#free folk reader

[orboros]

Blood on Snow

The blisters on your feet stung as you climbed even higher. But this was no place for weakness or rest. So you pushed yourself forward, right leg, then left arm. The ice pick embedded itself hard and fast into the frozen wall. Your muscles ached, but it was too late now; you didn't look down. The climb up the wall was a familiar one by now, and you were not foolish enough to risk falling just to look at the ever-expanding world below. The wind was harsh and sharp; it eluded your lungs with every breath. Still, you secured your pick and climbed another step higher. The cold, the aches, the blisters—it would all be worth it in the end. Raiding the villages south of the wall was easy. The Southerners, though they may call themselves northerners, were weak.

Their lives were too easy; no frost to take their babies, nor beasts to take their lives. They lived sweet lives, lives that could easily be taken. The only thing to worry about were the crows; the majority weren't particularly skilled, but their steel weapons and armour made them a pain in the arse to kill. But that didn't stop you before. A soft yell pierced your ears.

Your leader, Gurnard's gruff voice, could only be faintly heard against the incessant wailing of the wind. Your dry eyes turned upward; he was at the top. The tired muscles attached to your bones were filled with new life. You pushed yourself forward with a swing; further and further, higher and higher, you went. Your feet stung, and your calves ached, but the end was near. You stole the winter air and plunged it into your lungs with each breath. The edge of the wall came alive with sweat and blood as you dug your gloved fingers into the ice. Gurnard pulled you up onto the top of the wall by your armpits, like a babe reborn from ice and snow. You slid onto the top of the wall. The pounding of your heart didn't cease. You had done it yet again; you had climbed the wall.

"Hog! Get back here; we need to pull up Ygla and Vigyn."

The fibres in your forearms pushed your torso up and off the snow-capped wall. You stood up to your feet, tall and strong, and reached to take hold of the woven rope. The weight of your body leaned back as you pulled Ygla upward. This was only her second raid, while this would be your seventh. The grunts of Gurnard reminded you that this was his thirteenth raid. His stocky arms, along with your own pulled-up Ygla, despite his experience in raiding, frostbitten sweat dripped from the brown spurts of hair that came out of his hood. With all your force, Ygla was brought onto the top of the wall. She panted like a dog as your gloved hands grabbed her by the arms and slid her out of the way.

Despite how tired you were, how much your muscles ached, and how your skin blistered, you took the rope back into your calloused hands. Vigyn was easier to pull up than Ygla; the twelve-year-old was light and quick with his climbing.

When he was safely brought onto the top of the wall, you were finally allowed to sit. The four of you panted and sweated like dogs as you watched the others in your raiding group climb to the top. Eight groups of four had started the journey together. Only two groups had all their members. Luckily for Ygla and Vigyn, they were placed with very experienced raiders. You and Gurnard.

Now came the hard part: the crows. If all went to plan, you wouldn't see much of the kneelers in black. The sun was beginning to rest, just as planned; everyone would climb down under the thick blanket of night. Then the pillaging would begin.

Pink streaks soon ran through the grey sky. The other raiders soon gathered around the four of you as Gurnard began to speak

"We have to secure the hooks while there is still light; once darkness falls, we climb down the wall. Then we take those southerners for all they have!" His guttural voice bellowed out as a grin spread across his wrinkled face.

Soon, the twenty-one of you who survived the climb secured the hooks. Now you've waited for nightfall. You rested against the snow-covered wall behind you. It was a short little thing to stop the crows from falling off the edge. As much as you wanted to rest fully, you couldn't; you were in the south now, and death lingered around every corner for people like you.

Ygla's fur-covered body slumped against yours. Immediately, you push her off of you with a ram of your shoulder. The fourteen-year-old wined, but moved over none the less. Vigyn sat across from you, picking at the seams of his gloves. He let out a small cry as you kicked him in the shin.

"What is it?" You asked. You didn't particularly care, but none of you had any room for weakness or fear. Not when raiding.

Vigyn's blue eyes looked at yours as he cradled his shin. He looked first to the left, then to the right.

"Where are the crows?" His words made everyone's eyes snap towards the boy.

"They have been dwindling by the day; not even the Nightfort holds any men now," Gurnard said.

"Just think of it; soon the crows will be nothing but ash and bone." A grin spreads across your face at the thought.

{Haelena pov}

The familiar haze came as she stuck her needle into the embroidered fabric. This one was strong; she could feel it. She had, on some level, always seen beyond what others could. It came out of her in spurts, in words and rhymes, but from time to time her eyes would lose focus, and she could see it, not in passing glimpses but fully. Her eyelids fluttered as smoke came into view. Ice and snow

Nothing but ice and snow, There was no fire to light the way. It was too weak to survive the frost. The visions cleared, and as always, Haelena found herself muttering something. The words took a moment to find her ears, but when they did, she heard this.

 

"The blaze below cannot survive the coming snow."

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[auroreliis]

OMGGG!! Imagine platonic yandere batfam and reader on a vacation at the beach on a privat Island. Would you like to do headcanons/or a scenario (you can decide) of it. Hope you have a good day/night!!

Aaaaa anon <333 We had the same idea <3333 Thank you so much!!!

Perhaps a little late for summer, but inspiration only struck me now!!! <33

Also, I wrote this on like 4 energy drinks so forgive any spelling errors

Also it's not edited or anything...

If reception is positive on this one, I might make a part 2 with the other characters, so let me know if you'd be interested in that :)

Platonic Yandere!Batfamily

Summary: The Batfamily takes you to their private island for summer vacation.

It was just you. Just you and the gently lapping of the waves against the shore. Finally, some alone time. You had to make the most of it, since you were convinced that it wouldn’t last long.

It was about 8 o’clock in the morning. Bruce, Damian and Stephanie had left the island for whatever reason. Dick was either at home or at main beach, looking for you. You had come here about half an hour ago, surely they would’ve noticed your absence and the fact that you had left your phone at home. They were going to chip you eventually, you had come to accept that. However, you certainly enjoyed the time you had away from them whenever they couldn’t find you.

Jason was probably inside the villa. He wasn’t particularly fond of the heat outside. Either that or he’d gone swimming to cool off. Cassandra could’ve been looking for you. Maybe she had already found you.

Instinctively, you looked around. No one was in sight. Then again, she probably wouldn’t let herself be seen anyway.

The shore surrounding the island was wider at the main beach. Here, it was only a few feet wide. Behind you laid a sparse palm forest. Cassandra could certainly hide there. Whatever. You wouldn’t find her anyway. Besides, she would have probably come to talk to you. Probably.

Where would Duke and Tim be? At the villa, right? Where else would they be? Hopefully not looking for you.

Now that you had considered it, you were probably being observed by someone. And if you weren’t, then soon, you would be.

Whatever, just take your mind off it. Think of something else, like…the beautiful beach you’re at. Yes, it is much nicer to think about the gentle breeze. How wonderful. Just you, the beach and the ocean.

You hadn’t ever been at a private beach, so this was a unique experience. All of this belonged to you. Well it actually belonged to your new family, but still, it almost belonged to you.

Your soul nearly left your body at the sound of rustling coming from behind you.

“Hi”, Tim waved nervously after you had spotted him sneaking up on you.

You didn’t feel like answering, so you just turned back to the ocean. Wanting to engage with you somehow, Tim sat down on the sand next to you.

“So…what are you doing here?”, he kept looking at you, but you tried very hard to ignore his gaze.

“Just sitting.”

“Well, I can tell that, but why here? Why not on the main beach? Dick and Jason are scrambling to find you there.”

You had thought that was the case.

“I wanted to be alone.”, you emphasized every word.

He chuckles nervously. That was it. He didn’t say anything. That told you everything you needed to know: He was only here to annoy you.

“How did you even find me?”, you turned to him, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Find you? Oh, I wasn’t looking for you, I just wanted to go somewhere alone. You know, somewhere peaceful”, he turned to the ocean, as though in deep thought,”I get it, you know. You also want to be alone sometimes.”

If he “gets it”, then why is he always right behind you?

“I think you and I have a lot more in common than you think”, he said, crossing his arms on his propped up knees and turning to you.

The audacity to say something like that made you shudder.

“I think you’re full of shit”, you wouldn’t let him think that he’s getting closer to you. You could never like someone like him.

He tried to hide his frown, but you saw right through him,”That’s pretty mean, you know. I’m just trying to connect with you.”

He didn’t say it directly, but you knew his words were a warning. Bruce had talked to you about this. You were allowed to have your opinions about them, but being overly rude was a violation of the rules—rules, which he made up. In other words, if Tim thought you were being mean, then you were being mean. Against this, there would be no arguing.

Well, you know what they say: If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

“Ahem, I’m trying to connect with you…”, Tim persisted. You merely pursed your lips and nodded.

Noticing the awkward silence, he spoke again, ”So, will you go swimming?”

You shook your head.

He nodded, “Yes, it isn’t that hot yet, so there’s no need to cool off, I suppose.”

“Well”, he turned to you with a smile, his determination unwavering, “What would you like for breakfast? Alfred already started preparing something. Let’s head back and let him know what you want before he finishes.” But wouldn’t Alfred already know your preference? Perhaps this was Tim’s idea of “bonding”…

Still, his offer seemed tempting, since you hadn’t eaten yet. However, you weren’t jumping at the idea of going back only to place your order with Alfred and then get dragged off to go swimming by either Jason or Dick. Or worse, Tim.

Only now that you felt the hopelessness more intensely, did you begin to question things. Why did Tim always find you first. And how? They didn’t secretly chip you, did they?

…Did they?

Asking them wouldn’t result in an honest answer, so you didn’t really see a point in it. But how else would you figure it out?

You supposed the best person to ask was Bruce—AKA. Dad. He was likely the only person who would answer truthfully…as long as you behaved properly, that is.

“Is dad home yet?”, you turned to Tim, ignoring his previous rambling.

“Oh uh, I’m not sure. Shall we go check together?”, Tim scrambled to use every opportunity he was given, despite being caught off guard.

Perhaps it won’t get any better than this: Mediocre at best.

“Fine, let’s go.”

From the corner of your eye, after Tim grabbed your hand, you saw his smile widen remarkably.

The walk was long and awkward. Your older brother was desperately trying to talk about something, anything, that would catch your interest. Meanwhile, you were silent for the most part.

You had to admit, the villa was quite nice (if only it came without the addition of desperate, touch starved reprobates). Despite having your own room, you were forced to share a room—and often even a bed—with someone, unless you gained Bruce’s special favour for the day.

Luckily, Damian, the person you had to share the room with last night, had left very early in the morning. You weren’t sure how long ago, though, since the letter he’d written to inform you of his absence was…detailed, to say the least. Surely it would’ve taken him more than an hour to even come up with it, let alone write it. What a waster of paper. He didn’t have to say anything at all…

Entering the cool living room made you relax enough to finally engage with Tim, “Um…are Jay and Dick home, or…?”

In respone, he laughed, “Oh, no. I didn’t tell them that you’re with me. They’re probably still looking for you at the main beach. Dick went on about how we shouldn’t let you go anywhere alone in case you drowned or something like that.”

“Wait, what? But I know how to swim! Please tell Bruce that Dick’s rule is unnecessary…I already have enough restrictions, don’t I?” You panicked.

“Well…” He grinned, “That depends on what you’ll do for me in exchange.”

Merely sighing was tiring for you, “Fine, I’ll sleep in your room tonight.”

“Until the end of the week, or no deal.”

Holding back a groan, you responded, “Fine, whatever, just…work your magic, okay?” He nodded eagerly.

“Greeting, Masters. Breakfast is almost prepared”, Alfred appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi. Alfred, did you make-”

“Your favourite? Of course I did”, Alfred interrupted.

“…Right.” You should’ve known, to be fair, “Well, when will it be done?”

“When Master Bruce and Master Damian return”

“What about Steph? Isn’t she returning?” If she didn’t return at all, your life would improve considerably.

