“First, I want you to put some clothes on. Meet me in the study when you’re ready.”

The man’s suit hung neatly from the bathroom door, yet he stared at the garment like it might transform into a torture device. 

“You’re not—you aren’t going to lock me in?”

“We both know you won’t run,” Mando said. “You’re going to do what I tell you. Then you can forget all about this.”

The look on Carr’s face when he walked into the study made it clear this encounter would haunt him for some time. 

“Is your communicator on?” Nito asked from behind his data-pad. “Your real one. Not the burner?”

“What?” Ronan Carr stammered. “I–yes.” When the notification bell chimed, he pulled the device out from his pocket.

“Okay, read me the security code.”

“Wait! This is about work? You want something from the Archives?” 

Carr looked between Nito and the Mandalorian.

“You do realize the New Republic Library doesn’t store any military or intelligence records. This is not…what could you possibly need that isn’t already publicly available?”

Mando thrust his blaster in the man’s face. “Ask me about my business again and see what happens to you.”

“The security code?” Nito drolled.

Mando grabbed the communicator from Carr and handed it to the Ardennian.

“I’m just…we have a records request system online…”

“For redacted documents!” Nito howled. “If you guys just uploaded everything onto the Net, you could enjoy your tickle party and we wouldn’t be here.”

Ronan Carr’s face turned scarlet. “It’s our responsibility to make sure sensitive information doesn’t fall into the hands of…criminals.”

What a fucking hypocrite. “Can we hurry this up?” Mando barked. The fact that the bodyguards in the foyer hadn’t burst into the penthouse meant that Mistress Anassa had done her part. But their luck wouldn’t last long.

“Well, it’s not my fault the file structure isn’t intuitive,” Nito looked at Ronan Carr with disgust. “And you call yourself an Archivist?”

“I–I don’t oversee information architecture.”

“Ah! Okay…security question for the download. What is the name of your first pet?”

When Nito had the files he needed, Mando thrust a disc into Carr’s hands.

“What—?”

“I lied when I said this didn’t involve your wife. That’s for her. From a former Rebel fighter, Ubaa Dir. Remember the name. The next time you hear it, give the Senator that disc. You’ll know when.”

“How will I explain—”

“You’d rather explain the sex workers and money laundering? Figure–it—out,” Mando snapped, and Ronan Carr jumped.

This time, the Mandalorian did lock him inside the bedroom.  

He found Mistress Anassa in the living room, offering the Child sugar cubes from an abandoned tea service tray.

"I'm done here," Mando said, watching as the kid delightedly crunched the crystals between his teeth. "He's unharmed, as per the terms of our deal. Are you satisfied?"

"Very," she smiled serenely at him. "I thought I'd be spending the night cleaning brain matter off the walls. Instead, I got to play with an adorable baby."

Anassa lifted the Child from her hip and handed him back to the Mandalorian.

"You still want me to bind and gag you?" Mando asked. "I could just lock you inside, like I did with Carr?"

"No," she shook her head. "I've got to sell this if there's a chance I can retain his trust. And he'll need a witness to help explain what happened to the guards." Mistress Anassa looked thoughtfully at the Mandalorian. "When life hands you an opportunity, it's best to seize it with both hands."

"Very well." Mando reached for the plush, decorative rope tying back the curtains—he could at least ensure that she was comfortable.

"Speaking of which," the Mistress grinned. "I do hope you'll reconsider my offer. There are a number of ways we could leverage your particular talents at the Dark Garden."

The Mandalorian offered her a chair.

"After listening to the ruthlessness in your voice saying, You're going to give me what I want..." she shivered rather theatrically. "Fear is a very potent form of arousal. I'm confident we could find clients looking for nothing more than degradation."

The audacity of her proposal impressed him, and his mouth quirked into a begrudging smile beneath the Beskar helmet.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"And what knots do you plan to use?"

Mando huffed—not quite a laugh. This was beginning to feel like an audition. "A bowline. But I can use a hitch knot if you prefer?"

"Merely professional curiosity," Mistress Anassa grinned, sitting in the armchair as though it were a throne. "Do you have a suggestion for the gag?"

The Mandalorian cocked his head, "Give me your necktie."

He wasn't entirely comfortable with how much keen interest lit up her face. A businesswoman through and through.

She hurriedly fished something out of her suit pocket. "Take my card. You're a working father, after all. It pays to be flexible when there are mouths to feed."

****************

Continue reading: Volume 4-Post #5: Wish You Were Here!

Back to Volume 4 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars smut

[brightside-brigade]

Fuck it. Posting it before I log off to watch an RE stream.

So this is the base for my personal Plaga lore stuff. Like, an unmodified strain that would exist in the wild. At first I was worried this was all too far fetched but then I remembered... literally everything else about the RE series as a whole?? You're allowed to ask questions and stuff btw. I'll get to them as soon as I can. :3

Note: these guys standard form is highly based on most interpretations of infected Leon. So uh. Go look at those for a few minutes to get an idea. Good? Good. Lore under cut

So, to begin with, Plagas are hive dwelling organisms that are insectoid in nature, but also have some mammalian tendencies. Because of this, it's still debated what genus they fall under.

Similar to ants or bees, hives have a queen. Though she is not responsible for later generations being born within the hives, she is responsible for the hive progenitors. A queen will appear more insectoid than human, often forgoing the general human shape for something more akin to a large tarantula hawk or similar.

For plagas, dymporphism is a very clear thing. Males are larger and bulkier, and their tails end in stingers. They're the stronger ones, but are slower than females. Females are smaller and more lithe, and while their tails are stingerless, they're whip thin and just as capable of doing damage. While they're not as strong as the Males, they're far faster and more agile, nearly impossible to hit in a combat situation.

