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eclipsecrowned · 1 year

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What is Hel’s relationship like with her siblings? What does she miss most about them? What does she dislike? // reposted answer from old blog

For the most part I would say Hel’s relationship among her brothers is... good? Good. There’s no interpersonal problems, even if she does struggle with the circumstances surrounding her relationships with them. Hel is her own worst enemy, and the impediment between herself and bonding with others, after all.

Also for the sake of this ask I’m just covering the myth-canonical, usually panfandom brothers rather than any oc or setting-specific siblings. I adore all the fankids, ocs, and fandom-specific children of Loki, but I am also terrified of forgetting anyone and making people feel bad so I’m just covering the main squad of Sleipnir, Fenrir, Jormungandr, Vali, and Nar(v/f)i. Just assume Hel loves any siblings outside of these five even if she’s an awkward sort of reserved sibling at times.

(This is so long. This is so very long. Abandon hope all ye who click read more.)

In my lore, Hel is the youngest of Loki’s children with Angrboda, the baby of the bunch and only daughter. First was Fenrir, and then Jormungandr, and Hel grew up as their little tagalong and pestilence depending on the situation.

Her relationship with Fenrir was always especially layered, fraught with sibling rivalry spiraling out of proud eldest son vs spoiled only daughter discord. They butted heads often once their personalities really took shape. They easily forgot how baby Hel had been rather attached to her oldest brother, and Fenrir in turn patient with ‘the baby,’ despite how she pulled his fur a little when toddling alongside him. Hel would spite Fenrir, or he would tease her, and within minutes their parents often had to pull the two apart before it turned into a brawl. The pair warmed to one another slightly upon moving to Asgard in their youth, united as outsiders against the majority, but still had a certain antagonism towards one another. Over time, the pair showed signs of getting over it and instead using their barbs more softly, evolving into a form of affection than actual meanness.

This development was blighted, however, upon their casting out and separation. Hel never knew what became of Fenrir until adulthood, and found him bound and mad. She’s not sought him out since, unable to face what he became. She’s long since learned to miss that however much her brother teased her, he was always looking out for her, always protecting her from others. She doesn’t, however, miss the antagonism they unleashed upon one another just for something to do, even if she laments never knowing how they might have gotten over it.

Jormungandr is the full sibling that Hel was closest to in her childhood, as both were more mild-mannered compared to the boisterous wolf cub. Their relationship is encapsulated by the image of a young Hel sitting with a borrowed book, ‘Jori’ twining around her and following along as she sounded out the words for him. He was a constant companion, confidant, and best friend in her youth. The two especially came to rely upon one another in Asgard, where the two would find quiet places for cuddling and comfort. The thoughtful Jori often proved a voice of reason for his more rambunctious kid sister, and Hel in turn proved capable of calming the serpent during bouts of anxiety. The two were as close as siblings could be, and many of Hel’s happiest memories involve her older brother.

It’s facts like that which make Jormungandr’s loss cut Hel so deeply. Jormungandr was the first cast out, and Hel had to watch his final descent, unable to move or even react in the moment. Despite repeat attempts to call out to him, standing along coastlines and seeking some clue as to where she might find him in the depths, he appears either incapable or unwilling to have a reunion throughout most of history. She misses the easy affinity she had with him, how they simply clicked, and knows if they had maintained contact then their burdens might have been easier to bear. She’s reluctant to admit it, but she’s somewhat grateful she doesn’t have to be a personal heater half the year these days.

Now we get into the matter of her half-siblings: Sleipnir, an older brother, and Vali and Narvi, her younger brothers. Hel has regular contact with all of them, some more closely than others, but she still clings to them and would protect them from anything -- a task she already ‘failed at’ in her own mind in two cases.

Sleipnir was a later development of Hel’s youth. She always knew Loki had another child somewhere, but never had a chance to meet him until the move. As a horse girl and a baby sister, she was positively thrilled to meet her brother the horse. She would fritter away hours in the stables, chatting to the steed and tending to his hair, sneaking him snacks that he enjoyed while he offered affectionate nuzzles and a sympathetic ear. He was the first sibling she reunited with after her exile, and on her first return visit to Asgard found herself sobbing and clinging to his neck, ashamed at her own weakness but desperately needing to hold on to the one family she had left. While both are chained to Odin, they are both alive and able to traverse realms, which puts them in a better situation than their brothers. Hel often sneaks away from events in her uncle’s hall to spend time with Sleipnir, who does not mind the company and makes a perfect excuse to dip out of such events. He loves enabling these moments where his sister is more a person than a queen, to be honest.

Their relationship is great, and unburdened by Hel’s crushing sense of guilt about the rest of her family. They simply hang out from time to time and have maintained a healthy, mutual love and respect for one another. Hel admires Sleipnir’s resilience and mischievous streak, which has been apparent since the day she met him. She just wishes he wouldn’t still treat her like a delicate child now that she’s a grown woman, but he’s still just as tender and gentle as he was at the start.

Vali and Narvi probably have the most complicated dynamic with Hel, and that’s coming from her end rather than theirs. It’s very hard to talk about the two as anything but a single entity given Hel’s role in their lives and eventual afterlives. Hel had precious little opportunity (in my personal, non-partner driven lore) to meet the two growing up, and only knew of their existence through Odin’s manipulations. Her uncle presented it as Loki having moved on and had non-monstrous children with his second wife, a fact that Hel rejoiced in. If Sigyn’s sons were not monsters, she thought they could not be hurt as Angrboda’s children had been.

She was wrong, of course, as the Aesir’s revenge against Loki proved. One brother died that day, and the agent of such tragedy followed soon after. Both boys passed into Hel’s hall, dying vaingloriously or as a kinslayer respectively, and she mourned them. More than that, she has always considered it her fault the boys died, reasoning if she had put aside her own need for revenge and spared Baldr that Odin might have spared Loki’s sons in turn. Still, she took the pair in, made them princes of her realm, raised and loved them as she thought Sigyn might. Her relationship with them is somewhat detached given her own guilt, but they want for nothing and the boys know if they need her, Hel will always there for them. Even if she can’t understand it herself, they love her deeply, and she’s named them her heirs in the event anything should prevent her from ruling her realm. They are her brothers, true, but she’s brought them up as her own, seen them grow into fine men who are far better adjusted to their tragedy than Hel is with her own. In turn, they bring some brightness to her life, trying to win smiles from their dour, reserved sister.

#heltbt

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marvel-trash-bin · 3 years

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Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

#helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #sugar daddy zemo #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #smut

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worldismyne · 2 years

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Omg you have warrior u oc’s ?! Please tell me about them!

I've been in the fandom for a hot minute and a half, so I got a few and they break into two generations lmao.

1st Generation (2013-2014) Made for funsies.

2nd Generation (Present) Made for the future issue we're working on.

It's kinda hard to talk about the 2nd Gen ones without spoiling too much, so I'll just stick to stuff that's irrelevant or not covered in the draft??? They'll be at the bottom, so feel free to dip out of the post if you don't want spoilers.

With that said....

*Inhales*

Gen 1 OCs

Ophilia - Y'know how almost everyone had some fem unicorn/pegasus to ship with Hevvin lmao; uhh this one was mine. She's less of a character and more like a concept. I liked the idea of a counterpart to Hevvin's 'magical creature killing things on purpose' with a 'magical creature killing things on accident'. She's supposed to be a clydesdale like pegasus that was also poisonous to the touch. She was used to being hunted for her feathers, and was supposed to have long fur/hair. But like really hated humans because they wanted her magic to hurt each other; made no sense for her to have a human disguise, but eh. Also I was an inexpirienced artist, so I made her super skinny/tall like all my other drawings, but really she should have been BUFF. I never gave her a concrete personality and was too nervous to do anything other than use her as a dress-up doll for different outfits that would fit the aesthetic. In hindsight she doesn't really fit in the world (Aisha denounced pegasus existing, and Hevvin's human form is canonically from one of Leenan's lost spells soooooo) but I still like the idea of a character that was poisous to the touch. Ended up finding a VN series that scratched that itch, so I officially retired her. She did make a cameo in my fic Plain Gold Ring as one of the monsters Emet ran into on her adventures. This is what she'd look like if I made her now.