“Oh, Steph? She wanted to stay in the city for a bit, probably to buy you gifts or something”, Tim responds in Alfred’s stead.

“Gifts…? You don’t think she’ll, you know, make me play dress-up again, right?”, the thought sent a shiver down your spine. In this heat? There was no way you’d wear layers upon layers of clothes just because she was bored. You immediately left the living room, leaving Tim and Alfred behind.

While waiting for everyone to return to eat breakfast, you went and hid somewhere in the villa to avoid social interractions. And hopefully the heat. It was very hot.

[kaelidascope]

Beauty and the Beest Remastered is LIVE

**SHAKES RETURN OF THE BEEST DOGGY BAG OF TREATS**

Beauty and the Beest remastered is LIVE and she is HERE! SHE IS BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER

And that's not all. By popular demand, the original Beestfic - along with the deleted act 9 scene - Have been re-released back out into the wild from the vault for reading! Please mind both author's notes on these fics, and also note the severe quality drop from the classic version. I wrote this a year ago and it is not a reflection of my current skills

A final note chapter has been sent out for those who subscribed to it that also contains an art archive similar to Midnight Menagerie. Any art coming out of this fic from this point onward will be documented on the new fic :)

[dipperscavern]

jon snow & wildling gf 🤭 ygritte MOVE

book ygritte kill yourself show ygritte pls scoot out the way thanks. ANYWAYS. JON SNOW N WILDLING GF YES LAWD

it would be soooo fun to play around with him at first. cause he has that internal tug of honor duty THAT ASS GODDAMN i swore an oath brooding brooding professionalism OH MY GOD IT JIGGLES yk? trying to be all cold and mysterious as if you don’t have an effect on him, but the moment u saunter up to play that game of push & pull that you both (secretly) love so much, his pupils are blown wide n his lips are parted in that puppy look he can’t help but give…. ugh need

[niuniente]

Wow, so many saying in the last kudos-comment-bookmarks post that they comment only if the fic was SUPER GOOD. 72,2%(!!!) said they NEVER comment! (wtf???????)

So you want to give support only for insanely good writers? No support, in a form of comments, for beginners and not so good writers? And 72,2% of the fics deserve no comment because what? You didn't feel like commenting?

You think beginners keep writing if they don't get any "I liked this! Keep going!" support? Yelling into the wind and hoping someone hears and replies?

That's a hobby, you know. Not a profession. You expect a professional level stuff from a hobbyist, writing on their free time a fic they want to share with you, because they loved the idea, the same characters, the same ship or/and the same fandom as you do?

I'm speechless.

I'm going to go Abe Simpson here and say that when I was young, the courtesy was to comment on every chapter on each fic you read. That was the norm. The bare minimum expected from readers was to leave at least one comment at the end of the fic.

THINK HOW MUCH MORE PEOPLE WOULD WRITE, DRAW AND CREATE IF THIS LEVEL OF COMMENTING AND INTERACTING AS A PERSON, NOT A FACELESS KUDOS, WAS STILL A NORM!

I don't really like the shift in the fandom where nothing is expected from those who enjoy the stuff others make, except consume them silently.

It is not that much to be asked nor that difficult to be polite, kind, and type; "I read this. Thank you for writing!"

No, I won't listen to "UWU you're forcing us to comment! I don't like it!" Learn some fandom manners and be kind to others. Have empathy to those who create to understand that things won't magically appear on their own to AO3 or anywhere else. Someone has made them. It's not too much asked and no level of anxiety can't be THAT BAD that you can't type - even anonymously - just "TY" if you can't muster up anything else. Or leave a little heart. Or thumbs up emoji.

Acknowledge the hard work of those who offer you free stuff of your favorite fandom. That's your basic courtesy as a member of your fandom and I promise, it makes the other person happy - and more inspired to create more free stuff.

[thesimpsbasement]

Nanami finding out you're asexual

•tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, gn!reader, established relationship,makeout sesh,talk of sex but no smut,reader has bad past experiences

Finally you had a day off from work.The past couple Days have been stressful for you,assignments left and right,major projects every week it took everything out of you and it was thanks to Nanami's convincing that you can now lay in bed all day. He always took such good care of you that sometimes you wonder how you managed to find such a man.Maybe luck was finally in your favor.

Your ears perk up when you hear the creak of the front door.You immediately get up,rushing towards it, knowing your boyfriend just came home.”Kento! Welcome back”You greet the man as you wrap your arms around him.”Hey dear”he smiles at you,kissing your forehead as he takes off his shoes. “How was work?”you ask as you help him out of his coat,hanging it in the hanger by the door.”Nothing much, same old, would rather hear about your day” he says,kissing your cheek this time.”Well I took your advice and relaxed,mainly sat in bed and slept because I needed to catch up,more than one all nighters in a row can really make you value sleep” you rant as both of you walk towards the living room.”That so? I'm glad at least you slept. Maybe I should nag you more since you seem to listen to me when I do, "he teases,cupping your cheek. You roll your eyes playfully,feeling butterflies in your stomach as you feel his warm hand on your cheek.Even after months of dating, it felt like this was your first time seeing the man.

Nanami leans in again,this time connecting his lips with yours.He lets out a hum,gently pushing you on the couch,hand behind your head as he pulls you in deeper.Your eyes close,moving your lips in sync with his,your arms wrapping around his shoulders.You let out a gasp when you feel him bite your bottom lip,allowing him access as he slides his tongue in.Your cheeks are tinted red as the kiss turns more and more heated. Nanami's hand slips under your shirt,palm touching your skin as he moves higher towards your chest.Your eyes widen as you pull away from the makeout session,your hand gripping his wrist “W-Wait!” You pant,eyes staring at his hand.Nanami is quick to retract his hand,eyes scanning your features. “I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to,I should've asked you first” he immediately starts apologizing,giving you some distance.” It's fine Ken,I'm okay” you reassure him “I'm sorry”.

Your sudden apology made the man raise an eyebrow “what for? You didn't do anything wrong sweetheart, I'm not going to force myself on you,we'll only be intimate when you're ready,I'm not going to touch you until I have your consent” Nanami says,his words alone making you teary eyed. ‘We'll be intimate whenever you're ready." Those words played back in your head over and over.He doesn't know. He doesn't know that you'll never want to be intimate in that sense. “Kento…” you trail off,feeling as if your words are stuck in your throat. ‘Come on ___ you have to do it,the sooner you tell him the less it'll hurt when he leaves’ you tell yourself.”Can we…talk? It's important”.

Kento nods,sitting properly on the couch by your side,full attention on you “I'm listening”.You gulp,unable to look at him in the eye “This is going to be uhm I guess disappointing but….I never want to have sex” you admitted with bated breath “and before you say anything it's not you or something you did I just…don't want to have sex,in general, with anyone …ever” you continue, Nanami listening quietly and attentively “Might be a lot to take in but I understand if you're gonna leave for someone else who can fulfill those desires,you wouldn't be the firsthand he hears this Nanami is quick to stop you “Hold on there,let's take this slow alright?” he tries to calm you down “First I'm not disappointed, alright? I'm fine with not having intercourse as long as you're happy,I value you and your health more than I value lust” He says,noticing you staring at the floor “sweetheart..look at me please” You lift your head to meet his eyes,your face is scrunched up,eyes glassy as tears threaten to spill “Oh honey..come here” He cooes,pulling you in a gentle embrace,not to tight but enough to keep you grounded “I'm never going to leave ,especially not over some silly thing like ,I love you for you, I feel in love with that charming personality,your kindness,your laugh,the way your face lights up when you smile,I'd be a fool to throw such a precious treasure away for mere pleasure” his words makes your tears fall as you cling to him “stop talking you're making it worse” you say through sniffles.Nanami chuckles as he pets your back “I'm just being honest”.

After some time,you finally calm down as you rub away any remaining tears.”You really mean what you said earlier?” You ask,still holding onto him. “Of course,now mind telling me what made you think of such silly ideas?” He inquired.You sigh as you lift your head from his chest “Past partners…they weren't exactly fond of the idea of no sexual relationship” you start explaining “they thoughts I was broken or had some unresolved trauma with intimacy but that's not it ,I'm just asexual but they call me a prude, one even started treating me like some kid but one things they all had in common was that they left because of this and I was worried you'd think the same but over time I felt guilty,like I was holding you back ,you're such a great guy and you deserve better” Nanami holds your hands in his before he starts talking “you don't have to worry your pretty little head about any of that,you're definitely not holding me back dearest,this is the happiest I've ever been,truly there's no one else like you out there,besides,sex isn't the only form of intimacy, so I'll be fine, as long as it's you” you sometimes wonder how his words always make you smile.”The people that left you are idiots and quite frankly probably didn't love you that much if they left so easily,don't waste your breath on fools like them,focus on the present” Nanami tells you,kissing your forehead.”mhmm thank you” you smile at him,tackling him in a hug as you pepper his face with kisses “no need to thank me,but I'm certainly not going to complain about the kisses” he chuckles,every kiss making his cheeks heat and his heart racing.

Eventually you stop your attack of kisses,getting up. “You just got back from work so you must be hungry right? Well good news! Made you something extra special so hope you'll enjoy!” you say,taking his hand as you drag him to the kitchen.Kento chuckles,letting you lead the way.

Yeah, he loves you, alright. No way in hell he'll ever leave such a precious thing.

[viperwhispered]

I just wanna take a moment to say thank you for always being around to chat since I don't have many to talk to about TWST. I also suck at characterization so I don't write many fics. But I was very happy when you used one of our discussions for Revel in You. I don't mind if you use our convos to write, just be sure to credit the source.

On that note: saw your smut posts. Here's an idea: Jamil celebrating his promotion to being a Housewarden.

It's Friday, there's an enormous party going on to celebrate Jamil and Kalim's new roles and the successes of the first month with this new dynamic. While Jamil is more accustomed to the spotlight, he still gets "tired out" and leaves it to Kalim to keep the party going and organize the clean up crew. After all, he's due for a more private celebration of his own.

Fun fact: for a good chunk of snake species, the male will bite the females neck to hold them down while mating.

Imagine Jamil relentlessly taking his beloved from behind, deciding they're wriggling a bit too much. Delighting in the sounds they make as he pulls them towards him by the hair, he just bites the back of their neck as his body pins them to the bed. They'll probably be annoyed by morning, but Jamil's already got some concealers beforehand.

Did I forget to mention it's a Friday, Jamil no longer has roomates, and pretty much the entire dorm is still partying to loud music several hallways away?

Also worth mentioning that, as a healthy mature couple, all of Jamil's jealousy and possessiveness is addressed in a healthy manner so the relationship never turns toxic. This statement does not apply to the bedroom.

Aww thank you, always happy to talk with you too 😊 Plus like, if you’d rather talk over messages sometime in addition to the asks, feel free. (And this applies to anyone else reading this post too.)

Yeah iirc I was thinking a bit if I should ask you about using that ask as a jumping off point for To Revel in You, but I figured I was using it more as inspiration rather than rewriting anything you wrote or anything like that. And that since you sent that ask in the first place, I did kinda assume it would be okay to build off it. But good to hear I wasn’t wrong in thinking so, and glad you liked it.

As for characterization & writing: it really is a matter of practice, I’d say. Plus, like, everyone is bound to interpret the characters in a different way, or focus on different aspects of them. Which can be freeing, in a way, knowing that you can bring to the table something that no one else can, certainly not in the same exact way you would.

Also I was actually thinking of asking for some writing prompts since the current wip seems to need a bit more time to marinate, and here you are with perfect timing.

So let’s see what I can do with this concept.

If it wasn’t obvious: smut ahead. Written with fem / afab reader in mind but I think this could be read gender neutral as well since the only specific body detail mentioned is that reader has hair long enough for Jamil to grab.

The day - and the week, and the month - had been such a whirlwind that even Jamil had had trouble keeping up with it all.