Pseudo males, a subset usually used as drones or informants have a mix of these features.

Both Males and females have venomous bites capable of a number of effects t depending on what's needed in the situation. This ranges from sedation, paralysis, or even death or internal liquidation. (Like how spiders eat). The plating along their tails can flip up, become a row of spikes for extra damage. Both also take part in hunting and scouting for the hive, and both have spurs on the backs of their legs.

Apart from the major differences between males and females, plaga appearances vary greatly between eachother. For example, the chitin on their bodies can range from a few patches here and there to full body armor. The chitin is usually red, orange, yellow or black, but other colors are possible. Other variations include eye color and number of eyes, wings, mandibles, wings, extra limbs, and so on.

Overall, like most animals, the plagas want to grow and expand their kind. Thus, they have many methods of spreading. This ranges from hive born eggs, eggs layed on or in other living creatures (like wasps do. This is generally how other hives start after the creature is let go to wander off. After the eggs hatch and the creature expires, a queen will usually be born from that particular batch). They also use the parasite method, also known as hijacker drones. These usually spawn from pseudo Males.

The eggs themselves, when in hive, are looked after by both Males and females alike, and are kept in chambers far from the surface. Eggs are round and translucent, being green or yellow in color and slightly bioluminescent. They adhere to both eachother and the walls/floor of the chambers and tended to until they hatch.

Eggs hatch into grubs, which are, well, grubs. They stay looking this until after their third or fourth molt, in which they'll start changing into the standard humanoid appearance. And thus it all begins again.

#resident evil #Re 4 #re 4 remake #resident evil 4 #Resident evil world building #resident evil headcanons #RE HCs #las plagas #Plaga #Resident evil #biohazard

[perlen-gold]

A m!Hawke x Fenris Story (finished) ~ WARNING ~

This might not be an easy read. This is not a comfortable story. Neither a sweet one.

This is rough. This is vivid.  This is raw.

But if you're brave enough to dare the leap and reach into the darkness, it might be worth the plunge...

Fenris stood on the wind-gushed ledge of the roof, balancing his legs, the toes of his right foot dangling over the edge. The roof  poured into a steep slant that bent his left knee in a nigh square angel.

The storm that had ravaged the sky all day had wiped its vault clean like a freshly watered riverbed, all mists and grays gone with its furious and ferocious cries but for a few straggling lithe-luminous wisps.  Behind them the horizon gleamed with pale plum and fig purple at the cusp, the day’s rim aglow with a last fierce brim of bright gold as of peaches and grapefruits melting to spill out of a gilded urn.

Slowly, his heart dripping in a steady rhythm borne on his breath, Fenris leant forward. When he looked down the estate’s walls, his eyes could trail the alleyway winding up to the front gate.

Fenris had once been a swift climber, sure-footed, his bare feet seeking crooks, and crevices finding his scraping fingers in secreted hollows. In his mind was no remembrance of attaining this skill – nevertheless, part of him remembered it all the same, in the long hours of aquiver waiting, in the fruitless days waning in Hightown’s labyrinth of grays. High, auburn-tasting branches. A barefooted whiff of mahogany. Beneath his skin, a savor of cedar.

There were no trees worth practicing in Hightown. Around Kirkwall and her dorsal zigzag pattern of serrated shores and haphazard cliffs  there were no trees to speak of, really. Fenris did not enjoy pervading the forest near the abandoned Dalish camp either. There, too, he found the woods and its trees inadequate – splinter-twiggy and evergreenish, with needle-clinging roots, puny, mere shrubbery only half alive in comparison to the giants he once had climbed.

Vast crowns. Massive boughs the size of a grown man’s body. Long, wide-fingered leaves in all imaginable shades of green, dripping with moisture and water beads pouring golden sunlight into the shades above slinking roots like mossy-soft mountains behind which a Qunari Karasaad could hide his horns as well as approach.

So, here, Fenris crested Hightown. Her walls were smoothly built, each stone set well-nigh perfectly onto the other. It was magic that had once merged them sans the fallible fingers of an enslaved hand which had trembled placing them beforehand.  Fenris’ own hands could feel it as soon as he attempted to start climbing them. But they were old now, these walls. In his skin, the aquamarine blue hummed quietly with both the magic and sweat within them. It was hard work, at first. His elbows, knees and shoulders still sighed with these first attempts.

On the fifth day, a voice coiled up to him.

He did not know how she had found out he was back. Perhaps rumors grew rampant about him still, and faster still than he would have favored. Perhaps, she had simply talked with Aveline or met Donnic.

One morning, a small crown of flowers, daisies, snow-dabbed, had been placed outside the estate’s outer gate. He had stepped on it, then, after a startled glance, picked them slowly from his feet’s skin, blossom for blossom. When he came back at midday there was another coronal of daisies the next day, the flowers twinkling slightly misshapen, blooming exactly where the first had been. Fenris ignored this one, too. Upon his return in the evening on the third day he had found no daisies but the end of a woolen, dandelion yellow yarn. Meanderingly, it sidled away into the dark.

Overshadowed brumal houses and umbrageous faces.

Fenris still disliked the Alienage cowering between Kirkwall’s more important vitals, in spite of the endless times he had wrought through it in the years past. He had not been exactly sure, after striding over ash-old bones, dark-stained rubble on splattered cobble stones, the scars of a city nearly crumbling under the echo of its last war, how or why his bare feet had sought out their way to its steep stairs.

And yet, here Fenris had found himself on the upmost stair, looking down.

Sun-spilling lights illuminated the dusky twilight clustering in the corners like whirring fireflies a blackened wheat field at night.