JD (Can't find his full name, my gut says Jasmine Diane???)- Made for my fic Plain Gold Ring as a travel campanion for Emet and Rhodri (because there's no one else in the comic their age lmao). I knew I wanted a 'neutral' party for them to talk to so they weren't always talking to each other. He's the youngest of seven brothers, I think he was 11??? (him and his brothers all were given girl names by their stubborn mom who thought naming the baby before birth would give her a girl). He's a very meek and gullible person and a grain farmer; the kind of kid Rhodri usually scams. A pushover toatie made sense for an added member to the squad, so I had Rhod drag him along and they made him do all the stuff they didn't want to do. He ended up being a fairly practical and chill person as the story progressed, whose biggest flaw was not speaking up. He used the adventure to step up in the world and act as a merchant (so he sells all the treasures and junk Emet finds overseas and doesn't like.) With the happily ever after being them forming an adventure/merchant guild. I seem to remember submitting him to the OG tumblr for review (I can't remember why) but he got artist approved! I snuck him into the background of pg 28 of Ambrosia since we needed people in the streets according to the thumbs [that by no means makes him canon, it's more an easter egg than anything else]. I still really like him and the idea of his fam from a worldbuilding standpoint, though I have 0 plans for him. I may go back and revise Plain Gold Ring, if so, he'd get developed further.

Gen 2 OCs (Spoiler Reduced)

Belladonna Ashenburrow (sp?) Age 13 and a half

Biological daughter of Freya Ashenburrow and her 1st husband (supposedly), but not the oldest of Finn's cousins. She enjoys studying ediquette/customs of other cultures, making tea pastries and torturing her step sisters's tutors until they quit. Permenantly housebound, Bella is determined to get married first and be a celebrated nobel lady to spite her family (not that she's made any progress thus far). She is first in line to inherit the family home as the only descendent that is blood related to the Ashenburrows AND holds a noble title AND willing to marry any noble her family picks out. No one in the family is happy about this. Her mother and father are deceased and her step father is always away at work as a woodsman. She refers to everyone in her family by cutsey nickname versions of their names with exception of her grandfather (Papa) and her step father (Mother's Second husband). Her aunt and grandmother try to pretend she's not in the house. (She is LOOSELY inspired by the tale of Cinderella, in that she has step-sisters and an akward family)

Rosaline Ashenburrow Age 15

Technically the eldest of Finn's cousins, she entered the family through her father's second marriage (and as such is not a blood-realitive). Despite that, she was very close with her cursed step-mother and was her unofficial favorite child. Her favorite story from her step-mother was how marrying her father made it feel like the curse was gone, that true love isn't the first love you find, but the one you build through hard work. She wears Freya's old dresses to feel close to her again, though they are extremely dated. Still, she struggles with adapting to the expectations of noble ladies and often falls short of her aunt's expectations. Rose enjoys gardening and has an interest in white witchcraft, but is too scared to pursue it in the home given past events. She discovered of Leenan's existance after her suitor accidently triggered an old hex Leenan had left behind. (He got turned into a bear mid proposal; he's kinda stuck as a bear until further notice). She's inspired by Rose Red from "Snow White and Rose Red".

Clarice Ashenburrow Age 5

Fairytale rules state there's always 2 step sisters; so I thought it'd be interesting to have one be older and one be younger. When she talks, it's in test bubbles with layered crayon/pencil dialogue to replicate how young kids have rapid/repeating speech. She's extremely hyperactive and has grown up in the Ashenburrow home realively unsuppervised (she has Rose, but Rose gets busy with lessons and other things). She's quite the terror, but when she's older she'll focus her energy into playing piano instead of tearing the house apart. She also has a habit of biting people when she's upset. She doesn't remember her mother at all or Freya and often tries to get Senna and her grandmother's attention by missbehaving (it rarely works). I wouldn't say she's a brat, more like an unchecked ball of chaos. She actually adores her older sisters (and her cousin once they meet); but no one has time to play with her 🙁 Inspired by Bell's younger sister in Beauty and the Beast. Fun fact, the disney animation removed her character from the final draft of the movie to make Bell seem more isolated/lonely in town.

I keep flipflopping on whether she should be Bella's step sister or half sister. Step sister would be more traditional and secure Bella's role as heir, buuut half sister would mean Rose could have been raised by Freya for longer and raise the stakes of competition in the house. Either way, she'd be treated the same in the issue she appears.

Senna Ashenburrow Age 37

Not technically an OC, but she doesn't really appear in the formspring or in WUPurgatory; so her personality was concocted by me and Coffee. She's Leenan's elder sister, and the fact Coffee calls her Finn's "wine aunt" makes me laugh because I associate her behavior with my boomer grandparents lmao. Definately a functional alcoholic though, but an ideal duchess (ediquette is on point, dresses immaculate, socialable with all the right people, etc.) She has a "close friend" *cough*wife*cough* whom she's been with since they were 22. She figured she could avoid the pressures of an arranged marriage by supporting one of her sisters; and in return get left alone. Freya seemed like the safer bet (unfortunately she had all girls!) and now is stuck training her nieces on how to care for the duchey. She's been pushing Rose to take control, because she thinks Rose would be inclined to let her do whatever she wants. Until then, she stuck waiting for her parents to pass, but they're stubborn and in good health.

She HATES kids and is mostly taking care of them out of a sense of duty. She's not wicked/abusive, just emotionally constipated and uncomfortable around young people.

#warrior u #myne talks

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sinnhelmingr · 4 years

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What is Hel’s relationship like with her siblings? What does she miss most about them? What does she dislike? // @eynsavalow

(This is so long. This is so very long. Abandon hope all ye who click read more.)

She was wrong, of course, as the Aesir’s revenge against Loki proved. One brother died that day, and the agent of such tragedy followed soon after. Both boys passsed into Hel’s hall, dying vaingloriously or as a kinslayer respectively, and she mourned them. More than that, she has always considered it her fault the boys died, reasoning if she had put aside her own need for revenge and spared Baldr that Odin might have spared Loki’s sons in turn. Still, she took the pair in, made them princes of her realm, raised and loved them as she thought Sigyn might. Her relationship with them is somewhat detached given her own guilt, but they want for nothing and the boys know if they need her, Hel will always there for them. Even if she can’t understand it herself, they love her deeply, and she’s named them her heirs in the event anything should prevent her from ruling her realm. They are her brothers, true, but she’s brought them up as her own, seen them grow into fine men who are far better adjusted to their tragedy than Hel is with her own. In turn, they bring some brightness to her life, trying to win smiles from their dour, reserved sister.

#ask #he opened his mouth on judgment day [FENRIR]#no hope in the water [JORMUNGANDR]#every little boy is so naive [VALI]#calling for you into the black [NARVI]#sleipnirtbt #they can't get into my head [HEADCANON]#we need never feel alone [QUEUE]#eynsavalow

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lilflowerpot · 5 years

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Please tell us more about Ezor and Zetherid's kid, I'm dying to know about them (Unless that's Spoiler Territory, in which case I'm happy to wait until it comes up in the fic!!)

It’s not really spoiler territory, more something that would happen maybe a decade or so //after// the LB narrative wraps up, so I think the closest I’d ever “officially” get to addressing it would be in some sort of epilogue? Maybe??

The only thing it would really spoil is (shocker!!) that LB ends with Keith and Lotor being happy and in love as they rule the empire together.. which I feel like all of you know purely for the fact that I am quite obviously too much of a sap to have it end any other way. Canon gave us the “Lotor dies” timeline and I Do Not Want That, so clearly LB was always meant as my self-indulgent keitor fix-it fic.

That in mind, let’s do this:

As it turns out, Zethrid’s non-Galra parent was biologically similar enough to the Galra that she’s not actually infertile (though she is the only Galra hybrid that they’re aware of who managed to jump that genetic pitfall) and so does in fact have viable sex cells. Ezor does not, BUT there is a method of artificial fertilisation which uses bone marrow to serve as a substitute for sperm, and therefore although she cannot produce eggs, she can in fact still be the biological mother of Zethrid’s child.