Tonight, Jamil had basked in the praises from his dormmates, their congratulations and glowing words - and noted the cautious looks of those who still had not forgotten the events of his overblot.

He had enjoyed food that was not made by him, watched others fuss over the preparations and the serving - well, as much as he had been able to keep himself from giving direction. Still, even he had not been able to oversee every single detail, as much as he wanted to.

After all, both you and Kalim had been quite insistent, in your own ways, that this celebration should be for him, not by him.

So Jamil had danced, eaten, drank, listened, talked, so much so that now when the night was beginning to turn towards morning, he had more than had his fill.

Besides, tired as he may be of the crowd, there was still something on his agenda that he was more than happy to indulge in.

You had been teasing him with promises of a more private celebration - starting from when the party was decided on all the way to when you had been dancing together earlier - and Jamil intended to finally collect his reward.

You were outside for a moment of fresh air and quiet when Jamil found you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nipping your ear.

“I remember someone promising to be mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You shivered, feeling Jamil’s lips on your neck. You’d half expected him to be too tired to turn your teasing into action. Yet, you certainly welcomed this turn of events, your own tiredness washed away by Jamil’s eager touch and his tempting whispers.

“You know me. Always love - ahhh - spoiling you,” you said - your words turning into a gasp when Jamil licked the side of your neck.

In no time at all you found yourself in Jamil’s room - as easy as it was to be distracted by each other, you both still preferred the privacy over lingering in the common areas of the dorm.

Jamil’s mouth was hungry on yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes.

Sometimes you wondered just how much Jamil was holding back in the presence of others, for him to get so ravenous as soon as you two were alone.

Not that you were any different, pulling away that long belt from Jamil’s hips so that you could slip your hands under his shirt, your lips covering every available bit of his skin with kisses.

It was always delicious, your naked bodies tangled together. That heady feeling of each other, both of you grasping and kissing wherever you could, like you could never quite feel enough of the other.

“So what would mister housewarden ask of me tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, nuzzling your nose against Jamil’s.

There was undeniable hunger in the way Jamil looked at you, yet also the warmth and softness of your lover that always filled your heart to the brim.

“Just all of you, albi,” Jamil murmured, pushing you down onto the mattress.

You’d entertained ideas of a celebratory blowjob, of taking care of Jamil tonight. But if he’d rather help himself to you, you were certainly not going to say no.

A few orgasms later and Jamil was pounding into you, firmly holding onto your hips while your face was pressed onto the sheets. His cock was invading your insides so hard, so deep, leaving you nearly senseless. You jolted helplessly every time Jamil slammed his way all the way in, the pleasure bordering on pain as it shot through your nerves.

“Ahhh, Jamil…” you whimpered, barely aware of the spot of drool you’d left on the bed.

“Too much?” Jamil muttered, one of his hands leaving your side to instead trail a soothing path along your spine.

“...No.”

It was a lot, your senses nearly overtaken by the intensity of it all - yet you didn’t want anything less.

Still, you couldn’t help squirming, your body twitching with every thrust, yelps and moans pushed from your throat no matter how much you tried to hold them in.

“Hold still,” Jamil grunted. 

He gathered your hair in his hand, making you gasp when he tugged. You could feel the pull on your scalp, almost like Jamil wanted to rein you in - or pull your face away from the sheets so that he could hear your cries more clearly.

“You’re all mine tonight, aren’t you? Mine to have, mine to enjoy,” Jamil breathed to your ear.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you whined, aroused beyond belief.

Always his, just as he is yours - but you had no time to vocalize that thought before Jamil’s weight pushed you prone on the bed.

Your gasp was cut short, turned into a sharp cry when you felt moist pressure at the back of your neck - a bite, you realized, some instinct telling you to keep still.

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. Jamil’s hand, still gripping your hair. His mouth, latched onto your skin. His body, holding you down.

The weight of him against your back was almost suffocating, yet in a delicious way. Like you could be closer to him like this, more connected than just skin to skin contact - or penetration - could provide.

You could feel the rolling of Jamil’s hips against your backside, the way his cock was dragging along your insides. Not as harshly as before, yet intense enough to keep you trembling and whining with the little breath you could take.

And Jamil’s mouth, his teeth, never letting go. His muffled groans such a delicious sound, making you clench around him.

Such sweet torture, and you never wanted it to end.

Taglist since this turned into fic: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @perilous-pasta @twstgo @cannedpickledpeaches

[motherlymagick]

I’m going to do random free tarot readings this weekend. Make sure you like & reblog and follow my socials that are linked in my bio! ✨🌙 I’ll DM you if I choose you 💖

[hd-junglebook]

From Beyond The Wall

Part 1

The wind begins to howl mournfully, swirling snowflakes dancing in the air like lost spirits. The mountain remained still as night began to fall, leaving the brothers of the nights watch in the darkness of the north.

The fire crackles weakly, struggling against the encroaching cold, casting long shadows that flicker and dance across the frozen ground.

"Can you feel it, Jon?" one brother mutters, his teeth chattering as he huddles closer to the feeble warmth.

"A storm's coming. I can smell it in the air." Jon, his cloak pulled tight around him, nods solemnly. "Aye, a blizzard's upon us. We'll need to find better shelter if we're to survive the night."

In the cover of darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Y/n and her group lurk like shadows, their breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Ygritte, her fiery hair barely visible in the dim light, leans in close to Y/n, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We strike now, while they're weak and unprepared," she says, her blue eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll catch them by surprise, before the blizzard engulfs us all."

Y/n nods, her fingers tightening around the reins of her white horse, its breath steaming in the cold night air. "Agreed. Move on my signal.”

Y/n continue to watch in silence, glancing between the brothers and the free folk. She nodded to Ygritte, grasping her bow from the leather pouch. Y/n and her group emerge from the darkness, the crunch of snow beneath their boots muffled by the howling wind.

The brothers of the Night's Watch startle at the sudden onslaught, scrambling for their weapons as Y/n's group descends upon them like a winter storm unleashed.

"Take no prisoners!" Ygritte's voice rings out above the chaos, her bow singing as she looses arrow after arrow into the heart of the fray. the blizzard finally descends in full force, swallowing the scene in a swirling white blanket of snow and ice.

After a few minutes of the bloody onslaught Jon realizes his efforts were pointless as he is now surrounded.

Confused and heaving out heavy breaths he looks around to grasp his situation. He pauses mid turn at the sight of Y/n dismounting her horse gracefully, still holding her bow.

“Hold.” she raises her hand, signaling for them to hold their fire. The clash of swords and the cries of men fade into the background as Jon's gaze meets hers, his eyes locked on her figure clad in a fur cloak and a dress as white as the snow.

She approaches Jon with purpose, her footsteps leaving shallow imprints in the fresh snow. The wind tugs at her cloak, sending strands of hair swirling around her face like tendrils of shadow.

“Who are you?” he mumbles out, trying to find the words. He raises his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and the members of her group surrounding him.

Y/n's lips curl into a confident smile as she keeps her arrow trained on Jon. "I am Y/n, Princess of the Free Folk," she declares, her voice ringing out clear despite the howling wind.

Jon's eyes widen in surprise at her proclamation, a flicker of realization dawning in his expression. He lowers his hands slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/n's face. "Princess of the Free Folk," he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Y/n nods, her grip tightening on her bow. "Indeed. And now, I command you to throw down your weapon and stand," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jon hesitates for a moment, his gaze darting between Y/n and the looming figures of her group. But then, with a resigned sigh, he unclasps his sword belt and lets it fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He stands tall, meeting Y/n's gaze, she studies Jon Snow intently as he stands before her, his demeanor composed despite the circumstances. "And who are you, truly?" Y/n asks, her voice softened but still firm.

Jon's gaze remains fixed on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask of snowflakes that cling to his beard. "I am Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch," he replies. A laugh escapes her at the name. “Mhmm snow. You’re a Stark. Ned Starks bastard son.”

Hearing her call his name and addressing him as a Stark made his heart skip a beat. Yet he remained cautious, seeing how easily the wildings obeyed her. “I am…How did you know?” he asked, as he slowly took a step back.

“It’s not me who knows, its my brother. what business does the Night's Watch have this far beyond the Wall? Us wildings? White walkers?” He nods to both causing her to sigh.

Y/n turns to her companions, her gaze sweeping over them with authority. "Tie him up. We're bringing him home," she commands, her voice firm and resolute.

He is stunned by her order, his body freezes still where he stands. The wildlings nod in silent acknowledgment, swiftly moving to obey Y/n's orders.

They bind Jon Snow's hands tightly with rope, ensuring he poses no immediate threat as they prepare to escort him back to their camp.

Y/n's eyes then find Ygritte, who stands nearby, her bow at the ready. "Ygritte, you'll watch him from now on," Y/n instructs, her voice carrying a note of trust.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything foolish." They hand the rope to Ygritte, who accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

With a swift motion, she mounts her horse, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner of authority. As she settles into the saddle, her eyes meet Jon's, and there's a flicker of something unspoken between them, a tension that crackles in the frigid air like lightning.

"Let's go," she commands, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "We have to make it back before dawn."

Jon's heart races as he watches her, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. A sudden chill runs through his back, he struggles against his restraints, approaching your horse slowly. “You really won’t say anything, huh? Just going to tie me up and drag me with you.”

Y/n meets his gaze, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s how I like my men, Snow.” She stated with a devious grin. A cold look appears on his face immediately realizing what she meant by those words. Yet all he can do is be silent and follow behind you, keeping up as his body is pushed every which way by the pelting snow.

…

They finally reach the Wildling camp, Y/n dismounts her horse with a graceful ease and gives her horse a gentle pat on the neck, murmuring words of gratitude as she glances toward the towering big tent that serves as the heart of their encampment.

The women of the camp emerged from their makeshift shelters, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they danced with their children under the fading light of the day.

Giants lumbered about, their massive forms silhouetted against the twilight sky as they worked alongside the Free Folk, tending to the needs of the camp with quiet efficiency.

With a nod to Ygritte, who stands by Jon Snow's side with a watchful gaze, Y/n orders, "Bring the crow with you." she takes hold of Jon's arm, guiding him towards the tent alongside her.

Pushing open the flap of the tent, Y/n steps inside, the warmth of the fire within enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Ygritte and Jon enter behind her, Y/n's gaze sweeps over the assembled group, taking in the familiar faces of her companions, as well as the curious glances directed towards their captive.

“Oh dear brother. I have a gift.” Mance, ever the troubadour, sat in a corner, his fingers strumming a haunting melody on his lute, the notes drifting through the air like whispers on the wind, weaving a tale of a Dornish woman's forbidden love.

He departs from his pregnant wife’s side. "What's this?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over Ygritte, Rattleshirt, and the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "A crow?"

“Ygritte found the crow, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell!” she introduced. “Release him.” With a collective nod, Ygritte moves to obey, her hands deftly untying the ropes that bind Jon's wrists before pushing him forward.

Mance's piercing blue eyes fix on Jon, assessing him with a shrewd intensity. "A crow," he remarks, his voice low and measured. "What brings you so far beyond your Wall?"

Jon meets Mance's gaze with a steady stare, his jaw set with determination. "I seek answers," he replies, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "Answers about the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."

Mance nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what answers do you hope to find here, among the Free Folk?"

Jon's gaze flickers with resolve as he speaks. "I seek allies," he declares, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "Allies in the fight against the true enemy, the Night King and his army of the dead."

A murmur ripples through the gathered Wildlings at Jon's words, their faces reflecting a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Mance, however, remains impassive, his gaze fixed on Jon with a calculating intensity.

"Allies," he repeats, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the tent. "The Night's Watch and the Free Folk, united against a common foe. A bold proposition, Jon Snow. But one that may yet prove to be our salvation."

…

The conversation with Mance concludes and the orders are given, Y/n watches as Ygritte leads Jon Snow and his direwolf away from the tent.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n turns away, her steps leading her back to her own tent. She sheds her fur cloak with a weary grace, allowing it to fall to the ground as she settles onto the floor, her legs crossed beneath her.