Fenris could move along with shades and shadows if he wished, shed his conspicuous appearance as a snake its skin, almost entirely, and this was how he watched the elves move about down in the alienage.

Towering in the center like a scarlet-painted sentinel was the broad-chested oak tree. As truly fond of trees Fenris was he favored them reigning  and breathing out forests instead of rising surrounded by shabby  dwellings. Constantly stretching high, sky-high, empyrean-high for freedom.

The mighty oak tree was encircled by the elves of the Alienage in their dilapidated clothes and innumerable candles in a circle around it they were placing. A gold-glimmering modicum of stars come alive below the cloud-strung sky. The elves, humming softly to themselves. A rippling pond of wavering lights. Old and young, elders and children.

Warily, Fenris watched them and quietly wondered to himself, about such wastefulness when wax and light could come short so easily, these days.

When he stepped out of the pooling darkness less gazes flew at him than he usually expected to. Small twigs and rubble girded creakingly under his naked feet as he walked past them. To Fenris, there was less debris here than that which he had climbed over in the rest of the city. The lights, however, brightened the waking night in a great arch around him.

Inside, he found Merrill situating one single beeswax-yellow candle right in the center of her ragged pine table. He could smell the nigh-forgotten scent of it lingering in her small room.

The table was strewn with a carpet of flowers, dried and fresh alike, in a mosaic of creamy lilies, daffodil suns, violet azures and poppy sunsets.  Fenris halted, paused over her threshold.

Then, Merrill looked around. Eyes widening.

She almost winced, supplanted by a little squeal of surprise.

He said, “I am intruding. I will leave again.”

Keep reading on AO3

#fenhawke #fenhawke fanfiction #fenris #hawke #m!hawke #Garrett Hawke #merrill #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age ii #da ii #da2 #da 2 #garrett hawke fenris #dragon age fanfiction #angst #my writing

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

@theluckoftheclaws said: How do you determine the right animal [for a character's dæmon] (genuine question)

You have unleashed levels of autism the likes of which the world has never seen, jsyk!

Dæmons are not really "this character is sarcastic and lithe and finnicky so they'd be symbolized with a cat". Dæmons are largely determined by their role and symbolism in *art*, and what art it's drawn from depends on where in the story Lyra is. It also depends on their role in the story as a character somebody invented for a purpose. They say that dæmons are your soul that reveals your inner nature, but that's in-universe conjecture. One widely accepted as fact, but one that the narrator never fully claims is true. It's important to remember that characters are tools in a story, and dæmons are signifiers of that role, much in the same way that medieval paintings depicted animal companions alongside humans, to evoke a cultural, spiritual and historical context. To quote Pullman himself: don't make a metaphor do the work of a fact.

For example, in the medieval Oxford, the dæmons all take the form of animals that would have been known to medieval scholars, and their implications carry their symbolic meanings of the time. Jordan college is full of ravens, moths ermines, cats, hawks, setters, and serpents-- and also there are a few creatures, such as basilisks and small dragons-- that would have been imaginary to us but very real to medieval scholars. The only dæmon not of European origin is Lord Asriel's dæmon Stelmaria, who is in the form of a snow leopard,  evoking Asriel's infatuation with the North and giving us a subtle clue about the fact that he fits poorly in Jordan society. It's not until Lyra meets Mrs. Coulter and goes to London that the variety of dæmons expands, and when it does it expands into the art of the rennaissance and Flemish art. Pugs, parrots, monkeys, and butterflies are found in London. When Lyra travels north, she meets people with wolf and snow goose and snowshoe hare dæmons.

Ermines represent young girls born into nobility and their spiritual purity, so Lyra, who is innocent and nobleborn, often has Pantalaimon in the shape of an ermine. The fact that weasels are considered sneaky liars (as Lyra is) comes secondary to me, in my personal opinion. The servants in The Golden Compass are described as all having dog dæmons, because Lyra's world operates on a strict hierarchy of class, and the Butler and Chamberlain are all servants of a story, not really fully-fleshed characters in their own right. Conversely the characters like Asriel and Coulter have very "noble" animals associated with high class and exoticism: the aforementioned snow leopard and golden monkey. Dæmons are also amoral-- they don't indicate heroism or villainy. If Pullman made every bad guy's dæmon an animal that we have negative association with, loaded them with snakes and bugs, then everyone in the world could immediate clock who a "bad person" is just by the shape of their dæmon, and life just does not work like that.

If you want to choose a dæmon for a character, you have to take into account the genre you're working in. Poetry (The creator of the Dæmorphing series) utilizes a more scientific approach, matching characters' dæmons to observed animal behavior and biology. This works very well for Animorphs fanfiction, which has a huge emphasis on zoology and the natural talents and traits of animals... and very little to do with art and history and fantasy. But if your work is more on the historical or fantasy side, I'd suggest looking into the symbolic meanings of animals in specific cultures and periods of time to inform your choices. This historical and cultural context is why I'd find it ludicrously difficult to make dæmons for, say, the Star Wars cast, because all the animals in that universe are Imaginary, and even the ones based on real-life animals lack the social+historical+cultural context of dæmons. So I could give them earth animals, but is that immersion breaking? Probably. Same goes for Pokémon.

This level of involvement and research and intertext is usually too complicated for your average ao3 chud though, so you open a fic and you're more than likely to see dæmons pulled from a pool of the same 15 or so animals. So many wolves.... so many big cats........

If it's a series and character i'm familiar with, i'm more than willing to offer suggestions for potential forms! I literally possess several bestiaries and books on animal symbolism.

#cecil drawls #theluckoftheclaws

[awellboiledicicle]

Also keep imagining Gale looking at himself in the mirror, squinting at all the mortal imperfections that Mystra would disapprove of in a lover.