It’s still risky, more so than a Galra pregnancy typically is (which is a great deal) but Zethrid insists she’s strong enough for it, and the fact that it’s even a possibility in the first place is a miracle in and of itself, so they have to try.

It’s the most stressful five phoebs of the entire squad’s collective life.

And yes, that’s five phoebs - five, not the full six it should have been - because the baby not only comes ridiculously early, but when Zethrid is in the middle of a war council of all things, and she doesn’t even say anything, just sits there until its natural end basically ignoring her contractions, and as one of the higher ranking commanders stands to leave he notices that there’s fluid pooled beneath the table and tries to tactfully alert Zethrid to the fact that her waters seem to have broken, and Zethrid just looks him dead in the eye and goes “yes, a little over a varga ago, are we done here?”

Everyone of rank in the Empire’s military learns to respect the hell out of Zethrid, but she also scares them a little bit too.

Ezor’s on a diplomatic mission and Lotor has been in central command for the last couple of movements, which leaves Zethrid on planet Feyiv with Keith and Acxa who are both her very good friends but also goddamn useless at pretending they’re not completely out of their depth. Acxa’s coping mechanism includes glowering threateningly at absolutely everyone who comes within spitting distance as she not-so-subtly toys with the hilt of her blaster - including the doctors which is not at all helpful - while Keith is just a restless ball of energy that’s stressing her out simply by existing even as he tries very hard to stay in one place and not cause trouble.

The birth is… not easy.

The baby is small, which is a blessing because the amount of hemorrhaging despite that is at dangerous levels, but by the time the sun sets on the horizon, Zethrid’s condition is stable and she has in her arms the tiniest bundle of fur with the most ferocious set of lungs in the whole of the Empire.

Acxa is tentative and obviously unsure (she’s never really been around children and quite obviously don’t know what to do with them) but remarks that for such a small thing, Zethrid’s daughter - she has a daughter - has a warrior’s grip and will be holding a knife within the phoeb. Zethrid very firmly tells her that she will not, and never knew she could be this fiercely protective of anything.

Keith is better, more familiar with how to treat a kitling even though he insists that human children are quite different, because “she’s so squirmy why is she moving so much already- what do you mean galra kits learn to walk well within their first decaphoeb what the fuck we’re going to loose her!!”

Then Zethrid feels something - someone - at her shoulder and tenses for half a tick before that invisible presence registers as wonderfully familiar: “You won’t greet our daughter properly?” she asks, tilting her head back with a toothy grin in the approximate the direction of her bondmate’s face. “I can’t,” comes the whispered admission, tremulous and wet, “I don’t want to first time she sees me to be all-” there’s a watery sniff, a shaky little laugh, and Zethrid belatedly realises that Ezor is crying.

“Maar tron Liirah,” she murmurs, quietly appreciative of how Keith and Acxa shuffle over the the end of the bed to offer a faux sense of privacy, “you awful ridiculous thing, she hasn’t even opened her eyes yet.” And then Ezor blinks into existence with tears streaking her face and the both of them are laughing as Zethrid bundles both her bondmate and baby up into an embrace to end all others. Keith and Acxa become part of it too, Ezor insists, and surrounded by the security her ridiculously mismatched family offers, Zethrid passes out almost immediately.

In her defence, giving birth is hard.

They take turns watching their newest addition, but it’s only after the sun’s risen with Ezor having succumbed to sleep in Zethrid’s arms, Acxa curled like a cat at their feet, and Keith lying across the foot of the bed with the baby on his chest as she blindly tugs on his hair with all the strength her little fists can muster, flapping her great ears about to the sounds of his muffled laughter, that Lotor finally arrives.

He stumbles through the doorway to a quiet chorus of “my emperor,” and “vrepit sa” behind him, but all the doctors are ignored in favour of Keith’s smile as he lies there helplessly, with the kitling on his chest now chewing his braid to death with her gummy little mouth.

“Narti,” Keith whispers, after Lotor has kissed him gently breathless in lieu of a greeting, careful not to crush the tiny bundle between them, “they’ve called her Narti.”

#''I'll just do a short bullet point list'' I tell myself as I type this out ''there's no way it'll turn into //another// accidental ficlet''#I am a dirty liar and we all know it #ANYWAY if you disagree that Ezor and Zethrid would call their daughter Narti then you're wrong sorry I don't make the rules #((well actually I do for this fic but shush that's not the point))#and: fun fact! children born via bone marrow can only be biologically female bc there's no Y chromosome #this tech has yet to be perfected on Earth but I figure the Galra have had plenty of time to figure it out #Ao3 Little Blade #sa screams back #galra girl gang #keitor #keith kogane #prince lotor #ficlet

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histoireettralala · 4 years

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Part 6 of my and @joachimnapoleon‘s ongoing Murat/Ney/Lannes AU. (Here are links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 & Part 5)

******

Lannes is getting mad.

Not only has Ney STOLEN their phones and IGNORED Lannes' absolutely warranted concern regarding his deteriorating mental state, Ney is also hell bent on destruction- his own, which, fair enough, but also Murat's and Lannes' by association.

Ney swings for the next two hours between endless replications of his ride to Hell, with Murat and Lannes as unwilling, defenceless hostages. When he gets out of his second Death Drop it's to stomp towards the Pendulum of Doom again, and his third ride on the Devil's Vengeance is no better than the first. He's green. He's snarling. His fists are clenched, his lips white, his body locked into fight mode. His mood is awful.

Lannes looks at Murat and finds him looking all dejected, unable to muster any of his usual enthusiasm.

Ney has effectively ruined it.

Enough is enough, Lannes decides, and as soon as they step off the Pendulum of Doom (for what, the third, fourth time ?) he steps in front of Ney and states with the utmost authority:

"Enough now. Murat and I are going to eat, and you're coming with us. We're done with the rides now."

Murat nods, and there's something pitiful about it that tugs at Lannes' heart.

One greasy sandwich later his friend's usual silly grin and confident bounciness have reappeared. Murat flounces off to some ring toss game, to bring something back for the kids.

Ney is staring into space.

Years ago, Augereau, in a show of good will, had taught Lannes how to pickpocket- because, he'd said with a wink, you never know what kind of skills you may need someday. Lannes hadn't protested. Seems like he's about to put this lesson to use.

Manoeuvering around a seemingly shell shocked Ney isn't easy, and Lannes scowls at his useless fingers, wondering how Augereau makes it look so easy with these huge paws of his. The pocket full of its phone bounty is right here!

But as Lannes finally manages to get one finger onto a phone - hopefully his own, but any would do- Ney moves and an iron fist falls on Lannes' wrist.

When Murat comes back, holding a gigantic stuffed bear that's nearly as big as he is (he's going to give it to Letitia), it's to find Ney and Lannes going off on each other and on the verge of fighting. Accusations of theft, lies, and immorality are flying around.

Murat looks at his bear and thinks of his children and the glee on their little faces when they see what he brought back for them.

"Look, guys, " he interrupts them without a care for their argument. "Isn't this bear adorable ? Letitia will be so thrilled when she sees it, I'd bet she'll sleep on it for a week. I saw things that would bring your little princess over the moon, Lannes! And Ney, there's a shooting stand with toys for boys, I saw something perfect for little Eugène, come and see!" As the two would be brawlers gawk at him, Murat spins on his heels, clutching the giant plush toy like a protective mama bear.

"My kids are about to be the happiest children on earth."

And silly as it is, this is enough to puncture Lannes' bubble of anger and spur on both his and Ney's competitiveness. No way are the little Murats, spoiled rotten as they are, going to lord their supposed superiority over their own brood. Lannes and Ney fall into step behind their friend and the three of them are soon enough shooting and throwing rings for all they're worth.

As Lannes, trying to collect a fifth toy, is about to bribe the guy running the game out of desperation, three different ringtones blast out of Ney's pocket. Seizing his last prize- which he intends to give Larrey when this harrowing day is over, Ney hastily fishes out the offending objects and throws Lannes and Murat what's theirs.

"Yes!" he barks.

Murat and Lannes display similarly shocked and awed faces.

It looks like the Rescue Squad has finally arrived.