Closing her eyes, Y/n takes a deep breath, centering herself before allowing her mind to drift into the depths of warging. As her consciousness expands, she feels the pull of the nearby animals, their instincts calling out to her in the darkness.

With a gentle push, Y/n's spirit leaves her body, merging with that of a nearby fox. She feels the rush of freedom as she darts through the snow-covered landscape, her senses heightened by the wildness of her new form.

She approaches the bodies of the fallen Black Brothers, a sudden movement jolts her back to reality. The fox springs back in fear, its eyes locking with those of a figure rising from the snow.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she stares into the ice-blue eyes of the reanimated corpse. The corpse lunges forward as it reaches out with cold dead hands.

With a burst of speed, the fox races southward, its breath coming in ragged gasps as it flees from the looming threat. Y/n's eyes snap open abruptly, her breath coming out raggedly as she sits up. She dons her fur cloak once more, the fabric billowing around her like a protective barrier against the biting cold.

Rushing from her tent, Y/n heads straight for Mance, her footsteps quick and purposeful in the snow. She finds him surrounded by his advisors, deep in conversation about their next move. "Mance, we need to leave now," Y/n declares, her voice urgent as she approaches him.

Mance turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We've just arrived at our camp. Surely we can afford to rest for a while."

But Y/n shakes her head adamantly, her eyes flashing with determination. "No, Mance. We can't afford to stay here any longer, thinking about Dalla" she insists, her voice unwavering.

Mance studies her for a moment, weighing her words carefully. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nods in reluctant agreement. "Very well, Y/n," he concedes, "We'll leave in a few days."

…

Y/n stood before the gathered clans, her hair blowing in the biting gusts as she surveyed the uneasy faces staring back at her.

"As you know, the white walkers arise once more from the dead," she called out, her voice carrying over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "As your Princess, I swear to lead you safely to the Wall."

She continued, her tone firm, "My brother has brought together the Free Folk like no one has before." Gesturing to Mance, who stood with his wife behind her, she emphasized, "But winter is coming—the harshest in memory. The dead will rise to join the White Walkers' army. They will not wait for spring!"

The truth of her words sank in among the Free Folk, glances exchanged as the severity of the situation settled upon them. Mance stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The princess speaks true," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "The Wall is our only refuge against the storm. We must begin the march at once... before it is too late."

Agreement murmured through the clans, and Y/n nodded gratefully to Mance. Drawing her furs tighter against the cold, she caught sight of Jon Snow, his gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flickering away.

…

In the wake of her stirring speech, preparations for the journey to the Wall began in earnest. The clans bustled with activity, packing supplies, sharpening weapons, and tending to their families in anticipation of the arduous trek ahead.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light over the rugged landscape, and the distant howls of wolves echoed through the valleys.

It was there, in the quiet stillness of the night, that Y/n encountered her brother's pregnant wife once more. She stood alone, her silhouette outlined against the moonlit horizon, a solitary figure in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Y/n asked softly as she turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Y/n walked closer to where she was standing, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. "I'm fine," she replied curtly.

Y/n studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of her burden in the lines of her face and the tension in her shoulders. There was a distance between them, a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

"I wanted to thank you," Y/n said earnestly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "For standing with me back there. Your support means more to me than you know."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in the depths of her eyes. "You don't have to thank me," she replied, her voice gentle. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of quiet understanding between them as they stood together beneath the starlit sky.

…

give me some feedback, i'd like to know if this sucks lol

[orboros]

Blood on Snow part 2

Warnings: Gutting a animal

I don't know how long this series will be, but this isn't the last chapter. Also, if anyone has any tips for getting better at typing, please share it :) I write it down physically, and then I type it on my phone. This is a pretty slow process, so I would appreciate any tips. Thank you, and I hope you find some enjoyment in it.

The all-encompassing blackness of night covered your body as the howling winds drowned your grunts and pants for air. The climb down the wall was far easier than the climb up, but that didn't mean it was easy. The woven rope dug into your waist as the icyness of the frozen wall soaked your gloves. You've neared the end now. With both Ygla and Vigyn safely on the ground. Your hand reached for your knife. The rusted blade cut the rope that tied you to Gurnard. You sheathed the blade before letting go of the rope. Pain shot up your feet and settled in your knees as you landed on the frost-covered grass. You ripped the worn gloves from your hand; thick Calluses were spilt angrily, and large Bullous blisters formed on the tips of your fingers. It hurt, but the cold air soothed your sweaty hands. Your hood came down soon after that, and strands of sweat-covered hair stuck out of the tight plaits you had put in your hair.

Ygla and Vigyn played with their axes and swords, respectively. They hit each other with comically loud whines and cries of pain. Anger flooded you; this wasn't some joke. Several members of your group had died, and now they screamed and Hollered like dogs. Anyone could hear you; on the ground, sound travels quickly, especially at night. You quickly marched over to them. Your Calloused hands soon clattered each of them in the back of the head.

"Be quiet," You whispered with a hiss.

"But Grunard said there were no crows here!" Vigyn said it in the whiny tone of a pubescent boy.

"Grunard said that so you wouldn't shit yourselves; we don't know for sure where the crows are." You looked at both of their fear-sticky faces with fury.

"Don't look at me like that; you wanted to come here; you wanted to raid. Don't shirk in fear just because the consequences of your actions have arrived." Your nose flared as your harsh words left your chapped lips. The guilty looks of scolded children came on each of their dates. It did not quell your anger, but they Had been told off enough for one day. More men and women rumped from the grass-woven ropes, Grunard being one of them. With everyone who had survived the wall now on southern ground, you all gathered together.

Grunard spoke with wide hand gestures and a hushed voice. The darkness of night made it hard to see him, but you understood the gist of the plan nonetheless. You would journey to Queenscrown and completely bypass Mole's Town. The crows often visited the women there to break their oh-so-sacred vows. The town was crawling with the black-hearted basterds. As you had a number of young ones, it was better to go straight to Queenscown.

The people were weak and easy to kill. Spending their days tilling the fruitful soil. As a result, the reward was low. There would be no fine silks or exotic spices, but there would be enough swords, axes, and armour to make the journey worth it.

Under the cover of night, everyone moved as one, searching for shelter to hide from the exposed nature of daylight. Luckily, the gods granted you all that mercy in the form of a cave. The other raiders poured into the dark and damp cave. Some slept alone, while others gathered in large piles to sleep. You decided on neither; you were too hungry to sleep. The pain of hunger crawled up your ribcage, sending the familiar growls into the quiet night. With a rake of arrows across your back and a bow in hand, you left the cave. The dark sky began to lighten as the first light came.

The squelch of lush, dew-covered grass and the melodic chirps of risen birds drove home how full of life the south was. Every inch of land is themed with life; back home on the frozen shore, most life existed in the turbulent sea. Here, it was everywhere. The grassy meadows soon turned to thick oak forests, and gentle rays of dawn gently touched the apples of your cheeks as they swept through the woodland. Birds flew through the canopy of leaves as rabbits swiftly leaped into underground burrows. But you were searching for something more filling. A crack of a twig altered your eager ears. Before your eyes found him, you knew what he was. The snap of the twig was heavy—too heavy to be a wolf and too light to be a boar. Your eyes whipped around to the large stag.You lowered your body as a creeping hand gripped one of your arrows. The great white stag didn't notice your soundless breathing and hungry eyes as it chewed on fresh grass. Nor did it notice the flying arrow until it pierced its chest. But by the time he realised it, it was too late. The beast fell to the ground with a thud. In your younger years, you would wait for the blood to drain from the beast, but now that you were more skilled, deer would die on impact. This one is included.

You sauntered over to the now-dead creature; killing had always been easy for you. The North was filled with it. Death surrounded anything that had the fight to survive and took anything that didn't. But here, where life came easy, the fight for survival was nonexistent.

Your Calloused hand ripped the arrow from its punctured heart. Blood gushed from the wound. Flickers of life still brimmed in his eyes, and your rusted blade that was once on your hip sliced the stag's throat in thick jagad cuts. It was a painful way to die, but you still needed to eat, and it was a better way to go than dying slowly with an arrow in your heart. With his life gone with his blood, you began to cut open the stag. Your rusted serrated knife first cut around the anus of the creature and freed its colon, so all its guts would come out in one piece. Your knife ran up along its abdomen, just cutting through its hide, lest you accidentally cut into its bladder and spill piss all over the good meat. You cut off the balls and cock of the stage and discarded it. Then you cut it into the meat of the stag. Down to the bone. Making a gateway for all the guts to come pouring out. With the ridge of the pelvis now exposed, you began to cut through the hide of the sternum to join your work lower down.

As you reached the end of its ribs, you cut slowly so as not to puncture the stomach. The white lining that encased the organ was next. Your blade popped open the next lay, and you dug your fingers into the still-warm stag. You cut the lining in between your fingers, revealing the assortment of grey and brown organs. You took your knife and began to saw through the pelvic bone. Thick clumps of white dust gathered at the sides of your knife. You ripped out the chuck of bone and tossed it into the thick forest. Your knife was set aside in favour of your hands, and with one hand set on each side, you cracked open the pelvis. The weight of your body made the bones crack and splinter beneath you. With your serrated knife in hand, you began cutting through the ribcage of the creature. No longer be careful with your hands, and cut away at anything attaching the guts to the meat. You cut out the heart and set it aside along with the liver and kidneys before you pulled them cleanly from the once great stag. With your gutted stag and your hands bloody, it was time to head back to your fellow raiders.

You packed up the edible organs into your bag before you dragged the creature out of the forest by the antler. Picking up mushrooms, herbs, and anything worth eating along the way. The sun had only risen slightly in the time you were away from camp. Still, the others seemed to wake up at the smell of blood. Several crowded around you as you neared the cave, and soon the stag was taken from you to be cooked. Grunard threw you a water-soaked rag to clean your hands; the semi-dried blood wiped away easily. Though some still cringe under your fingernails.

Soon the stag was cut further down and cooked on an open fire. The smell of seared venison battled the stench of sweat all of you carried. A large wooden bowl of stew was set in front of you, filled to the brim with meat, mushrooms, and barley. All of which you had gathered, and as a result, you got the largest portion. The meat was tender; it fell apart in strings against your teeth. With your belly now filled and furs placed down for you, you laid down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The unnoticed blackness of sleep was eventually painted with streaks of colour. The pigments merged and separated; shades of green, white, purple, and brown swirled until the colours were pulled into an image. It was the cave you had settled in—the same damp stone walls, the same sprouts of vegetation in every corner. But the fire was out, with only smoke rising from the ashes as a marker of its existence. Your heart began to pump faster as the image became clearer; gone were the other raiders, not even furs or weapons to remember them by. Your eyes turned to look out at the entrance of the cave. The meadows and thick forests of the southern landscape were gone. Instead, the stone walls drifted like smoke into a large candlelit room. High stone ceilings and dark wood floors. Every part of the room was filled with more luxuries and crafted with more expertise than you had ever seen. Even the fanciful homes of Mole's Town didn't compare to this. An obnoxiously large bed sat against the back wall, pillows and blankets practically oozing from the bed. A woman lay on the bed, her white hair reflecting a sliver of light. She sat up slightly, her snow-like hair rising with her, and her purple eyes settled on you. In your skin and in your bones, you knew this was a dream. The hazeness of Everything proved it. Yet she was so clear, so real; this was something else, something strange. The white-haired woman sat fully up amongst her luxuries; more gold adorned her than you had seen in all of the men of the frozen shore combined. To your fellow raiders, you spoke the common tongue, but this was not your native tongue; words in your own ancient language slipped from your tongue like oil. The deep, guttural words brought fear to the hearts of southerners, but that did not hold true for her. Curious, unblinking eyes stayed in a heavy lock with your own.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice light, airy, and in the strangest accent you had ever heard.

"The hog," You replied as your tongue slithered back into the position for common touch.