The thickness of his waist, the lack of muscle definition from a life good food and wine. Callouses on his hands from writing, but lately formed ones from using his staff to fight. Lines on his face, evidence of a life of laughing and smiling and frowning in thought. Graying hair with split ends from the road not being the place for good shampoos. Skin folds and spots. Wrinkles and a good few stretch marks because Hawke never lets the group go hungry and he indulges well in the meals he cooks. The orb, naturally, makes the list by virtue of being the main reason why he'd be undesirable.

All those things and no less than two very good looking men were very interested in him. Enough so to plainly say that they both wanted him in a way he hadn't had with another mortal since before Mystra shifted their relationship. Just plainly saying they both looked him over and decided he was not just good enough but good enough for two.

It flatters him, of course, though he couldn't indulge either (or both, his imagination supplies before being pushed down) until the orb is calmer. And he wonders if they'd still find him so appealing when they could see all that he could in private.

He worries they'll see him in comparison to the other and call it off. After all, Anders is all legs and angles, height and intensity. Hawke is all lithe muscle and dexterous motion, small smirks and intense gazes. They have each other and have for a while now-- why add him? Why settle, when he could think of a myriad of ways he could be better. More.

He's not insecure about most things, but when it comes to himself he wavers. His mind and his magic are brilliant, that's no problem.

But himself? His body, his personality as he tries to earnestly charm them in return? Doubt.

What he doesn't see is Hawke and Anders loving the idea of a soft lover, that has the mental space to remind them both that life isnt all fighting and surviving and anxiety over tomorrow. A love that is earnest and sweet, if occasionally full of himself. Someone to take care of them and be taken care of in return. Someone without more scars than clear memories of where they got them, and kind eyes that won't judge them for the marks.

And yeah they find him attractive as hell. Hawke wants to kiss down his body and find where he's the most ticklish. Anders wants to know what he looks like when he's too blissed out to know where he is. They both want to know how he sounds when he begs and the look on his face when they pull his hair. Or if his spells can be as versatile in the bedroom as Anders' were in Kirkwall.

They also want to know what he looks like sleeping peacefully, or curled up with his cat. Or relaxing after a nice bath. They both melt when he gets that certain grin on his face or looks up at them with those wide dark eyes. How he looks tired from normal things. Excited. Triumphant. Happy. Safe.

Gale doesnt know those things initially, as he frets about his looks. But he will, eventually.

#kicking my legs #handers gate au

[greypetrel]

26 for Raina and happy Friday!

Hi Mo, happy next Friday to you!

Super-duper late, but I hope you’ll like it anyway. Merrill finds a stray raccoon on the street and bring her home, back in Act 1.

Tis the prompt list.

Must be you.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

“Hawke!”

She didn’t notice the twine. She wasn’t noticing much of anything, except that the corner between two walls she was resting in was more comfortable than her bed in Gamlen’s house. Sure it was less crowded and loud, the smell was debatable. She was sleepy, and she knew she shouldn’t fall asleep. But she was so tired…

“Sylaise’enaste, Hawke, can you hear me?” The voice said, as a hand rested on her shoulder and the other patted her cheek, with more force than one should. It wasn’t delicate, and it made her wince in pain.

“Sorry! I’m sorry… Creators, is that blood?”

Ah. Yes, it was. She hadn’t had the time to actually notice much of it, right now her head felt light and she couldn’t concentrate well. She recognized the voice as Merrill. Yes, that was Merrill, she lived in the alienage that wasn’t that distant… Or so she hoped: Raina had been walking towards her house when her head had started to spin and she fell onto her butt, crawling in a corner to rest a little before making the rest of the way. How much time had passed?

Two arms snaked under her armpits, moving her torso forward and up, with a loud huff of complaint. The elf hauled her up, wobblying and faltering under her weight: she was shorter than her, and lithely built, not used to carry heavy weights nor people around.

“Hawke, do you hear me?” Merrill huffed. “Can you… Can you stand? Please…”

“My legs are wobbly.” She said, trying to stand on her own made her head spin, and blood stopped reaching her eyes for a while. “Must be you.”

“Me?!” Merrill squeaked, shifting with difficulty on her side, still sustaining her as she pulled Raina’s arm over her shoulders and grabbed her waist. “What did I do? Did I… You tripped on my twine, didn’t you? Oh, I told Varric it was a terrible idea…”

The concern in her voice was genuine, and in a better moment Raina would have felt a little guilty of teasing her. They haven’t known each other for so long, and even if they were in good terms... But she wasn’t in a better moment, and her thoughts worked funny, and it seemed crazily funny and clever.

“A cute, pretty girl hauling me up? Enough to make a girl swoon, you see.”

“I’m not-” A pause. The world was deliciously spinning. “-you’re joking.”

“I always am. But I do think you’re pretty.” Raina said, light-heartedly. And light-headedly, she didn’t really know where they were going, she just felt drowsy and followed Merrill around: with her help walking wasn’t half that bad. “Do I put you ill at ease?”

“N-no. But it’s better if you keep talking, I guess, your head looks really bad.”

“Ouch!”

“Creators! Not in that sense!”

Laughing hurt, but Raina did anyway, grunting in pain right after. It made her want to laugh more, if only. Caught in a never-ending circle of hurting and laughing, Raina just took her time to tell the elf to please don’t bring her home. Not in that state.

“Why not? I don’t know many healing spells, Garrett and Bethany-”

“My mother would kill me.” She laughed again, grimacing right after. “She hates when I get beaten up and… And please, take me to the Hanged Man, I’ve got some coin in my pocket for a room… Or well, I had them, I think.”