Ney takes the lead in their trek toward the parking lot, and Lannes takes advantage of the time Murat loses to hoist his ridiculous load of gigantic stuffed toys to eventually win his damn fifth toy.

When they finally join Ney in the parking lot, they find Davout parking their car next to Napoleon's SUV. Ney is cramming his bounty into the trunk.

Napoleon looks at them and then at Berthier just next to him, then back at them and their huge fluffy companions. There is a world of judgement in his gaze, and Lannes feels irritated for some reason; Murat's figurative hackles rise too when the grey eyes dwell on the massive crocodile he reserves for his eldest.

Non negotiable, this is for Achille.

Davout doesn't blink when Murat determinedly opens the front door and seats the crocodile down without a word. He doesn't say a thing when Ney protests because he had intended to ride with Davout - mostly because an incensed Napoleon snaps "And get out of listening to what I have to say ? I THINK NOT". Murat keeps on fitting his children's toys into the car seats, belts on, because he doesn't want his babies to get damaged goods. Letitia would be sad if the ears are bent, and Lucien's dog has a fur worth some consideration, and he's not some goddam brute who would make his children cry, thank you very much.

Ney is already chosing a place in the car when Lannes explodes.

Lannes has had a very stressful day. He's possibly hungover, his patience has been tried all day long and now Murat is hoarding a whole car because he is ridiculous. The dam breaks.

"Are you okay with THIS ?" he asks a bewildered Napoleon, gesturing at their car.

Napoleon looks. A croc is riding shotgun. A gigantic bear is hovering behind Davout. A floppy bunny and a confused looking dog complete the show.

Davout looks thoroughly unimpressed, grim as ever, and ready to go.

Napoleon arches an eyebrow. So ?

Lannes loses it.

"Do you really stand for that ? Is your peacock of a brother-in-law really going to take the whole space for himself and get away with it ? What are my kids and me, some second class citizens ? What about equality, huh ? "

Napoleon is flabbergasted. Murat doesn't know what to say. Ney is stupefied- there's still plenty of room in the trunk, what's the big deal anyway ? Yes, Murat is a bit ridiculous, but how is that worth losing his shit over ? Lannes should be used to it by now.

But no, and the Gascon keeps ranting, screaming to Napoleon's face "This is nepotism, Bonaparte, literal nepotism! What about our ideals ? You WHORE, when did you sell out ??!"

Breathing an inward sigh of resignation, Berthier knows he's going to have to defuse the situation, because Napoleon is just speechless with fury over the sheer ludicrousness of it all.

#Trifecta AU #Roadtrip AU #@joachimnapoleon

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

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HELLO MIGHT I REQUEST SOME DBH CONNOR AND HANK FLUFF

Hank is a damn good detective, alright? Sure, he’s the first to admit things have gone to shit in the past years, but everyone knows Hank’s still a damn good detective. More importantly, Connor knows Hank’s a damn good detective.

So really, Hank doesn’t know how long the kid thought he could keep sneaking out before Hank noticed.

Every Saturday morning Connor disappears for like, hours, fuck if Hank knows when he leaves, but there’s always a green post-it in the bathroom mirror, Cyberlife Sans typing out a back before lunch. And the note is always green, too, god knows that might be Connor’s favorite color or something, but Hank is yet to find where he’s getting the post-its. True to the note, Connor is home before noon, takeout bags on his arms and the perfect opening to derail Hank’s questions.

It’s a little embarrassing how long it took Hank to realize something shady’s going on. But to be fair, he thought Connor had been with Markus or some other android from Hart’s Plaza, helping out to draft the new constitution or singing Kumbaya or whatever it is they do in New Jericho. But Markus had called last week. Markus had called asking if Connor was home, you see, because they could use a hand in negotiating. Meaning, Connor hasn’t been playing nice with the other androids all this time. Meaning, Hank is going to ground him forever if he gets dragged into another conspiracy. Meaning, Hank’s getting to the bottom of this.

Meaning, fucking hell, meaning Hank is now wide awake at ass o’clock in the morning, freezing his balls off in a squad car, and waiting to see where the fuck Connor’s going. He’s gotta be smart about it, too. The kid’s scans will notice him if he gets too close. Hank’s counting on Connor thinking he’s pulling an all-nighter in the office and lowering his guard. After all, Hank would never be willingly awake at this hour. No sane person would be awake at this hour.

And no android either, considering it’s only 6:45 am when Connor walks past him on the other side of the road, apparently oblivious to Hank. He walks briskly and purposefully like he knows the way well, has done this dozens of times, the sneaky bastard.

Hank follows.

And–

Holy motherfucking christ, this is not what he had been expecting. Oh no, not at all. Hank had been expecting to find, hell, maybe another revolution, or some evil clone bullshit, or fucking Cyberlife.

Not–

Not an animal shelter, for fuck’s sake.

The bell above the door rings when Hank comes in and a blonde girl pops from under the counter like a goddamn jack-in-the-box, grinning like a maniac and way too chirp for the hour. “Good morning and welcome to Happy Paws! My name is Ally, how can I help you today?”

She’s human and she’s a nuisance and Hank scowls up a storm at her. “Too early for this kid,” he huffs, approaching the counter, “where’s Connor? This tall, sorta goofy, smartass little shit.”

“Oh, he just came in!” She tells him with a happy grin, Jesus, “I’ll call him up, who should I say is– oh, hey, Connor!”

A door opens from the back room and Connor freezes in the doorway, looking every bit the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Hank?”

“Funny seeing you here, kid,” Hank drawls, crossing his arms, “thought you were hanging out with Markus today.”

The guilty ass looking on his face is entirely too good and who woulda thought that the smuggest damn android is a shitty liar. “I have never told you that,” Connor hedges, half negotiator and half compromised. “How did you know I was here?”

“Hm,” Ally fidgets in the counter, “I think I’m gonna go– check the puppies in the back– so, yeah.”

“You just didn’t correct me, is that it?” Hank raises an eyebrow, “what are you doing here anyway?”

Connor lights up as if completely forgetting he’s supposed to be convincing Hank nothing’s gonna go sideways. “I am volunteering!”

“Volunteering,” Hank repeats, flat. “You’re volunteering in an animal shelter?”

“You told me I should find a hobby,” Connor reminds him, opening the door where he had come from and gesturing for Hank to follow him, “and Markus has also encouraged me to find things I like.”

Well, now that’s just cheating. God knows Hank can’t be mad now. Kid’s figuring himself out like a baby deer with wobbly legs and Hank’s not gonna be the jerk to shit on his interests. Even if he would have appreciated an explanation beyond back before lunch.

“ – and as it is,” Connor is still talking, leading Hank through the hallway and towards a very noisy room, several different barks coming through. “I find out I do like dogs.”

“Is that so?” Hank tries not to snort, but he could have told the kid that himself, what with how he spoils Sumo. “You come here every week?”

“Indeed,” he grins, swinging the last door open and revealing a room full of dogs. Shit, a small ball of fur comes barreling towards his legs and Connor picks him up easily, causing another two terriers to paw at his pants. “I apologize for not telling you, I just–”

“It’s alright,” Hank waves his sputtering off. He knows navigating deviancy isn’t being exactly a walk in the park for Connor, knows he’s not exactly the picture of dealing with emotions. This is by far a lot better than any hobby Hank has picked up over the years. “Just let me know where you’re going next time and save us both some time, okay? I was worried you were getting in over your head again, son.”

Connor smiles, sheepish. “I will,” and now that Hank is paying more attention to the dogs, he can see tiny LEDs by the ears of some of them, spinning a vibrant blue as they hop around their little playground. “This is a mixed shelter,” Connor explains when he notices Hank looking, “they have android animals as well as organic ones. Their work as rescue and repair has been of great importance lately.”

Yeah, Hank can see that, too. A lumbering poodle comes to sniff at his boots, blue LED spinning happily as it wags its tail. Damn it. Hank reaches down to pat him. “You’re not adopting any of ‘em,” he warns, “Sumo’s trouble enough.”

“Of course not,” Connor nods, smiling too calmly, too easily, “but you are welcome to stay, Hank. They do need all the help they can get.”