"Hog?" She questioned, her erie lavender eyes still locked with your own.

"There is not a name for it in the common tongue. It is like a You paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Outside name. One you tell to strangers, ones outside kin," you said with hesitation, knowing your discomfort was clear. She was the strangest-looking and-sounding person you had ever met. Snow white hair and almost translucent lavender eyes. She was pretty, but her ghostly features and voice did nothing to sooth you. Before she could ask another question, you asked one of your own.

"What are you?" You said slowly that you didn't know if she was some vengeful spirit or a trickster here to trap you.

She seemed to think for a moment, pondering your question, unbridled with the fear you felt.

"A Targaryen, I suppose." Your face scrunched up in confusion at her answer, and words slipped from your lips freely.

"What the fuck is a Targaryen?" You said it in bewilderment. Finally, there was some emotion on her wide-eyed face. Her features scrunched up like yours had done as she thought of an answer.

"My mother says that we are the Royal House; Aemond says we are dragons; and Daeron would say we are conquerors. My father doesn't speak to me much, and when My elder brother Aegon speaks of our house, it is nothing but insults. I don't really know what makes a Targaryen—is it dragon riding, the white hair, or the violet eyes? Aemond always says Targaryens are the blood of Old Valeriya, so I would assume that's what we are."

The words dragon riding sung in your head again and again; you knew what she was. Disgust filled your heart like bile and spilled out onto your face. You had heard tales of the dragon-riding inbreeders that ruled the South. Sisters marrying brothers, uncles marrying nieces—it made you sick. Anger soon mixed with and amplified your disgust.

"I know who you are! Inbreeder!" You shouted as you ripped yourself from your furs and marched towards her. As you got to the edge of your world and the beginning of hers, you went to reach for her, but a force so potent ripped you back.

Your eyelids jumped open as you lunged yourself off the sweat-soaked furs you once slept on. Your eyes darted around the cave; the fire was still lit but had now dimmed, and your fellow raiders were still there. Just pack up to continue your journey. Your breath raged as your eyes bound from one spot to another.

"Bad dream?" Grunard said in a mocking tone.

"No, but it was a fucking strange one." You said you were too busy trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart to joke with him.

His curiosity seemed to be Peaked as you moved out of the furs and began packing up.

Well, aren't you going to tell me what it was, Hog?" He said it with a wrinkled brow.

You looked at him, and with an unwilling frown, you spoke.

"A Targaryen, you know the inbreeders that rule the south." You said this while stuffing the furs into the woven bag. He paused for a moment as his face became more serious.

"We're in the south now, Hog; the dark magic of Old Valeriya runs rampant here. A skinchanger like you should be careful; it could swallow you whole."

  Helaena

 

Helaena awoke with a jump; sweat poured from her brow, yet goosebumps ran along her skin. Her heart beated out of her chest as her breathing was like that of a panting dog. The setting sun stung her eyes; she had only meant to sleep a little while, but the constant visions that plagued her had drained Helaena. They were getting stronger and more clear. The light of the fire was out from the cold of the woman she saw. Tall, intimidating, and calculating, she is covered in thick fur and has clammy skin tattooed with foreign symbols on her hands and up her arms. She didn't set fear into Helaena's heart at first, but when the woman came for her, well, she couldn't help but shut her eyes and cover her ears at the memory. Yet something in Helaena knew the woman had a right to be so angry; something in her told her she too should be angry. Helaena never really thought much of her family's traditions; they had infected every aspect of her life since birth, so how could she judge the only way of life she knew? But in that moment, lying in bed with the setting sun illuminating the room with streaks of pink and orange, She, too, felt disgusted.

An uneasy feeling settled in Helaena as the sun set and the night began. She never really spoke to her husband or her brother. He had only visited her a few times in the night. He was always drunk beyond belief, and he cried. He always cried when they were forced to lay together. Thankfully for both of them, the visits have now ceased. Aegon rarely spoke to her, instead running off to the streets of silk and drinking anything that would dull his mind. She never understood why he did that, but now she does. It was to drown out the shivers of disgust that ran along his skin. She pulled the duvet from her and walked along the wooden floors towards Aegon's rooms. He would most likely be gone, already trying to escape reality.

As her fingers pushed open Aegon's door with a creak, her eyes Peaked in. He sat hunched over at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Helaena pushed open the door fully and stepped through. Aegon's tired eyes looked up at her with a grimace.

"What is it?" He said it with annoyance.

"What they did to us was bad, wasn't it?"

Her words caught Aegon off guard, and he looked at her fully and with interest. Helaena paused, her lip twitching.

"It was cruel," She said with a crack in her voice.

Aegon took a moment to speak, and when he did, tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

"It was"

[not-poignant]

wait okay so now that you're seriously thinking of publishing, will you be writing a new prequel to game theory with the new 'Canon'? like the story as it's meant to have happened between gwyn, augus, terho and the nightingale, or are we just starting from game theory?

ALSO I'm so glad that you might be publishing the ftv soon for wholly selfish reasons -- you're clearly done writing about these characters, but personally I am nowhere near done reading about them, and I'm definitely not creative enough to write fanfiction myself either, so I'm just stuck rotating the characters inside my head like a microwave😭😭 it's really tough out here!!!

imagine the massive wave of new readers and the new community that's gonna come in once the story's more accessible... IT'S SO EXCITING

Hi anon!

No prequel, I'll be starting with Game Theory (and Deeper into the Woods will be published afterwards as a prequel, just as it was chronologically in general!)

Quite a bit of Game Theory is being edited and new content being added (anyone on the Gary & Efnisien tier can already see about 2,000 words of new content in the first three chapters alone, including new scene/s with Crielle), and some content being removed where it's OOC. The events with Terho and the Nightingale will be explained in Game Theory, with Gwyn likely meeting with Terho (or learning about him) a few times within.

As for Fae Tales, you know, it's nice to think there will be some new readers, and there might be like a handful or two, but there will be no massive wave. It is the least popular thing I've written in proportion to the amount of time I've put into it. Even the AUs have all generally done better proportionately.

It's one of the reasons I've never rushed to publish, honestly. It's a lot of work to put into something that you know will never financially justify itself. To the point where I think other projects are far more viable financially (Underline the Rainbow as a series I actually think would be great, because new, meaty omegaverse has a very intense (though small) fanbase and I think that series would bring more people in).

There would be no massive wave of new readers. I think we'd be lucky to see at most about 10 or 20 new folks, and I'll cherish everyone, but I'm also pretty realistic. More people find all my other works these days than Fae Tales, The Ice Plague is still one of the worst performing things I've written in proportion to length + time + work investment (despite being one of my favourite series out of anything I've written).

I think I'm realistic, and I also think there's a chance that the Fae Tales Verse if published could draw some haters. Most people don't want that level of BDSM in their epic fantasy, unless it's much lighter 'romantasy,' which Fae Tales definitely isn't. There's even a chance I might get my KDP author account suspended because of breaching content TOS/violations.

So yeah, it's a risk, but I'll take it. It's just not a risk I'm prioritising right now, because I can't see a way that the Fae Tales Verse will ever really go that far. Hand on heart, way more people who come over from my fanfiction find Falling Falling Stars and Underline and almost no one (with maybe a few exceptions - I love y'all) goes into the canon these days unless they're older / long-time readers.

[uselessmonsterboy]

Hey thanks for being like the most patient people ever? I am fr just existing in workplace hell BUT I now have a new tablet so I can quit one of my jobs and take on comms again (after finishing the queue of people who accepted that they would be waiting however long until i could afford another) and that will give me time to like.. actually exist and create again

I will be working on the transitional chapter into Kamino Ward Arc but I definitely have changed in my writing style a bit over the break so if it feels different uhhhhh thats just what episodic hobby writing be like lmfao

Anyways! Good vibes and kind times, loves

[muffinlance]

After reading the tags on your latest post I was wondering if it would be possible for you to make a brief overview of the iffy tropes/details your sensitivity reader helped you pick up on? Of course it wouldn't replace doing research ourselves, but I'd love to hear about it regardless!

Have not run it by them yet because it is in no fit state for human consumption at this point; the tropes are just from reading their blog + others on Tumblr + general Internet research including the excellent "blind people walk you through normal activities from their perspective" videos on YouTube. But off the top of my head:

Face touching. Where the blind person gropes someone's face to see? Sighted people made that up. I rewrote a chapter in Towards the Sun when I realized that one. Which makes sense, because why would a blind person be any more inclined to run their hands all up in your facial juices. Eww.

Negating blindness with magic and pretty much ignoring the blindness henceforth. Which is why Zuko isn't going to learn to see with firebending. There are very interesting discussions on how Toph herself fits and doesn't fit into this trope; finding them is left as an exercise for the reader.

Token blind character, AKA only having one blind person in the narrative who represents All Blind People. Going to have a few blind NPCs running around, with various levels of sight and accommodations, to thoroughly negate this one.

Being Depressed and/or Overly Inspirational about the blindness. AKA character devotes a large chunk of the story to bemoaning their blindness, with bonus inspirational "overcoming" at the end. Think about how it would feel if the majority of characters like you spent vast word counts hating the thing that makes them like you. And then solving it, in a way you can't, so they don't have to have the tragic fate of Being Like You. ...So Zuko is not getting cured, and he's also not wasting much time wallowing in an angst puddle.

Etc.

Basically, I want this to be a story that low vision folks can read and go "that was fun and less offensive than 70% of actual media representations", and sighted people can go "that was fun and hopefully I internalized some positive things that will make me less likely to grab a blind person's arm and forcibly Help Them Cross The Road, Try To Pet Their Dog (and Get Huffy When Asked to Please Not), or Call People Out On Not Being Blind Because They Don't Fit The Stereotypes".

[deerbornintuitive]

[daimyosprincess]

PART V: PREFACE

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, choking, use of a vibrator, pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tiniest bit of breeding kink, Daddy kink 🤭, lil bit of angst when Boba has some bad dreams

We've got some new chapter warnings this time, so be sure to mind them. As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations are at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're back baybee and better than ever! Part V will conclude Volume I of Ex Libris, but fear not: your fav professor/librarian duo will be back for more sexy escapades (and fEeLiNgS) in the future in Volume 2 💚🖤

A big thank you to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part IV — Interlude>

Boba Fett is a man of exquisite extremes: a simple man when it comes to himself, his personal effects minimal but well made, but quite the opposite when it comes to you. After he had a taste of spoiling you rotten on your date to the poppy fields, he couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to spend any money on you. You so much as glanced at something for too long and you’d find it tucked away somewhere for you to find, wrapped in a ribbon. You didn’t mind, not one bit, but you don’t want him to think that he had to keep doing it to keep you happy—just him by himself is enough to last you till the end of your days.

“Boba, you don’t have to keep doing this, really, I-”

“Princess, what’s the point of all my money sitting in the bank if I can’t spend it how I like?”

“But… I love you without all that.”

“I know you do, cyar’ika, I know. Now that we’ve got that established, let me spoil you like I want to, like you deserve.”

You gave in willingly after that conversation, allowing him to buy you all the little trinkets and sparkly jewelry your heart desired. One of his favorite things to do, you’d found, was to tuck his black credit card in your purse and send you to the mall with Selena, placing a kiss on your forehead and a slap on the ass as you went out the door. In return, you’d put on a little fashion show for him when you returned, ending with you in whatever risque lingerie you purchased for him to rip off and devour you whole. 

You currently have on one of the sets he hadn’t gotten the chance to tear off your body, a blush rose pair of elegant satin and lace that’s delightfully comfortable and smooth against your skin. As you consider your dress choices for the evening ahead, you can feel the way Boba is admiring you from across his bedroom while he’s buttoning up his cream-colored shirt. “Which one do you think,” you ask, turning and holding up the two choices, “the green or the blue one?”

Adjusting his collar down flat with practiced skill, he smirks. “Which one will be easier to get into later tonight?”