Merrill didn’t say anything at that. She didn’t reply, and Raina honestly was too dazed to really get where they were going, or to check if she did make some sense in her rambling. She didn’t want to see her mother in that condition, that she was sure of. Staying awake was difficult, she didn’t need the extra pressure of her mother fussing over her and complaining because look at where her brilliant ideas brought her.

And indeed, look at where her brilliant ideas brought her: forcing a relatively new friend to keep her awake, struggling under her weight as she tries not to make the pair of them fall to their doom down a flight of stairs. They made it eventually to the little house that Merrill was occupying, and Raina was left there on her own, sitting down somewhere, not that she minded much the place right there and then, as the elf ran outside to fetch… Something. Or someone, Raina didn’t really understand well. The world was spinning too much, and truth to be told the woman was too confused and drowsy to really think for more than following instructions. It could have been five minutes or five hours when Merrill got back with a healer, and they started fussing over her.

Actually, she protested the fuss, complaining as best as she could that it was too much over her and she just needed to sleep it off, she was fine.

“You’re not fine, serrah. You lost too much blood and you should pray your skull hasn’t broken.”

“Lucky, then, my head is very hard.”

“I can see it.”

And indeed, her head proved to be hard enough: the bone wasn’t broken, she just bumped it very hard -she couldn’t recall exactly against where or how, just that it hurt a lot. Alongside that, a couple of broken ribs and a good deal of other cuts and minor injuries around her body. For Raina, it was all in a haze, she just protested a little when they tried to move her, because movement made her head spin and made her nauseous. The worst of the nausea, tho, came from the herbs that the healer collected and started treating to make a poultice. The smell smelled revolting, and as much as she tried to keep it in, her stomach twisted and turned so much that she met with her dinner all over again, turning abruptly to maybe avoid the healer. She felt warm hands on her shoulder and back, patting soothingly, and Merrill shushing her and saying it was all right.

In the dizziness of everything, she felt shame and a pang of blame that was all what Leandra would have told her: and right then and there, she was very prone to give her right.

They patched her up and she let them, too tired and ashamed to put up a fight or a brave face. Her head was bandaged and cleaned, a bad cut on her left ribcage sewn shut, and between the two of them they managed to bring her in the other room, and in Merrill’s bed. Raina protested weakly to that, but she was too weak to put up a resistance. As soon as her head was lain on the pillow, she fell asleep.

---

When Raina woke up, her head was pounding badly, and some noises from somewhere around her made the pressure get worse. She opened her eyes and tried to blink sleep away, rubbing them with a -bandaged- hand to make her vision less blurry than it was. When it cleared enough to recognize her surroundings, the first thing that came to her mind was that she wasn’t in her bed.

All alarm bells in her head started to trill, and she jumped up on the bed… And had to place both hands on the mattress beside her thighs, because her head started spinning wildly, and her stomach painfully twisted on itself with nausea. Someone took her trousers off and she didn’t think she could stand, let alone get away from… Wherever she was, she couldn’t really remember much about yesterday evening, after those thugs caught her as she was walking home.

Daggers. She had to find her daggers and maybe-

“Oh, you’re awake! Thank Sylaise!”

To her right, Merrill popped in the room, moving a cloth that made for a door and smiling at her. Too bright and too happy, her voice was too shrill and only added to Raina’s headache. Nonetheless, it made her relax instantly, as memories from the night before started to return. Slowly and with difficulty, catching some glimpses was like trying to move through mud.

“I wouldn’t exactly thank her, it doesn’t really feel good, being awake…”

“I’d bet!” She giggled, hopping in the room and sitting on the bed beside her. “You were pretty battered down yesterday, you know.”

“Yeah, somehow I figured it out…”

She let Merrill place a hand over her brow -her fingers were very delicate, and pleasantly cool against her skin, and she sighed at the contact. The elf bid her to return to bed and stay there, and even tucked her in again. Raina protested the thing, saying she wasn’t a child, and it made Merrill laugh, batting off her hand and tucking her in anyway. It was no trouble, the elf said, and somehow the human had not in her to deny it any further. Even if the more she was awake, the more memories got back to her about what exactly happened. It was still all fuzzy and cloudy but…

Merrill got back into the room when Raina let out a long, dragged groan, remembering what happened. The flirting and the puking, in particular. She met her with both her hands covering her face -she could feel bandages over the left side of her head, but didn’t bother to check if they were dry or soaked through. One thing at a time, maybe losing more blood would have eased the pang of guilt that she felt.

“What is it, Hawke? Do you feel so bad?” Merrill said, kneeling beside her, a ceramic mug held in both her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what? Here, drink… Tomas said to make you drink when you woke up.” She took one of Raina’s hands in hers and closed her fingers, always very delicately, over the mug.

Raina sat up, carefully and slowly not to pour the content all over herself and the sheets -she just missed to force poor Merrill to change them and wash not one but two pairs of them. And as she sipped slowly the water, not to trigger any more nausea than what she was feeling, she slowly replied.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, I…” She sighed, deeply. Thinking was difficult, and finding words was like fishing in a frozen lake. “… I’m sorry if I puked on your… Tell me it was the floor and not the bed, please.”

“Don’t mention it!” Merrill giggled again. What was that she found funny? “It was no trouble, really.”

“Tell me I didn’t say anything stupid or too forward.” She groaned again, not finding it particularly funny.

“You were very confused, Hawke, don’t worry. It was no trouble.”

“It was. I occupied your bed the whole… What time is it?”

“It’s the afternoon. You can stay here this night as well, I don’t mind. I placed a cot before the fire, I sleep there anyway when it’s too cold.”

Merrill was happy. Too happy and easygoing for Raina’s taste, and… It was weird. She was kind and gentle, but they weren’t acquainted for so long. Was it normal between elves? Was it her? Or…

“Did you need something from me?” Raina asked, turning to look at the elf, suspiciously.