It’s barely past seven in the morning in a goddamn Saturday. Hank should be sleeping right now. But Connor is smiling and he’s finally sound something that is his beyond any programming, any sort of code. Connor likes dogs and he likes volunteering at the nearby animal shelter. Hank’ll be damned if he can turn him down now. He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I’m already awake.”

Connor grins even brighter.

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #hank anderson #dbh fanfic #look an ask #dbh tag #connor and hank tag

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worgenbreath · 6 years

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Pinkie Pie and Donut Joe were married a few years prior to starting their family. They were actually the first couples in their circle of friends to be wed; the first being Rarity and Maud Pie that had an exciting wedding planned by both Rarity and Pinkie!

Joe and Pinkie successfully bought Sugar Cube Corner from the Cake family and renovated it into a much larger bakery and party planning hub to be ran by the sugar-powered pair. Not long after this milestone, Pinkie Pie became pregnant with their first foal; a small chubby bundle of soft, white fur and bright blue eyes that the mother and father lovingly named Cutie Pie.

Cutie Pie was the light of her parent's life. Everything they did or hoped to do was for her to lead a comfortably spoiled life. Granted, Joe did most of the spoiling, turning the bubbly filly into a proper daddy's girl! While Pinkie tried teaching Cutie friendship lessons, Joe focused more on business savvy skills and techniques so one day he'd be able to work alongside his beloved daughter.

Being the daughter of small town celebrity bakers, Cutie Pie's life was often times filled with sweet treats and candied spoils. A dream come true for any young foal! Cutie Pie never went without dessert, that of which were typically more decadent than the meal itself. Due to this more sweet than savory lifestyle Cutie began to take on a more distinct physique, that more similar to her mother Pinkie Pie. She was slowly becoming more rotund, her baby fat no longer and excuse for her chubby cheeks. This of course didn't bother her for now as she loved her mother, wanting nothing more than to be just like the bouncing pink pony!

Cutie Pie loved helping her parent's customers. She made dessert recommendations, sold high end party supplies, gift baskets, you name it! She was a blessing to have around the store with her natural ability to move product! Plus her being an adorably chubby filly made it difficult for patrons to say no to; a cherry on top of the cake as her father would often say.

When Cutie Pie became of age she was enrolled into Twilight's kindergarten class at her friendship academy which was growing in curriculum to include all other course studies such as math, literature, art, science, etc. Shy as any of the other children starting school for the first time, Cutie mostly kept to herself. Though it was no longer uncommon for other species to reside within Ponyville it didn't mean she was feeling 100% secure sitting between a Changeling and a Dragon while trying to learn addition.

Though the first day is always the hardest, Cutie Pie found a great friend in the strangest classmate of them all: Ophelia Sparkle. With Ophelia practically being raised in the school she felt no fear on her first real day of class. Joyfully she ran around the classroom showing all of her new friends how a classroom ran and what was to be expected of them. Cutie Pie felt her feelings of shyness melt away when she was with the young and excitable Draconequus and very easily befriended her. It was always easier to take on life's challenges with a buddy by your side!

As Ophelia and Cutie grew up together they'd became practically inseparable. They had picnics, sleepovers every weekend, wore matching friendship bracelets, discussed school crushes, the works! Normal everyday best friend behavior! While Ophelia loved playing in the mud with frogs, Cutie Pie enjoyed using the mud as pretend spa facials, there really wasn't anything the two couldn't enjoy together. Years were shared between the two girls and unforgettable memories and lessons were made, their friendship appeared to be unbreakable, that is until... the dreadful middle school years.

Middle school can be the best ears of a pony's life or the worst years. Middle school is like a proving ground to decide who you'll be later in life: a geeky dork who enjoys card games and toads all the way up to nearly celebrity status with the popularity you were able to attain. When it came to Cutie Pie she appeared to be at the bottom of the totem pole and was a perfect target for bullying with her plump disposition and friendly status with Ophelia.

Not only was Cutie friends with a lowly peasant like Ophelia Sparkle, but she was also noticeably overweight. Her round, plump cheeks would bounce as she would skip to class and her chubby belly would peek out from her cheerleading uniform. She was seemingly okay with herself until the unwarranted criticisms from fellow ponies began.

Harsh insults would be thrown towards the young filly at ballgames while she was cheering, or vile whispers and giggles under hushed breath would reach her eras in the halls. Cutie Pie was never upset with her social status until now when the pressure of puberty and social cliques began planing dark seedlings within her mind. Something had to be done.

As the middle school years dredged on, Cutie Pie dropped Ophelia like a rock, leaving her to find new friends and battle her own schooling experiences alone. She picked up new pals that were on the middle school cheer squad like herself, that way she'd be in a larger group of like-minded girls. By doing this she made friends with a volleyball obsessed, snarky Griffon named Barbie and a bubbly Minotaur named Gertie who seemed to know everything about the in-styles of the season.

While Cutie's sudden abandonment was a hard slap to the face for the Draconequus she still actively attempted to associate herself with her former bff as well as her new gaggle of friends. This was always met with her being ignored and given the cold shoulder, or just flat out told to leave them alone. Ophelia eventually got the hint and removed her old tattered and worn friendship bracelet, just like Cutie had done long ago.

The year prior to high school Cutie and her gang got on a serious health kick. Copious amounts of exercise (borderline unhealthy amounts), a ban on everything sweet (if you were caught indulging on anything sugar related you were to be swiftly reprimanded by the other girls), binge reading on celebrity weight loss advice which often was nothing but a fad diet and trend for the week. Cutie Pie was tired of the name calling and jokes at her expense. No colt wanted anything to do with her, nopony had even asked her to the Winter Formal! She worked the hardest she ever had on her weight loss through the semester and over the summer break. Come Freshman year, puberty had hit her overnight, and other ponies took notice.

Her high school years were the best four years of Cutie's life. She was a trim, chic, womanly, and just plain beautiful. Over the summer Cutie had changed, whether it was for better or worse is up to personal opinion. She earned her cutie mark which she thought was gorgeous; a slim champagne glass filled to the brim with cake to signify her ability to plan a fun, yet elegant party. She'd grown her mane out into a long waterfall of golden blonde and salon pink, letting it cascade over the sides of her neck and shoulders. Cutie Pie had changed and developed into an entirely new pony, and she needed a new name to go with it.

Cutie Pie decided upon a name that she thought was more mature and befitting to her new personality, and much to her parent's disdain, Coffee Cake was manifested. Many ponies took notice to her changes and now gave her the attention she desired as a younger girl, but now had the power to deny them the pleasure of knowing her and she relished it. Once an overlooked chubby pony and now a head-turning mare. She had everyone right where she wanted them. Coffee Cake was climbing the social ladder and was nearly at the top.

By senior year Coffee Cake and her squadron of devoted ass-kissers were considered the socialites of the school and had turned the tables on everypony; they were now the bullies running the place. Nothing happened at the school without their knowing or explicit permission. She had quickly become formidable force among the school grounds. And if that alone wasn't enough social power under her hooves, not only was she head cheerleader, she was betrothed to the captain of the hoofball team, Casey Applebuck. She was essentially queen of the jocks and any other pony considered to have high social status within the disgusting social web that is public school, intimidating preps and athletes at her beck and call.

Her power and reach doesn't end in high school though, to this day she's still a very powerful socialite who many envy to be in the good graces of. Many gather to her bar and bakery for the parties and just to say they were near Cake and her friends! Nobody has yet to put Coffee Cake in her place, but not queen can rule forever.