Even after all the filth that’s come out of his mouth, his flirting can still make you flush like a schoolgirl. “Boba!”

“What?” he shrugs with a rakish smile, “I’m asking for… research purposes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man did have a sense of humor when he wanted to. “Well if you bend me over and pull them up, they should be about the same,” you respond, biting your lip and wiggling your eyebrows. You picked these dresses precisely because they provided easy access: what Boba doesn’t yet know is that you have a little surprise that has nothing to do with your dress, and everything to do with him. 

He crosses the room in a few strides and stops in front of you, letting his gaze travel down your body with lush attention before flicking between the two options you held. “Hmm, the green one, I think. Green looks good on you,” he hums, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips.

“Looks good on you, too,” you mumble, deepening the kiss. Boba had shown you his father’s armor, now his, that he carefully unpacked and mounted on a stand in his study. The reverence with which he handled each piece was a poignant reminder of the grief buried deep within his ribs and the pride he took in being his father’s son. You felt honored that he trusted you to share that part of himself; even in the short time you’ve known him, it’s readily apparent that he is a private person when it comes to his past. 

When his roughened hands slide down to grab your ass, you reluctantly break the kiss. “We’re gonna be late if you keep that up…”

“Oh, I can make it quick, princess. Promise.” He trails kisses down the thin skin of your throat and kneads the plushness of your ass. “You know I’m a man of my word.”

Stepping back out of his reach, you give him a scolding smile. “I know you are. Now, help me with this thing.” Boba huffs, more as a show rather than actual annoyance, and does as you request, dutifully lacing up the ties of the sage green garment across your back. Once done, he sits in the armchair to put on his shoes while you slip on your jewelry—including the piece you’re going to surprise him with.

As you secure the anklet around your leg, you admire how the interlinking chain twinkles in the light. The jewelry soaks up the heat of your body quickly, sitting heavier and warmer as you imagine what the professor’s reaction will be; you know he has that protective streak in him, that desire to care for and nurture you in a way you suspect he never received himself. That, combined with the claim he so enjoys laying on you, filling you full of him and marking your skin with his mouth, hands, and hips, leaves no doubt in your mind that your little surprise will drive him wonderfully and perfectly insane.

Now that the time has come to set your plot in motion, it takes everything in you to school your giddy expression. Sinking onto the end of the bed, you lean back on your hands and lift your leg to wiggle your foot in his direction so he gets a look up your dress—which he takes, of course. “Can you help me with my shoes, handsome?” you simper, batting your lashes for extra effect.

Boba rolls his eyes, muttering how you’re spoiled rotten as he scoops up your heels and slides on the first one, balancing the ball of your foot on his abdomen. He fastens the straps with deft fingers, then takes the opportunity to press slow kisses up your calf, keeping his deep eyes locked on yours. It’s surprisingly sensual, warmth feathering out from your core and fluttering in your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying his slow touches and he winks. Fuck, he’s so kriffing hot.

He sets your leg down and braces the other against him, this time trailing his lips down from your thigh to just above the straps of your shoe. Securing the straps, nods at your anklet. “Mmm, what have we here?” 

The gold piece looks even daintier against his thick fingers as he runs them across it.

You tilt your chin up just a bit as you watch his expression through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just a little something that reminded me of you. Thought I would wear it tonight.” Boba adjusts the jewelry around your ankle so he can examine the stylized letters adorning it. The anticipation of him seeing “Daddy’s Girl” dangling off you for anyone to see has restless energy lighting up your nerves.

A second later, Boba gasps, sucking in a sharp, sudden breath and his face snaps up to look at you; you’re as licentious and dusky as an old Hollywood star as you peer back at him. His grip becomes almost unbearably tight, but it feels so good that you hope it leaves a bruise to remember it by. His lips part but no sound comes out, every muscle in his body rigid. Something has come over him, something so visceral it strikes him to the core of his being. 

This you know you’ll remember for the rest of your days, until the end of time even—you know you will. The time you made Boba Fett, the strongest, most unshakeable man you’ve ever met, break. Not crease or fold. Not snap. Break. 

“Say it.” The words fall from his lip hoarse and cracked. A wild energy crackles and grows behind his glossy eyes.

You drag your hands closer to your body to push yourself up higher, and your heart rate picks up. You almost want to make this last forever. “Say… what?” you drawl, blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

One of his hands drops to your thigh, his fingers digging into the pillowy flesh there. A sizzle of air rushes from behind his teeth. “Say it. Say it right now.” 

Heat is radiating off him so hot you can feel it, like a star burning itself into creation. The primal rawness of his desire, its baseness, permeates into your skin and makes his feverish desire become your own. You can’t deny him, not when it feels like his scalding becoming will remake you anew, too.

Blistering heat fills you from the inside out as his eyes bore into you. You lick your lips, savoring the last of the moment before this man shatters your whole world from the inside out in a glorious passion. “I’m… I’m Daddy’s girl.”

Tossing your adorned leg over his shoulder, Boba crashes into you, his lips searing a kiss onto your mouth that’s so hot your mind leaves your body for a few breathless seconds. You’re effectively folded in half by his crushing weight and it makes your muscles scream in the most delicious way. Boba curses into your open mouth as his hips grind what has to be a painfully hard erection into your ass.

“Fuck, ner cyare, tell me that’s what you want, tell me you want me to be-”

“I want you, want you to be my Daddy, Boba, please.” Hands balled in his shirt behind his neck, you gasp your answer with the breath from his lungs. 

A string of coarse curses pour from his mouth. “Gedet’ye, sweet girl, let me have you. Let me show you just how good Daddy can make his babygirl feel.”

He’s a paradox of pleasure, impossibly dominant yet unbearably vulnerable in his need for you in this moment. He can see all of you and you can see all of him; it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, a culmination of the trust the two of you had been building between your hearts and in his bed. Hearing him say those words in that voice has you breaking into a million needy pieces, ready for him to put you back together again.

Fuck, how could I say no to that?

Looking directly into his blown out eyes, you give him the permission he needs. “Fuck me.”

You want to sear the sound that he makes at your confirmation into your brain forever. He shifts back, lowering your leg off him to quickly work himself out of his pants. Propped up on your elbows now, you can see how his thick cock is weeping and dripping with need, the velvety skin of his shaft so red it’s almost purple. You curse under your breath, your mouth and your pussy filling with moisture at the sight of him. He pumps himself a few times, a snarl tearing from his chest when you moan from watching.

Grabbing both your ankles, he yanks you down the bed, pushing the hem of your dress over your stomach and hitching your legs over his hips. “Shit, you’ve soaked right through those pretty little panties,” he groans, curling his fingers around the satin material and ripping it clean off your body, the stretch and snap of the fabric making you hiss. A deep moan escapes him at the vision of your glistening womanhood now on full display, and Boba pushes your thighs up to get an even better view.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a supernova, melting into his star; your every thought runs into the next and sensations bleed into one another—you’re totally lost to the pleasure of the moment. Boba bends to lick up a taste of your arousal when the words come rushing out of your mouth. “Fuck me, don’t wait, just fuck me. Split me open on your cock, Daddy, please.” You want to feel the size of him, so much of him that it’s all you can comprehend.

He stiffens, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Princess,” he grits out, his restraint taking visible effort for the first time, “d-don’t say things like that, not when… you know I have to prep you.”

You don’t care—you want him in you now, forcing himself through your tight walls and making you feel every kriffing inch of his cock. Slotting your hands under your knees, you spread yourself even wider in an open invitation to take what’s rightfully his and only his. “Pleaseeeee, please, sir, it’s all yours, please fuck me, give me your co-”

Boba’s hand slaps across your pussy, tearing a sharp moan from your chest and making you gush. “Enough!” he barks, “You know the rules. Or do you need to be reminded across my knee?”

The lasting sting radiating out from your clit and his imperious tone has your mind scrambling to right itself; you’re so kriffing turned on you can barely think. Apparently you take too long, because Boba’s left hand shoots around your neck and squeezes the thoughts right out of your head. “With behavior like this, I think you do need to be reminded of Daddy’s rules, little brat.” 

Your eyes widen, his absolute authority has you trembling in anticipation. You hang on his every word even as your brain struggles to form a complete thought. 

Boba lightens the pressure around your throat to allow you to speak. “Tell me the rules, and keep those legs open. Number one,” he commands, smacking your pussy, making you yelp.

“Honesty!”

He gives you another slap across your clit. This time you moan, the stinging sensation quickly turning into pleasure. “Number two.”

“Respect!”

After the third strike, he leaves his hand sitting on top of your searing lips. “Number three.” You answer correctly and he rubs his fingers over your clit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. “Four, last rule.” 

Boba fingers begin to rub faster over your slick, swollen clit and you drag your mind to the answer, gasping, “No coming… without… permission!” 

A pleased look settles on his handsome face and he releases your throat to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s my good girl, so smart, did so well for me,” he praises in a tone sweeter than golden honey, “Daddy rewards his princess when she’s good, even more now that she’s his little girl. How do you like that, sweetheart? Come on, talk to me.” His fingers slow to a halt between your open thighs and he eases your legs back down on the bed.

You feel at an immediate loss without his touch, like everything is suddenly too much.

Rule number two, make sure your needs are met. “Can you hold me while we talk? Need to feel you, please.”

Boba’s eyes widen, concern flickering over his features as he scans for any additional discomfort. “Of course, babygirl. Wanna get undressed, too?” he asks, his hands rubbing your thighs to give you a point of contact as you consider his question.

Your unease stops rising enough for you to crack a smile. “We’re really not going to that play, are we?”

Chuckling, he smiles down at you. “No, princess, we are absolutely not.” 

That established, Boba helps undo all the work of getting you into your evening attire—spending extra time kissing down your legs to remove your heels, his fingers playing with the anklet that led to the evening’s fun—and gets out of his. Tucking you into his side, skin to glorious skin, he pulls the covers over the both of you and begins rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “That better now?”

“Mmm hmm, so much better,” you confirm, burying your face into his warm chest. The rising tension in your own abates and your heartbeat slows back to normal.

“You want to keep going, princess? We can call it a night if you want to.”

You start kissing up his neck in answer, yours hand roaming up the inside of his thigh. “Yes, Daddy, I want to keep going. I wanna keep going until you’re coming dry,” you tease, biting down on his shoulder.

He gives your ass a swat. “Behave.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, resting your head back down on him and reigning in your wandering hands.

Boba strokes his thumb over your hip bone and you can tell he’s trying to find the words to say whatever he’s thinking about. After a couple moments, he asks in a low voice, “So you… really want that from me?”

You trace over the tattoos swirling over his pectoral with your fingertip. “Want what?”

“Your anklet… do you really want to be my girl?”

“I am your girl.” You smile to yourself at his sudden sheepishness; you know what he’s trying to ask but you want to hear him say it in that luscious voice of his. Is it selfish? Maybe, but you think you’re entitled to a little fun at his expense every now and again, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you into oblivion.

Boba grumbles at your insistence on being difficult, exhaling a long breath. “I mean, you want me to be… Daddy?”

As cute as it is to see your big bad dominant boyfriend have any doubt about your wish when you’re literally wearing jewelry that says so, the coals of your desire are starting to glow hot and ready in your belly. And he makes it sound even better than it already is with that voice. “Yes, Boba. I want you to be my Daddy,” you smile up at him with a peck to his jaw. The professor is a deeply caring man under the thick armor of his exterior. He craves an outlet for the tenderness the universe never allowed him just as you long for the safety the world so rarely afforded you.   

“Oh babygirl,” he groans, pulling you into lap so you’re straddling him. He cups the back of your head, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. “I’m… you’re… what made you want this?” he gasps into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours.

His growing desperation and the hard length of his cock twitching against your thigh has your hips rocking over his. “Well… when I first saw the anklet… I thought it would be a funny way… to rile you up. So I bought it… with your money of course.”

He chuckles, peppering kisses down your jaw to your neck. “I would hope so, princess.”