She was there, smiling happily at her, and just frowned in confusion at the question, the tattoos on her brow scrunching up. It was cute.

“What? No! Why would I need something from you?” She thought about it and continued right after “Is it a human custom I’m not acquainted about? Should I… ask for something now or wait for you to get better?”

And now there were two confused people in the room. Well, that was funny. Raina stopped to look at Merrill, Merrill kept her eyes and… And Raina started to laugh, hard and loud. Or well, she would have, if a wound on her side hadn’t started to pull pretty annoyingly with the movement, and her ribs themselves as well. She curled on herself soon after, groaning in pain.

“Hawke!”

“Oh shit.”

“You should rest, Tomas said to let you rest plenty.”

“I should go back, tho.”

“Nonsense! I don’t mind having you around, really! I…” She sighed, looking down and falling back on her heels. “…I like it here, but it feels a little lonely. I never had that much space on my own, you see. In the clan there was always someone around.”

There was something, about Merrill, that tugged at something deep inside Raina. It wasn’t anything maternal, no, that was reserved for Garrett and Bethany. No, it was… Something that relaxed her. Maybe it was how earnest she was, pushing her to be as well. Raina couldn’t say. What she could do, was showing interest.

“Oh? One would assume that living in the wild made up for more space than in the Alienage…”

“Yes, but no.” She giggled. “It’s not very wise to roam on your own in the wilderness. Bears are not friendly. And aravels are rarely occupied by just one person. I shared the one with the Keeper, as her First and with none of us bonded. This house…” She looked around, with a smile. “…It’s more than I would have thought.”

It wasn’t much, by all means. Two rooms and a smallest one for bathing, few furniture that they had found around town and put together as best as it could be, once cleaned. A hearth. The roof was safe, at least, but it wasn’t much. And, come to think of it, it was still more than what Hawke had, all them cramped in Gamlen’s house… Which wasn’t all that bigger anyway, or more densely furnished. Sure, this smelled better.

“Are you sure I’m not bothering you?”

“Not at all!”

“I puked all over your floor, tho…”

Raina grimaced, and Merrill giggled, shaking her head.

“That’s all right, you didn’t do it on purpose. You’ve helped me a lot since we met… I’m glad to help you in turn.”

It was very weird to hear someone say that they did something for Raina without wanting nothing in return. Actually, it wasn’t something she had heard since… Outside her family, maybe since she came of age and started working in the fields and helping the neighbours out to bring some more coins home. Her body seemed to be made of lead, everything hurt and her head pounded annoyingly: Raina still felt some weight lifting from her shoulders, shily and tentatively. She smiled back, a little ill at ease from the novelty, but… Liking it.

“Anytime, Merrill. Just ask. And, I’ll help you wash the sheets, at least.”

“Sure! But now… Do you think you can manage to stay here alone?”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse and make a nap. Go, I don’t want to steal your time as well as your bed. I’m big and strong, I’ll survive.” For once, she didn’t feel like making a show out of it. It was weird, too.

“That’s good. I’ll go fetch Anders. And maybe tell your family you’re here.”

And not before assuring that her guest didn’t want some food -she really felt her stomach was closed and didn’t want to be sick again-, Merrill waved her goodbyes, ready to leave.

“Merrill?” Raina called, hearing her pull the lock.

“Yes?” The elf peeked from the door, wide eyes full with worry.

“Thank you, really.”

She smiled, sweet and all too bright.

“Don’t mention it, Hawke. That’s what friends are for.”

Maybe that was it for real. Come to think of it, Raina never had many friends, outside her family. Not anyone that she could fully call friends, with the implicit rule that a big part of her family had to be kept secret as Apostates. Oh, she had her sympathies and trysts… But friends? People who didn’t mind her puking on their floor, offered their bed and knew that both the brother and sister she had left were mages? Maybe, after all, Kirkwall was good.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #merrihawke #dragon age fic #merrill #female hawke #ficlet #writing petrel #da fic

[yandere-sideblog]

i’m way to lazy to draw all of these guys so here’s how i imagine the npcs i like. i will draw all them eventually tho

mason - lean but muscular body, 5’11, ginger hair, short like an overgrown buzz cut, undercut, very tan but has bad tan lines, dark brown eyes, visible abs, about 24

siris - wiry and skinny body, 6’1, wavy pale ashy blonde hair, thick eyebrows, watery blue eyes, a bit of a stubble, hair is slightly overgrown and reaches about mid-neck, turtlenecks, square glasses, hook nose, about 36

river - tall and slightly broad frame, long brown hair with grey streaks, square glasses, grey eyes, straight nose, pale, tear troughs, calloused hands, cross around neck, blazers, collared shirts and ties, shined shoes, 6’0, visible ribs, about 45

doren - extremely tall and muscular frame, 6’5, short shaggy ginger hair, low ponytail, bushy eyebrows, ginger beard, amber/yellow eyes, tan skin, workplace casual clothes, chiseled jaw, huge pectorals, big muscles, long canines, about 42

landry - slicked back short brown hair, 5’9, black turtleneck, sharp grey eyes, skinny and average frame, naturally arched eyebrows, average looking but still objectively handsome, about 30

briar - feminine face, lean and toned body, long eyelashes, wine red lips, slicked back long chestnut brown hair about waist length, unbuttoned suit showing off chest, glass of red wine, manicured fingers, many rings, heels, hazel eyes, about 35

bailey - stocky but well built body, 5’10, slicked back deep black hair, eye bags, bloodshot eyes, tear troughs, sharp jaw, long white scar across face, furrowed eyebrows, tattoo on left pectoral to just above left forearm