#qatsby #worgenbreath #mlp next gen #mlp next generation #opheliaverse #my little pony #my art #sketchbook #mlp #draconequus #twicord #discolight #pinkiejoe #donutpie #coffee cake #ophelia #ophelia sparkle

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silversong79 · 7 years

Text

Many Meetings (Argument, part 12 - rewrite)

( @kaminoanbat I actually did Not Like my last chapter of this so here, have a rewrite before I dive into the rest of the series ^0^ I like this one waaay better. The first scene with Rogue and Cat I kept the same since that one was actually good imo)

Rogue said nothing when Doriana followed Rowan outside. In fact he tried not to react at all, though he did see Switch roll his eyes and mouth ‘finally’ to Cat. He swallowed and looked down at his datapad again, burying his other hand in the purring tooka’s fur. When the two came back in, any fool could see how close they were standing. How red Rowan’s face was, and how dark Doriana’s stripes had gotten. But nobody mentioned it. Well, Damyan whistled under his breath, but that was just him being a brat. Of course they were being completely obvious about it, but he knew Rowan at least wouldn’t like people noticing. Rogue kept pretending to read, and while he did smile slyly at Rowan and Doriana, his mind wasn’t really in it. Everything about being around other clones- especially Cat - and seeing Rowan and Doriana do the same dance he’d done once (the glances and smiles, the sneaking around and thinking nobody would notice) - all he could think of was Winger. His Winger, his heart. All he could think of was him, and he hurt.

Rogue huffed and shook his head, his silver earrings jangling. It wasn’t fair of him to be depressing and moping around when everyone else was so happy. He’d just spoil it. So he took those thoughts - those precious memories - and buried them deep in his heart where nobody could see.

When he looked up again, he could see it hadn’t worked. Dreu was watching him with her arms crossed and looked like she wanted to smack him, which was her way of showing worry. Draake had much the same expression, if slightly less aggressive. He smiled and shrugged as he looked at them, and then away. He’d sort of expected those two to notice.

What he didn’t expect was Cat noticing too.

“How’s it hanging, Witcher?” Cat swung down from the beam he’d been perched on and dropped into Rogue’s lap, grinning at him.

Rogue rolled his eyes and pushed him off so he fell to the floor with a huff of laughter.

“It’s Rogue, you little miscreant,” he said affectionately. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the only one hanging around here.”

Cat popped up from the floor, pushing his curly hair out of his eyes and grinning. He wasn’t at all bothered by falling, it seemed.

“What’s with the sour face, brother? I thought you liked it here.” He hopped up nimbly onto the chair beside Rogue, perching with his knees up like some kind of unholy Acklay hybrid.

Rogue sighed, rolling his eyes and setting the datapad aside. Obscure Rylothian witchcraft rituals would have to wait, apparently.

“I know you weren’t part of Topple very long,” he said in a low voice, leaning closer. “But I know you remember Winger.”

“Course I do,” Cat said, losing some of that bright cheerful spark he had. It almost looked like the whiskers on his cheeks were drooping.

“Well, he and I, we….” Rogue swallowed. “Before the tank -”

“I know.” Cat hopped over to share Rogue’s chair and leaned against him. “He wouldn’t shut up about you even back then. Gods, he was so annoying.”

Rogue tried to smile past the lump in his throat, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes. Witcher! Where are you? The echo of a scream from long ago rose in his mind. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“I miss him so much,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t even know if he’s alive. What if he doesn’t even remember me?”

Just saying the words out loud sent a chill of horror through him. He touched the fortune charm around his neck and whispered a spell to ward off evil things.

“That would never happen.” Cat sounded totally certain, and even a bit defensive. “Winger would never forget you. Ever. Just like I would never, ever forget Mouse.”

Rogue blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You and Mouse were together?”

Cat shifted over and rested his chin on his knees, staring moodily at the dinner table. “Nah. Never got the chance to be.” He sounded casual, but there was weighted sorrow behind the words. “But….I would have, if he’d asked.”

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“Dori told me I’d see him again, once,” he murmured finally. “Read my palm and everything. I dunno if it’s gonna happen, but….well, who am I to argue with Fate?”

Cat sniffed and stood up, stretching. “We’ll see them again,” he said. It didn’t much sound like he believed it, but Rogue appreciated the sentiment anyway.

............

Crow was the first one to notice it.

The Erithuda house had a spectacular roof for being lookout, a high spire with a flat top that looked out over the Lothian landscape for miles. So when the a shadow descended through the mint-green clouds, he was the first to see it, and hear the rumble of a ship coming through the atmosphere.

He watched the shadow warily for a minute, wondering why, exactly, it should make him afraid to think it might be the Republic. Shouldn’t he want to go back?

He huffed and shook his head, his hair falling in his eyes. He pushed it back impatiently. Whoever the hell was in that ship, he should probably tell someone before they landed.

He swung down off the roof, running over shingles and dropping from railings until he hit the ground right in front of Dreu’s garage.

She and Ligara were talking, and the twi’lek pilot looked just about as delighted as Crow had ever seen her - home, working on her ship with a wrench in hand and talking to her girlfriend.

She looked significantly less delighted when Crow walked into the garage, stopping just short of snarling at him.

“Is there something you want?”

Crow was the best out of his squad at hiding his emotions and keeping his face neutral. He crossed his arms and blinked at her, looking unimpressed.

“There’s a ship coming,” he said lazily, as if it was of no concern to him. “Thought you might like to know. Since this is your house and everything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stomped outside to look at the green sky, then groaned and swore. “Great. It’s the Asha’ra’m.”

Crow followed her, arms still crossed over his chest. “Is that dangerous, or….?”

“No,” she snapped. “Just annoying and very, very rude.”

“You must get along great,” he muttered slyly.

“What was that?”

“I said that’s great.”

He watched as the ship descended and landed right in front of the ship, and two people stepped out first: a chiss woman with a drink in one hand (tiny pink umbrella and all) and her other arm around the waist of a pretty pink twi’lek girl, who was whispering in her ear and giggling.

“Dreu!” The chiss laughed, descending the ramp. “Babe! Hi. We were in the system and needed some repairs. Also fuel. You mind taking a look, sweetie?”

Dreu threw down her wrench and crossed her arms. “Can you maybe fuck off with the cute nicknames, Aurren? You can’t call me babe anymore.” She looked at the woman beside her and smiled warmly. “Hey, Alyea. You wanna go warn my dad and sister that the horde’s descending?”

She giggled and kissed Aurren’s cheek before heading inside.

“My sister is here too,” she said to Dreu on her way past, with a thick Ryloth accent.

Crow wasn’t paying attention to Dreu and the chiss anymore - clearly they had history, but he wanted to know what the twi’lek meant by “hordes descending.” Because these people looked a hell of a lot like pirates.

First a zabrak - Dathomirian by his tattoos, Crow though. He looked scary, but he had a medkit at his belt, so he probably wasn’t that dangerous.

A weequayan came next - guy with one eye, who looked a bit familiar. He was pretty sure he’d seen him - wait.

Oh, hell. That guy was Doriana’s ex.

The next guy off the ship was a blind Mirialan with long hair, who was laughing over his shoulder to the last person on the ship -

Crow wasn’t really sure why, but he felt something….warp through the world when she stepped out. She was probably the sister Alyea had mentioned - another twi’lek. She didn’t look much like Alyea though. She was white as a seashell, with pale green eyes the same color as the Asfaloth sky, and a very large, fierce-looking Mandalorian screech hawk on her shoulder.

Crow backed up into the shadows of the garage, still watching her coo to the bird like it was a baby tooka. He caught a snatch of Dreu’s argument from behind him.

“- and I bet you weren’t planning to go home and see your mother while you’re on-planet, were you?”

“You leave my mother out of this!”

Crow looked back at the bird woman. He caught his breath. The hawk looked right at him and screeched. And the white twi'lek looked right into his eyes, her green gaze startling and frightening.

“I can see you, you know.”

..........

Switch had just finished painting his face - and hands and arms - when the ship landed outside. It was just as beat up and sturdy as the Ebinor, and he was pretty sure he recognized some of the people.

While he was trying to figure out where he’d seen them, the mirialan in front of him - he’d assumed he’d just move aside, even if he was walking backwards - crashed right into him.

“Hey, watch it!” he said automatically, scowling as he stepped back. “Watch where you’re going, mate!”

The mirialan turned around, carrying a crate of spice or something. His eyes were closed, eyelids mottled with scarred skin.

“Well, you know, I would,” he said seriously. “But I can’t find my eyes anywhere.”

Switch held back a laugh, hoping it wasn’t rude to stare. “You’re blind?” he asked stupidly.

“Nope.” He grinned at him. “I just can’t see. What do they call that again?”

He did laugh that time, and took the crate from him. “Well, someone’s snarky today.”