You pull him farther into you with a hand on the back of his head. “But the more I thought about it… the more I liked the idea-fuck, just like that.” Boba has taken your pebbled nipples between his fingers and is rolling them just perfectly. “I read some stuff about those kinds of relationships online and it just seemed right. You take such good care of me and I trust you with every bone in my body. And you’re just so… you. Knew it was what I wanted ahh-” He had pinched your nipples, making you keel into him with your back arched. 

He grabs two handfuls of your hips and presses you flush against him, his lips seeking yours once more. When you’re sufficiently breathless, Boba pulls back with a soft smile. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “That kind of trust you have in me, it… it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug him close, breathing in his scent feeling the beat of his heart against your own. Who knew love could be like this? Powerful and sweet; intense, yet soft. Unplanned but perfectly balanced.  

“Now what do you want for your reward, pretty girl?”

It had seemed like a wonderful idea to ask Boba to tie you up and use the new vibrator you’d bought before he fucked you into next week, but now that you’re strung out and openly sobbing after your third orgasm of the night, you’re not sure so sure. Every nerve in your body is raw and burning, and you’re consumed by even the slightest physical sensation, down to Boba’s breath on your damp skin.

“Aww, look at you taking it so well, sweetheart,” he coos proudly, slowly dragging the toy up and down your folds, “You look so good like this, you know that, my pretty girl? I wish I could see you like this all the time. You’re so beautiful.”

All his sugary words only add to the thick haze of overstimulation shrouding your mind; you can’t do anything but whimper and moan as you convulse at the incessant vibrations buzzing on your clit. Even though he’s lowered the power several notches, you’re so kriffing sensitive that you’re crying from the overwhelming sensation of your unabating pleasure. 

“Little princesses should be taken care of, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he promises, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and sensitive so you can feel every single inch of Daddy’s cock when he’s fucking you.”

His words cause the frayed string of your remaining sanity to snap. You wail at the thought of having him inside and out, rocking through your sopping cunt. “Oh, fuck, oh ffffuuuuck! I’m gonna-I’m-” you choke, desperately trying to get the words to form on your tongue that feels too big for your mouth, “P-please can I come? Wanna-wanna be good but it’s too f-fucking much, please!”

“That’s my good girl, go ahead, go ahead and come for Daddy,” he permits, “I wanna hear you scream.” He pushes the vibrator more firmly against you so no matter how much you shake and squirm you can’t escape its boundless energy.

Too much, too much, feels so good, too much, FUCK! You explode with ragged pleasure, your nerves raked to shreds, the overbearing sensation ripping through your wound-up insides like some sort of demon of desire. 

When Boba removes the toy from your clit it almost makes you scream again, the sudden loss of contact shocking your senses like you’d been dunked in ice-cold water. “Shh shh shh,” he soothes, the tender pride in his voice caressing over your harsh angles, “I’ve got you, that’s a good girl, there you go.” He continues to coo over you, rubbing your overwrought muscles loose from their tensed state. He doesn’t untie you though.

“You did so good for me, little one, I’m so proud of you,” he praises, ”coming four times for me. That’s a new record, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Parting your lower lips, he brushes his fingers through the unbelievable amount of wetness there. You shudder and whimper as you press your thighs together in an attempt to stop the agonizing friction of his fingers against your aching clit. Boba tsks, slapping his free hand down on the meat of your thigh, making you squeal and jump at the stinging strike. “Ah ah ah, you don’t decide when you’re done, princess, you don’t get that choice. Only I decide when you’ve had enough.”

“B-but it’s s-so m-much,” you sniffle, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you pull against the restraints that have your hands fastened to the headboard—the only thing tethering you to this universe.

He rubs his large, warm hands up and down your ribcage in slow strokes. “Aww, I know, pretty baby, but you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?” Dipping down, Boba plants soft kisses up the valley of your breasts and neck and over your chin, finally landing on your quivering lips. You bob your head, a broken hum from your throat confirming your sentiment. “That’s my girl, my sweet little angel. Now open up those legs nice and wide for me, let me see that pretty pussy.”

With another sniffle, you crack your legs apart against your body’s instincts, feeling so exposed yet totally safe with him. You know down to the depths of your soul that he would only ever care for you. That in his bed, you’re perfect, adored, and safe, you’re the center of his universe. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you asked and no amount of pleasure he wouldn’t bring you.

Humming in enjoyment of what his work wrought, Boba shifts down the bed to layer wet kisses over the expanse of your slicked thighs and puffy folds. He stops to lick and suck your arousal up with his tongue while he mumbles about how delicious you taste just for him. The fog of your orgasms clears just enough for desire to start to spark again between your thighs at his wet tongue and salacious praise.

You want him inside you, no, need him inside you, painting your insides with his mark and sweating curses into your skin. You crave the way he’s stripped bare by your body and the pleasure it brings him, those precious few moments where he can shed the weight of his pain and be lost in you. “Daddy, please, want you inside me, want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching up with an offer of your body, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Boba groans at your request, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into your thigh. “You’re so good to me, cyare, so, so good to me…” He rests his forehead on your soft belly for a moment, looping his arms around you and holding you close for a handful of heartbeats. He then slides up your body to release you from your bindings. “Let Daddy hear you beg for his cock one more time, pretty baby. Let me hear it one more time and give you just what you want, just what you need.”

You do as you’re told, pleading and simpering while you watch how Boba begins to crack under his desire, his arousal glowing through his fissures like magma beneath a volcano. Maker, how you want to feel the tectonic power of him, the unforgiving slate of his hips and the obsidian points of his lust-blown eyes, to drown in his primordial pleasure. Digging your nails into his back you tell him so, panting your desires into his ear until he finally erupts. 

Snarling, he tosses your legs over his shoulders and buries himself into you in one smooth, frictionless motion. He sets a harried pace that has your anklet swinging right next to his face with every thrust of his powerful hips. And true to his word, you can feel every single goddamn inch of him pounding into you; you swear you can see the brink of ecstasy’s insanity on the horizon, brought closer by every ridge and vein of his thick cock sliding in and out of you.

Boba’s fucking you straight through the mattress, pinning you underneath his massive bulk and forcing the air from your lungs with every stroke—it’s almost violent and you fucking love it. Seeing him lose control, burn through his restraint, has you clenching around his length as it pumps inside of you.

 “Fuck, princess, baby, I’m not going to last long,” he growls, pressing his lips into you calf, “You’re so karking hot and wet and tight. I’ll never get tired of-shit-of fucking this perfect cunt.” His fierce pace of his snapping hips begins to falter and you know he’s close, your swollen walls sucking him into your velvet heat over and over as your own mind begins to dissolve. 

You feel too hot for your own skin in the best possible way. Boba’s a wreck and it’s making you insane. “D-don’t,” you plead, ragged and fucked out, “j-just come in me, please.” The wet sound of skin slapping and his dick shucking into your soaked pussy is all you can hear.

“N-no, want you to… fuck, I want you to come too, you’re so perfect… so fucking good to me, I want you t-to come with me-”

“Daddy, please,” you whimper, what’s left of your mind knowing it would shatter the remainder of his restraint, “Oh, please, Daddy! Daddy please come inside me, I want you so bad. Want to ache and feel you dripping out me all fucking night!”

Boba makes a primal sound that has to be both a curse and prayer, his face contorting in the shape of pure pleasure as his muscles ripple and lock, his hot release pumping into your insides with a sweet heat. He bites into your ankle, just below where your jewelry hangs and his fingers carve bruises into your soft flesh. 

You’re marked with him in every conceivable way—the thought of truly being his inside and out has another orgasm slamming into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cry out in unexpected ecstasy. You can feel his spend spilling out around his cock as he continues fucking into you. It ratchets you even higher, making your pleasure feel like an epoch of its own, unending and rapturous as it burns you alive. “F-fuck, Boba, I can’t stop-I can’t stop coming!”

“D-don’t you dare stop, don’t you fucking dare… ner mesh’la cyare you feel so karking good I’m going to lose my fucking mind…” Boba’s rough rasp is utterly wrecked and only prolongs your pleasure; so long you’re afraid you won’t be able to make your mind fit back in your body it’s so full of him.

His hips don’t stop rutting into you as his head drops to your shoulder, moving on their own accord. You shiver and moan into one another as the pulsing waves of overstimulation wash though you. “C-can’t s-stop, babygirl, can’t stop. You feel s-so good,” he pants in a thin, strained voice, his hands running over every piece of you that they can.

In your blissed out existence, your only marker for the passage of time is the feeling of his length beginning to swell and harden inside you, the erotic sensation making your fluttering hole clench tight around him. He groans and starts rubbing your clit with shaking fingers and you contort with the overwhelming pleasure, pulling his hardened cock even deeper into your ruined cunt. Boba begins to push deeper and faster inside you, the very idea of him fucking you again making you throb around him. You know you’re too far gone to come again, but you want nothing more in the whole galaxy than to feel him fill you up when he’s already dripping out of your pussy.

Weakly moving your hips to match his thrusts, you mewl into his ear, intent on giving him all the pretty sounds you can to push him over the edge. You could break him like this, but all you want to do is heal him in whatever way you can, to give him everything he has given you. So when you get your next idea, you don't think twice about it: slinging your arm around his neck, you beg him to fuck you like he’s gonna be a real daddy, beg him to fuck his load so deep that it takes. 

A groan rips out of his chest like his spirit is tearing free and he snaps his hips so far into you he might have ended up in your guts if he hadn’t knocked into your cervix first. The sharp pain doesn’t even matter, intense and harsh as it is, because Boba is fucking coming. Inside. You. Again. The wet sound of him pounding a second load of his seed into you to the point of overstimulation for both of you is sin itself, nearly drowning out the sound of his ragged curses, your broken moans, and both your haggard breathing.  

When he finally collapses on top of you heaving and sweat-slicked, you’re smiling, your face soaked with the tears running down your cheeks and temples from the intensity of the night’s pleasure. Eventually, he pulls you on top of him, careful to slot your legs between his own instead of straddling his hips so you’re comfortable. He kisses the tears from your lashes and whispers how kriffing naughty and dirty you are for begging him to knock you up; you just giggle and praise the Maker for birth control.

After a quick shower that’s more or less the two of you wrapped in one another under the hot water, you’re curled into him under crisp sheets with him just as the sun finishes setting, painting the walls in carmine light. You’re both out before the moon even rises.

The next day you’re sore, incredibly sore, as in every-damn-step-you-take sore. You don’t mind, not really, not when the previous night’s pleasure and its reminder make you dizzy to think about. You do, however, milk it for all it’s worth, insisting that your handsome professor baby and coddle you to the point of ridiculousness. Your plans for a day out quickly turn into a day in, snuggled under blankets with him and take-out food. 

Boba himself is utterly infatuated by you and the entire situation, the pride of fucking you so deep and good that you nest the next day—in addition to setting his own personal record in recovery time—mixed with the almost bashful remorse of causing you a lasting discomfort. You don’t think there’s been a second where he wasn’t massaging or rubbing out some muscle in your body the entire day. Maybe heaven really is a place on earth.

No one calls at 1:27 in the morning unless there’s a problem. Ragged anxiety scratches down your nerves, pricking your skin and pumping awful heat into your blood. Boba’s name stares up at you from your phone screen as it continues to ring, its light too harsh for your sleep-adjusted eyes. Forcing a path through your thorny dread, you yank your phone off its charger and drag your finger across the screen to answer the call. “B-boba? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as distressed as it does. But no one calls at 1:27 unless there’s a problem.

The familiar deep voice of your professor on the other end attempts to assure you. “Easy, princess. Everything’s alright.” There’s a long pause that keeps your heart from settling back down from your throat to its place in your chest. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

  The uncharacteristic hesitancy and tightness in his tone makes your stomach churn; things are definitely not alright. Spiked adrenaline starts to flood your system, making sweat bead across your skin as you stumble out of the bed towards your closet to find real clothes. I have to be ready to help him, go to him. “Boba, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” you coax, yanking a hoodie on while you consciously attempt to keep him from clamming up, even as your own anxiety claws up your ribs.