darryl - skinny and long limbed body, 5’8, round glasses, overgrown brown hair about shoulder length, big timid green eyes, attractive face, professional suit, glasses on forehead, a few cuts and bruises, about 35

robin - slender body, 5’9, dark skin, curly short messy ginger hair, bright friendly blue eyes, freckles, school uniform worn proper, friendship bracelets on right wrist, orangey blush, about 18

kylar - short and petite body, 5’4, very skinny, extremely pale skin, red undereyes, long overgrown slightly greasy black hair about mid back length, unzipped hoodie over school uniform, untied red converse, gaunt face, about 18

sydney - lithe and slender body, 5’9, fair skin, rosy cheeks, amber eyes, librarian glasses with chain, fluffy long blonde hair tied into high ponytail, hook nose, very sharp jawline, kind eyes, proper uniform including blazer, carrying some sort of books, about 18

great hawk - lean but muscular body, 6’3, grayish brown skin, very long white grey hair, almost naked save for loincloth, decorated with beaded necklaces and jewelry, some piercings, thick eyebrows, sharp bright yellow eyes, large feathery white wings, very long and sharp nails, about 25(?)

niki - average body, 5’10, dark skin, dark brown hair with a white streak, plump lips, lollipop, camera around neck, slight stubble, wine red turtleneck, ear piercings, lazy smile, manicured fingers, about 24

#degrees of lewdity #dol

[literaryspinster]

Thousand Word Preview: Tiger Boy and the Witch Girl Ch. 3

This is the first half of the new chapter (the second half will be Rachel and Gar centered), which I will add to my my planned repost of the story, hopefully this week. Please enjoy and thank you all for your patience 🥺

He isn’t falling in love with her, that would be ridiculous. 

The first time he had to tell himself that he wasn’t falling in love with her was during the grand reopening. Haly’s had closed for two months to retool the entire operation while building the sort of anticipation that had been all but lost over many years.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was a relief to have a break from the long hours, skimpy yet demanding crowds and utter disappointment. It was nice to go to sleep early, and make fresh decisions whether they would end up paying off or not. And above all, it was nice to see her. As much as she annoyed him, and boy did she ever, he still found himself tapping his foot impatiently whenever she ran a few minutes late, and when she finally did arrive, he’d have to still his lips against turning up in a smile. But the thwarted grin was only because she was done wasting his time, not because he was happy to see her, of course.

Why would he be happy to see someone who gave him such a headache?

He must have told her 1000 times that she wasn’t allowed on the silks, but did she listen? No, because she never listens.

But then, the first time he sees her, her body elegantly wound in lengths of fire red, spiraling down through the air and stopping just short of the looped end, something strikes his chest like a big rubber mallet. It isn’t fear, no, it’s awe. And that’s when he decides, if she blacks out and falls off of the silks, then he’ll catch her. Not because the crowd will love it, but because he can’t let such a magnificent thing fall. 

But for weeks and weeks, nothing of the sort happens, nothing happens when she juggles sharp objects or objects set on fire, nothing happens when she’s high up in the sky, dazzling him in her sparkly purple outfit and bright magenta hair.

He watches her like a hawk, for the slightest droop of an eyelid, and he watches until she’s back on the ground and the crowd is roaring in applause.

Business is steadily climbing, the seats are filling out a little more each night, and it’s starting to lift something in him. When he masters the ring he does it with a flair they haven’t seen in ages, a sparkle in those wild eyes of his.

At the end of tonight, he counts their earnings while Kory sits leisurely on the corner of his desk, ignoring the extra chair completely. Her magenta stage wig is off now and her dark red curls tumble over her lithe but strong shoulders, she’s pretty like this, he thinks, but really she’s pretty no matter what.

“This is the most we’ve made all year,” he says, barely believing it himself although he’s counted the stacks three times. It’s enough to make up for the time the circus was closed and then some, it’s enough to take another few weeks off if they want.

“And yet I’m not entirely satisfied,” she says, pinching her chin in contemplation. “I have a proposition for you,” she says.

“A proposition?”

“What do you think about taking our show on the road?” she says. He doesn’t recoil at her calling it their show anymore, maybe he just got used to it, maybe he just gave up, but it doesn’t feel quite so wrong to his ears anymore, besides, it’s true, it is their show. Still, making it a traveling circus has never been something he seriously considered. It’s a huge undertaking, expensive and time draining. There’s a chance of course that they can recoup their losses in the increased ticket sales, but it’s a gamble even bigger than the one she took to earn this place.

“Do you know what that entails?” he says. “The train rental, the extra staff the ad space-

“The thingies and the whatnots?” she cuts in. “Why yes my dear, I know full well, and I think we’re perfectly capable. Think about it, we’re one of the few circuses that never moves, even now with all of our new acts attendance will start to level off, but if we’re in a new town with a brand new audience base then we’ll sell out every show easily and give Gotham a chance to really miss us.”

He’s considered all of this, surely more than she has, and just because she’s proven surprisingly good at running a circus doesn’t mean she’s fully prepared for what she’s suggesting.

“I ran the numbers left right and backwards,” she pushes. “We can do it, I know we can.”

He’s silent at her words, unmoved.

“Anyway, think about it.”

There’s a few more moments of silence before he answers. “I can think about it.”

“Good, oh and by the way, we have an elephant now.”

His eyes go wide and lock on her, trying to gauge whether she’s joking, but of course she’s never joking, every wild thing she’s said to him over the past several months has been 100 percent true.

“We don’t do animal acts, nothing but horses you know that.” “I do, and I’d never use him in an act. He was about to be euthanized. I couldn’t allow it.”

“Euthanized?”