“Thanks, cutie. I try.”

He was glad the mirialan couldn’t see the sudden flush across his face. Switch shook his head, clearing his throat.

“Switch,” he said, shaking his hand. “My name’s Switch. And how do you even know I’m cute?”

“Clones are hot. Everyone knows that.” Without warning he put both green hands on Switch’s chest and felt over his shoulders and neck and face. “Mhm. Just like I thought. Gorgeous.”

Switch almost choked on his tongue trying to respond without being an idiot. “And you are?” he spluttered, blushing furiously.

“Single,” he laughed. “But I’m Vadii, if you want my name. Technically it’s Vadiian Lenrahi, but nobody calls me that. Ever.” Something in his voice told Switch not to ask, so he didn’t. It was probably the same as calling a brother by his number, he reasoned. You called people by the names they chose. Not a difficult concept.

“Wait a second,” Switch said, narrowing his eyes (not that Vadii could see that.) “Didn’t you try to rob us a while back?”

“I honestly don’t fucking know,” he shrugged. “I’m a pirate, we rob tons of people. And I have no idea who most of them are.”

“Rowan screamed at you,” he prompted. “That weequay with one eye was hitting on Dori.”

“Oh, that was you!” he laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t see what was going on.” He paused, raising his eyebrow. The effect with his scarred eyelids was kind of startling. “That Rowan guy is terrifying. Hot, definitely, but kriffing scary.”

“Right on both counts,” Switch laughed. “And he gets scarier when he loves someone. You should see him and Doriana now, they think they’re being subtle and it’s hilarious.”

“For his sake, I hope he treats her better than Hokair,” Vadii snorted. “She might rip off something more than his eye, if she cares that much.”

From somewhere nearby there was an obnoxiously loud screech, and something huge with wings swooped down and startled Vadii, knocking him forward so he and Switch both fell to the ground, with the mirialan sitting on Switch’s chest.

“Could’ve bought me dinner first,” Switch grinned. He gasped slightly when Vadii’s hands brushed carefully over his face again.

“I like when you smile,” he said. “It makes your voice sound even hotter.”

He was trying to think of a response when the screech-hawk landed placidly on his shoulder, nibbling his ear like it was expecting a treat. Switch looked up to the roof where it had flown from, just in time to see Crow and the white twi’lek woman duck their heads down behind the railing.

He pushed Vadii off his chest and sat up, then leaned close to his face. “My brother’s trying to play matchmaker,” he whispered in his ear. “Wanna return the favor?”

“Definitely,” Vadii purred. “Avis needs to get laid, and Turtle will do anything for a bit of meat. Not unlike me.”

Switch snorted with laughter and rolled his eyes. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

.......................

Crow and Avis both ducked behind the railing when Switch and Vadii looked up at them. For a second they were silent, breathing hard with their shoulders pressed together. Both glanced sideways at each other.

Then Crow scowled and shoved her away, standing up. “Get off me!” he snapped. “That was your fault.”

She jumped to her feet and glared at him, stepping closer into his space. “What, just because it was my bird? You're the one who kept blathering on with all those commands you don't understand in the slightest.” Her voice was sharply accented, peppery and cold like spicy resin gum.

To tell the truth, he wasn't quite sure exactly how they'd gotten up to the roof in the first place. From the second the woman – Avis, he reminded himself – had noticed him “lurking,” as she called it, he'd been on edge, sullen and moody. And she was not helping. He'd never met a more infuriating civilian in his life!

“I think I'm fairly safe saying I know some mando'a,” he said, crossing his arms and stepping closer. “Seeing as I learned it from birth.”

“Do you think I've never met a clone before?” She didn't back away from him as he advanced. Her eyes were frosty green ice, like that moon he'd seen in the sky last night. Ice queen.

“First, you're not born. Second, I know you learn secondary languages through the spread of culture, not through training.”

“Oh, piss off,” he growled. “I'm not one of your birds to study and take notes on.” His eyes were almost black, gleaming like polished stones. How much mando'a could she actually know? He smirked, and took another step toward her; still she didn't move away from him.

“Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” he said, chin lifted in a challenge.

Her eyes flashed like sun on water, and she stepped closer to, fast and sudden so he was forced to take a step back.

“Kebbur bic,” she replied, voice clipped.

“Maybe I will,” he muttered. He held her gaze, although he didn't think he could actually hit a civilian that wasn't trying to kill him, much less slap her in the face. Try it, she'd said.

“Go ahead. Try.” She poked him in the chest, pushing him back. “Touch me and I'll cut off your hands and feed them to you.”

The urge to laugh came too quick for him to suppress; the corners of his mouth twitched upward and he actually giggled.

She snarled, hooking her foot around his knee to knock him to the ground and kneel on his chest. “You think this is funny?”

“No! No. I don't.” He snickered. “Seriously, sorry. It's just -”

“Just what?” She leaned down and brought her face close to his, her breath cool and minty on his face. Her lekku brushed his shoulders. “You think it's funny that a twi'lek woman can defend herself? You think I won't -”

“It's not that. I just spent a month on a ship with Dreu,” he coughed, shifting uncomfortably. “Actually....” He looked sideways, face flushed. “That was a fantastic line. And I was just picturing Cat and Switch standing behind you high-fiving when you said that.”

She stared at him for a long time, unblinking and unmoving. Then she stood up and pulled him to his feet, dropping his hand like it was poisonous the second he was standing on his own.