There’s a couple breath’s worth of leaden silence that is far too heavy for the few seconds it lasts. “I-I shouldn’t have bothered you so late, princess, I’m sorry…” He sounds ragged, like he’s still trying to catch his breath after losing it.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You’re doing your best to keep your voice calm despite the fact every alarm bell in your head is screaming at full volume. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Boba, tell me, baby.” You’ve never called him that before—baby—but it feels right, feels soft and comforting in this moment. You might not know what’s wrong, but you do know he needs comfort.

A heavy sigh crackles through your phone speaker; you can almost imagine how Boba’s brows are furrowed together, his handsome face creased in a stormy expression as he searches his depths for the right words to say. You know you have to be patient, give him the time he needs, but you’re so anxious you’re pacing the distance between your bed and closet, chewing your lip.

When he finally speaks again it’s like it’s been ages since you last heard his voice, its sound like a balm on your mind. “The dreams are back, and I don’t always sleep well… you always make it better, I just needed to hear your voice, know that you’re safe.” The torment in his beautiful voice is like a vice around your heart; it makes you ache all the way down to the dust in your bones at the prospect of him suffering so greatly. You know he has his demons, the ghosts of his past that you sometimes catch flashes of like haints in the mirror of his eyes. He hadn’t yet acknowledged them and you haven’t pressed, aware that he needs a wide berth around his inner self. 

But now? He’s reaching out a hand and you’re going to do everything in power to pull him from the rapids roiling inside him. “I’m safe, baby, I’m okay,” you soothe, chucking your phone between your face and shoulder so you can pull on a pair of leggings, “Tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine now, cyar’ika, really. I’m sorry for waking you up, just get some rest for me, babygirl.” Boba’s voice is beginning to steel over and you can tell he’s closing in around himself.

I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. You have to take a firmer approach.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you declare sternly, planting a hand on your hip even though he can’t see you, “No one calls at 1:30 in the morning if everything’s ‘fine.’ I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You’re wide awake and your body is itching for action: you can’t rest knowing the man you love is in so much pain he actually allowed it to be seen.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, “I don’t want you on the roads at this hour.”

You already have your purse in hand. “Then you better start talking, or I’ll be knocking on your door.” You shake your keys loudly so he can hear—sometimes you have to threaten the man for his own good. 

He groans and falls silent and you can tell he’s reached his limit for words—you have to tread very carefully to keep him from shutting down completely. He needs action, touch, something physical to soothe his soul, immaterial words did very little for him. “Hey,” you try gently, your voice softening, “Why don’t you come over here. You always sleep better with me, yeah? And that way you can make sure I stay put.” 

After a moment of consideration, Boba grunts out an affirmative. “I do sleep better with you…”

“Then get over here,” you urge, “the light’s on.”

“I’ve already disturbed you enough, little one, it’s-”

“Boba Fett, since when have I ever passed up the chance to have you in my bed?” you interrupt. The nerve of this man, I swear. 

Your exasperated question garners you a weary chuckle from the professor. “I’ll give you that, princess.” He sighs and you can hear that he runs a hand over his face. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

Your heart clenches at the genuine concern in his voice. If only he would care for his own wellbeing as much as he does for mine. “It will be the exact opposite of trouble,” you promise, “I sleep better with you, too.” It’s the truth, his solid warmth next to permitted you a sleep you didn’t even know people could get.

Boba finally acquiesces at your assurances and says he’ll be over as soon as he packs some clothes. Satisfied, you flick on a lamp and wrap yourself in a blanket on your couch to wait for him. Now that relief is starting to cool off your shock, your eyelids begin to droop at the late hour. You’re determined to stay awake until he arrives, however; you open one of the games on your phone and half-play it until a message notification pings with Boba letting you know he’s pulled up. A minute later, there’s a knock on your door and you pick up your blanketed self to let him in.

You’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fits snug across his broad chest. As good as he looks though, it’s all overshadowed by the slump in his proud shoulders, the darkness shadowed under his deep eyes, and the weariness creased in his face. He manages a tired smile when he sees you. “Hey, princess.”

Relief rolls through you when you see him whole and breathing on your doorstep. Wrapping your arms around his thick frame, you just hold him close for a moment. He sags just the slightest bit under your touch, leaning into you and inhaling in your scent. You would carry the weight of a mountain for him if it meant he could find some solace in your arms. “Let’s get you to bed, professor,” you whisper with a chaste kiss on his lips.

Whether it’s the dark hour of night or the promise of your body beside him, Boba is pliant, allowing you to pull him over the threshold and down the hall into your bedroom. You take his shirt for the next day and hang it up and stow his bag away for the morning. He’s practically carved from stone the way he stiffly stands, his only movement coming from his fists clenching and uncurling at his sides as he watches you with a fraught, lost expression.  

Catching the tumult in his eyes, you reach out and snag his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside you. You can see the tension held in his shoulders and corded in his neck, the amount of vulnerability he’s allowing beginning to take its toll. You don’t overwhelm him with words, you just quietly pull the blankets over his body and him into your chest. For being built like a brick wall, Boba is surprisingly pliable underneath your hands as you guide his head under your chin. His arms wrap around you after a moment, tightly pressing him to you as if you are the only thing keeping his head above the water. 

You find yourself humming some nonsense tune you remember from your childhood as you stroke over the back of his head and neck with gentle fingers. One by one, you feel his muscles start to relax where he’s pressed against the line of your body; his breathing slows and evens and his strong heartbeat thumps easier against your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like this, in the warm and peaceful dark, and it doesn’t matter. This is a turning point, a moment of revelation in your relationship with the Mandalorian professor, that happens in silence. Words are unnecessary when the understanding itself is so palpable. 

You are not alone Boba Fett, you care for me and I care for you. Your strength is commendable, impossible even, but that is not what binds me to you. No, it is your heart, that thing you claim is just a scarred-over place between your ribs. I will hold it close to mine, protect it in my own chest as you clear the past out of the spot where yours belongs. There is no rush, no time too long for me, my love. You are mine and I am yours.

You aren’t sure if Boba is even still awake until you feel his lips move against your collarbone in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

It’s a whisper of a thing, wrapped in the safety of the night between the warmth of your bodies—he hadn’t said those words since that first night you were together. You never needed him to, although it’s music to your ears, when his actions spoke far louder than his words.

“I know,” you sigh, brushing your lips over his scarred skin, “I love you, too. All of you.” 

His admission and your affirmation seem to unhook the last of the pain from his chest and he settles into your body, content to melt back into your shared slumber. Looking at him before you shut your eyes, you wonder if the sun ever gets to appreciate its own light and warmth, or if it’s doomed to the cold vacuum of space without ever knowing the life it gives.

It might have been all a dream were it not for the gentle hand caressing your cheek the next morning, waking you to the world of the living. Haloed by the sun beginning to peek through your windows is the man you held in arms through his storm, radiant and beautiful as ever as he rumbles out your name. “Time to wake up, cyar’ika.”

He truly is a sight he is to behold as the morning sun lights up his brown eyes like warm honey and skates across his bronze skin… Maker, you wouldn’t mind waking up like this everyday. “‘Morning,” you mumble back, smiling sleepily up at him as you rub the haze from your eyes. The aroma of fresh bread and savory cheese wafts golden and delightful under your nose. “What smells so good?”

“Breakfast, of course.” Boba flashes you a smile that might as well be liquid sunlight with the way it beams and he reaches down to retrieve a box loaded with pastries from the Cuban bakery down the street. Squealing with happy surprise, you nearly crush the box between your bodies and you lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck. “Careful, princess,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Got some coffee, too.”

You accept the travel up he presses into your hand and the strong smell of the island roast floods your senses. Savoring the first sip, you make a sound of delight at the rich flavor. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” you tease.

He smirks at you. “You informed me quite early on exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “it’s just how I like my men.” When Boba cocks a brow, you grin with the joke on your lips. “Strong, sweet, and full of cream.”

Boba groans at your words, shaking his head with chagrin written across his face. “What am I going to do with you, my little princess?”

Checking the time on your phone, you pat the spot next to you. “Well, you can come back to bed and eat these with me. We have time.”

He obliges you, slipping back under the covers and letting you snuggle up against him as the pair of you tuck into the delicious pastries. After you both have had your fill of the savory danishes, Boba moves to get out of the bed to start getting ready for the work day ahead.

“Wait,” you call out to him. He stops, turning back to face you and tilting his head as he waits for you to speak. “I need you to promise me something.” 

You know he needs things said plainly. You can’t assume he understands you’ll care for him just as he cares for you, that he’ll acknowledge his feelings and let you be the support he needs when everything comes crashing down.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Name it, princess.”

You take his face gently between your palms, pulling him back close. Brushing your thumbs over his lips, you search his deep brown eyes. “I know last night was not a one-time occurance. You don’t have to tell me everything or even anything, really, but I do need you to reach out when you’re hurting. You don’t have to face your pain alone. Not anymore.”

His expression clouds over, his walls threatening to go up. “Sweetheart, it’s fi-”

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I won’t let you near my pussy until after the school year ends.” Boba groans and clicks his jaw shut. “Imagine if I didn’t let you take care of me when I’m hurting or if I didn’t let you help me when I needed it.” Seeing his displeasure with the thought, you continue, “That’s what it’s like for me when you bottle everything up and pretend it’s all ‘fine.’ I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you need help. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to explain yourself, just tell me what you need in the moment.”

For the first time in your life since you’ve known him, Boba Fett looks afraid. As painful and wrong as it feels, you’re immeasurably grateful that he’s allowing you in to help. “What if… I don’t know what that is,” he finally croaks, unable to meet your eyes.

It breaks your heart to see him like this, so lost in his own mind that he can’t see a way out. “Then just tell me that, my love, and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, Boba. Not now and not every again,” you murmur, brushing a kiss on his lips. You give your words time to sink down through the depths of him, past all his doubts and uncertainty to settle into his heart. “Can you promise me that?”

The rise and fall of his chest is his only movement as he mulls over your words—shifting one’s universe takes time. Eventually, Boba lays his hand over yours and turns his face to the side to press a kiss into your palm. “For you, ner kar’ta, I will try.”

“And that’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” you promise.

The morning eventually carries on, both of you going about your routines in pleasant harmony. Boba takes great joy in picking just what bra and panties you’ll wear for the day when you ask him to, and even greater joy in putting them on you. You yourself quite enjoy buttoning up his crisp blue shirt across his wide chest, especially when he lifts you on your dresser as he kisses the breath from your lungs. You don’t know if it’s the new layer of your relationship or the air of domesticity surrounding the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more in love with Boba than you are right now.

“We’re gonna be late, professor,” you gasp as he kisses down the column of your neck.

“Mmm, they won’t miss us…” he rumbles, grabbing the meat of your ass and pulling you to the edge of the dresser so you can wrap your legs around his torso, “My first class isn’t until ten o’clock.”

Biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to focus your restraint, you shoot back, “Yes, but my first meeting is at 9:30 and I need to answer emails first.”

Grumbling, Boba shakes his head. “Tsk tsk tsk, when did you get so responsible?”

“When you started calling me your good girl,” you answer with a cheeky grin, “Gotta live up to my name.”

“Oh now she wants to be good,” he chuffs, leaning back to look at you with a smile turning up his mouth.

You nip at his plush bottom lip, wiggling in his embrace. “I’m your babygirl, your sweet little angel, remember?”

He snorts. “When you want to be.” Running a hand down your leg, he pulls your knee over his hip so he can feel that your anklet is on. “Still Daddy’s girl?”

Linking your arms around his neck you pull him flush with your chest, you ghost your lips over his. He is yours and you are his, forever.

“Always.”

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

gedet’ye - please

(ner) kar'ta - (my) heart

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part IV — Interlude>