“By the circus who bought him, he won’t follow directions worth a damn and costs too much to feed.”

“So you thought we could use the extra expense?” he says, getting agitated.

“Use it? No. Handle it? of course.”

He glances again at the stacks of bills on the desk. If he’d fought her more, took her to court, whatever it took to make his Circus his again, would they be there? Would he be this rested and this loose in the chest? He can smell the cash a little, it smells like old books and city grime and possibility. He focuses on her again, pushing his anxiety down and letting out an acquiescing breath. 

“What’s its name?” He asks.

#dickkory #dickkory fanfic #tiger boy and the witch girl #dick grayson #kory anders #rachel roth #garfield logan #titans #titans fanfic #queerplatonic garchel

[thepaintedlady00]

Series Candidate #4: Dragon Age Fandom

You.

Fenris/Fem mage Alora Hawke pairing. Currently 15 chapters are planned (can change). This one will follow the games storyline with some changes of my own and unique aspects to magic and the story. It'll include a bit of enemies/rivals to lovers, canon typical violence, fluff, smut, bit of angst.

Hawke was fire, the fire that she so elegantly commanded. She was red, blood and anger and passion all molded into one being. She was stubborn and sarcastic and annoying… She was full of laughter and wisdom and everything he could have ever wanted to be. Fenris' eyes trailed down her form fitting armor, splattered with the blood of their foes. Her chest was heaving as she caught her breath beside him, but it was the dimly glowing gem that kissed her skin that his eyes focused on. Anger and pain boiling up within his chest as yet again the undeniable reality hit him.

She was a mage.

She radiated the tingle of magic and every time he got this close, every time he could feel her warmth against him, he was nearly smothered in the too familiar tang of it. It mattered not how long he'd fought beside her, how many nights they'd spent talking in the empty ruins of his master's manner, how much he longed to be at her side no matter where she went… Hawke would always be a mage. She would always feel like magic and pain and longing.

His name rolled off her tongue in a soft whisper. Her amber eyes looked up at him, worry shining and clear in them. She worried for him… Fenris sighed and gave her a nod, the gesture seeming to soothe her. Hawke smiled, the damn thing sending a jolt of lightning through his chest. Damn her. She set her head back against the rock behind them and laughed, full and free. "That was a close one."

He hummed, looking out at the sand littered with the bodies of their attackers. "Yes."

Fenris' body burned for her. Her voice, her touch, anything she would give him. When her pinky finger curled around his, still bound tightly in the cold metal of his gauntlet he couldn't help but reciprocate the action. Her head fell carefully to his spiked shoulder, dark hair spilling from beneath her red bandana, the heat that radiated off of her sinking through his armor and into him. He closed his eyes, inhaling the faint scent of her, smokey and dark and rich. She was intoxicating. "We should regroup with the others."

His finger curled tighter around hers. "In a moment. We wouldn't want to miss the view."

She giggled, the sound vibrating through him, her bright eyes looking out at the orange and red of the setting sun. "It would be quite a shame to miss this."

Hakwe was fire and mage or not, she had what remained his heart completely.

***

Fenris was ice, the frozen chill of the armor that ecased his lithe body so beautifully. He was blue, lyrium and sorrow and dreams warring inside him. He was cold and cruel and calculating… He was full of experience and a dry humor that had begun to grow on me, he gave little more than fleeting looks and occasionally soft words and once in a blue moon a touch. Always featherlight and minimal, but that single touch filled me with more peace than I'd ever known. I craved it… Craved him, every piece he would entrust with me. My eyes watched him as his silver hair hung over his face, the gentle breeze tussling it ever so slightly. If he was hurt, he didn't show it.

He wouldn't show it, I realized. "Fenris?"

When the roughness of his hazel eyes snapped to mine, cold and angry, I nearly looked away. His hatred was something I'd gotten used to, at least more now than in the beginning, but the moments like this where his disgust of me spilled out through his eyes cut deeper than any knife could. His eyes softened, his face followed as he nodded at me, answering the question I never asked. The knowledge made me smile. He was alright. That was all that mattered.

I set my head back against the rock and laughed, forcing everything else to disappear if only for this moment. "That was a close one."

"Yes." Was all he said, but that voice… I closed my eyes at the sound of it, letting it wash over me. Thunder and rain and power. Unable to help myself I curled my pinky around his, fear filling me for a moment at the sudden and entirely possible thought that he'd pull away. When his finger curled around mine, cold metal biting into my skin, I sighed and set my head onto his shoulder. The spikes made it difficult to be comfortable, but I didn't care. He was here, beside me, just like he'd always been. Through the blood and death and danger Fenris remained by my side. He offered me counsel and comfort… He offered me safety, a thing I'd never been given before.

I was the one tasked with keeping people safe. I was the one that everyone else looked to in moments of crisis, but when they looked to me I looked to him. He didn't know it, could never know it, but in those moments the only thing keeping me standing was him, was knowing that he would be by my side no matter what my choices led us to. 

"We should regroup with the others," I said, breaking the long silence.

Fenris' finger curled around mine as I moved to withdraw it. The simple action sending my heart into stuttering palpitations. "In a moment. We wouldn't want to miss the view."

My eyes dragged over the blood and corpses to gaze out at the setting sun, red and orange ripping across the surface of the ocean. With a soft laugh I settled back against his stiff, cold exterior. "It would be quite a shame to miss this."

Fenris was ice and steel, and whether he hated me or not, whether at the end of it all he chose to leave… I was his entirely.

#dragon age #dragon age fandom #dragon age fic #fenris x oc #fenris x femhawke #fenris #carver hawke #fenris x hawke #female hawke #dragon age 2 #kirkwall #dragon age varric #varric tethras #fenris x hawke smut