“You are the most pig-headed human I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” she said, both lekku curled up with the tips pointing to her back. And without another word she stormed away down the steps, leaving him bewildered on the roof.

~~~~~~~

“Well, Switch?” Rowan said gently, tapping his brother on the shoulder. “You called the meeting. What's this about?”

“Vadii -” he started, and Cat snickered. Charm cuffed the back of Cat's head.

“Quiet, you,” he muttered. “Let him talk.”

“Vadii says his captain will take us back to Coruscant,” Switch burst out, tapping his fingers on his thigh nervously. “If we want. He said they wouldn't mind as long as Aurren gets paid for it.”

Rowan glanced around at his brothers – at Charm's careful blankness, Crow's scowl, Switch's apprehension. Cat looked afraid, yes, but he also looked hopeful, which was worrying. What did he have to go back to?

Rogue had gone white as a shiny's armor, muttering prayers under his breath as he paced. “You leave me out of it,” he said vehemently. “I'm not going back there.”

Cat tilted his head and frowned, touching Rogue's shoulder. “But Witcher, what about -”

“Don't!” Rogue snapped, stepping away. Cat pouted, looking like a kicked puppy. “I said I'm not going back. And for fuck's sake, stop calling me that.”

Cat went totally still for a second; if it wasn't for the flaring of his nostrils he could've been carved from rock. Then he turned without another word and ran back to the house.

“I'm staying,” Switch said. “I – I mean, what is there for us there?”

“Death,” said Crow helpfully. “Course, that's everywhere, but still.”

“Well, aren't you cheerful.” Charm rolled his eyes, glancing worriedly at the house where Cat had run. “Yeah, I vote we stay too. You can never get decent caf in the barracks.”

The four of them looked at Rowan expectantly, like he had the deciding vote. He blinked back tears and laughed, shaking his head. “You really have to ask?” he said softly. “This is my home. I'm staying. We're all staying.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Rogue limped away, following Cat to apologize.

With a sudden realization that sent a jolt through his blood, Rowan gasped out loud. And he, too, ran toward the house.

Just as he was about to step through the garage door, Draake grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back out into the workshop.

“Not so fast, son,” he said, tugging him along. “I know where you're going and what you're going to do.”

Rowan swallowed. If Draake didn't want him to be with Doriana - “Sir,” he said evenly, “I love her. And I'm almost positive she loves me to.”

“Obviously.” The old twi'lek's eyes twinkled as he smiled up at him. “I'm not here to give you the 'if you hurt my daughter' speech. We both know she'd rip your guts out long before I could if you did.”

“Yes, I know.” He pulled on the end of his braid. “So what did you want to tell me?”

“About my family, son.”

Draake proceeded to tell him their whole history – how he and his togruta partner Farren had met two performers at the cantina in the Capitol. Tameira was a twi'lek dancer, and Elessa, her togruta girlfriend and singer.

Nobody on Asfaloth cared too much about strict marriage laws, so if the four of them wanted to marry each other, they could – and they did. Those had been the happiest years of Draake's life, he said. By random chance, Tameira had their first daughter, Dreu, but lost her life delivering her. So the first tomb in the cliffside masoleum was filled.

Doriana was born later, and the three of them doted shamelessly on their little girls, and they were happy. Doriana showed every sign of inheriting her mother's angelic singing voice, while Dreu followed Draake around the garage every day and had fixed her first engine at four.

Then Farren started coughing. The medcenters out here couldn't help the mass in his lungs, and where were they going to get money for a trip to the Core? So the second tomb was filled, right beside Tameira's.

Draake and Elessa raised their girls quietly together for the next few years. Draxo was adopted after they found the zabrak boy wandering alone along the cliff, saying his parents had left him.

Then when Dreu was fourteen and Doriana twelve, there was a terrible house fire in the town. Elessa hadn't hesitated for a second – she ran inside to save the nautolan family trapped in their home. She managed to get their newborn child to safety, but the house collapsed before she and the parents could make it out.

He'd sealed up the empty third tomb by himself, Draake said. He took in the baby nautolan, of course, and that was Damyan. Dar'go had come later, when Doriana found him half-starved on the beach.

“She's never sung a note since the fire,” Draake said now, finishing his story. “I know you sing, I've heard you. She loves it.”

Rowan didn't realize he'd been crying until he wiped his eyes. This kind old man had lost so many he loved, had given so much.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked softly, clasping the twi'lek's hand in his.

“Because you should know your family history,” Draake whispered, “if you're going to be part of this family.” He uncurled his other hand and held out a beautiful silver ring, carved into an elegant leaf shape with a pure sapphire at the center. “This was Elessa's. She'd want you to give it to our daughter when you ask her, my son.”

Rowan's throat was thick with tears as he wrapped his arms around the old man, cradling the precious ring in one hand. “Thank you,” he said, choked up. “Thank you....father.”

Draake laughed, a little wistfully as he wiped his own eyes. “Ah, they'd have loved you,” he sighed. “I just know you'll meet them someday. When we're all together again.”

.....

Doriana handed a stack of plates to Draxo and laughed at something Aurren was saying, listening to a dozen conversations at once. She noticed when Rowan's brothers started to trickle back in – how the tone of the chatter got excited, jubilant even.

Her breath caught when she heard them talk – they were staying here, all of them. She stilled, letting out a soft breath as her eyes blurred. In her mind, all she could see was this house, ten times bigger with haphazard additions and extra stories. She heard the laughter of small children, saw them chasing each other around the grass – children of several species.

She saw a man, slightly stooped now with silver braided hair and old wise eyes in his lined face, smiling at her with total adoration. Rowan.

Suddenly warm hands in hers jerked her back to the present. The room had gone quiet now, and Rowan stood in front of her, young and vibrant but shining with that same love.

She gasped softly as he knelt at her feet – both knees, not just one, and held out both hands with her mother's ring in his palm.

“Doriana?” he said, almost too quiet to here. “I have no name I can share with you. I only have myself to give. But I would follow you to the end of the universe and back again. All the days of my life are yours. Will you – do you want to – can I be your husband?”

She laughed out loud as she put the ring on, pulling him to his feet and kissing him deeply. They were surrounded by people. Who cared? She loved him. Damn him, this sweet, stubborn man, she loved him so much.

“Of course I will.”

#my ocs #argument series #rowan and doriana #switch #vadii #crow #avis #cat #rogue #dreu #ligara

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silversong79 · 8 years

Text

Arrivals (Argument Chapter 12)

( @kaminoanbat I bet u didn’t think I’d finish the next chapter so fast did you? ^-^ Enjoy a whole lot of new characters everyone!)

Rogue said nothing when Doriana followed Rowan outside. In fact he tried not to react at all, though he did see Switch roll his eyes and mouth 'finally' to Cat. He swallowed and looked down at his datapad again, burying his other hand in the purring tooka’s fur. When the two came back in, any fool could see how close they were standing. How red Rowan’s face was, and how dark Doriana’s stripes had gotten. But nobody mentioned it. Well, Damyan whistled under his breath, but that was just him being a brat. Of course they were being completely obvious about it, but he knew Rowan at least wouldn't like people noticing. Rogue kept pretending to read, and while he did smile slyly at Rowan and Doriana, his mind wasn't really in it. Everything about being around other clones- especially Cat - and seeing Rowan and Doriana do the same dance he’d done once (the glances and smiles, the sneaking around and thinking nobody would notice) - all he could think of was Winger. His Winger, his heart. All he could think of was him, and he hurt.

Rogue huffed and shook his head, his silver earrings jangling. It wasn't fair of him to be depressing and moping around when everyone else was so happy. He’d just spoil it. So he took those thoughts - those precious memories - and buried them deep in his heart where nobody could see.

What he didn’t expect was Cat noticing too.

“How’s it hanging, Witcher?” Cat swung down from the beam he’d been perched on and dropped into Rogue’s lap, grinning at him.

Rogue rolled his eyes and pushed him off so he fell to the floor with a huff of laughter.

“It’s Rogue, you little miscreant,” he said affectionately. “And I'm pretty sure you're the only one hanging around here.”

Cat popped up from the floor, pushing his curly hair out of his eyes and grinning. He wasn’t at all bothered by falling, it seemed.

“What’s with the sour face, brother? I thought you liked it here.” He hopped up nimbly onto the chair beside Rogue, perching with his knees up like some kind of unholy Acklay hybrid.

Rogue sighed, rolling his eyes and setting the datapad aside. Obscure Rylothian witchcraft rituals would have to wait, apparently.

“I know you weren’t part of Topple very long,” he said in a low voice, leaning closer. “But I know you remember Winger.”

“Course I do,” Cat said, losing some of that bright cheerful spark he had. It almost looked like the whiskers on his cheeks were drooping.

“Well, he and I, we….” Rogue swallowed. “Before the tank -”

“I know.” Cat hopped over to share Rogue’s chair and leaned against him. “He wouldn’t shut up about you even back then. Gods, he was so annoying.”

“I miss him so much,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t even know if he’s alive. What if he doesn’t even remember me?”

Just saying the words out loud sent a chill of horror through him. He touched the fortune charm around his neck and whispered a spell to ward off evil things.

“That would never happen.” Cat sounded totally certain, and even a bit defensive. “Winger would never forget you. Ever. Just like I would never, ever forget Mouse.”

Rogue blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You and Mouse were together?”

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“Dori told me I’d see him again, once,” he murmured finally. “Read my palm and everything. I dunno if it’s gonna happen, but….well, who am I to argue with Fate?”

Cat sniffed and stood up, stretching. “We’ll see them again,” he said. It didn’t much sound like he believed it, but Rogue appreciated the sentiment anyway.

…….

Crow was the first one to notice it.

He watched the shadow warily for a minute, wondering why, exactly, it should make him afraid to think it might be the Republic. Shouldn’t he want to go back?

He huffed and shook his head, his hair falling in his eyes. He pushed it back impatiently. Whoever the hell was in that ship, he should probably tell someone before they landed.

He swung down off the roof, running over shingles and dropping from railings until he hit the ground right in front of Dreu’s garage.

She and Ligara were talking, and the twi’lek pilot looked just about as delighted as Crow had ever seen her - home, working on her ship with a wrench in hand and talking to her girlfriend.

She looked significantly less delighted when Crow walked into the garage, stopping just short of snarling at him.

“Is there something you want?”

Crow was the best out of his squad at hiding his emotions and keeping his face neutral. He crossed his arms and blinked at her, looking unimpressed.

“There’s a ship coming,” he said lazily, as if it was of no concern to him. “Thought you might like to know. Since this is your house and everything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stomped outside to look at the green sky, then groaned and swore. “Great. It’s the Asha’ra’m.”

Crow followed her, arms still crossed over his chest. “Is that dangerous, or….?”

“No,” she snapped. “Just annoying and very, very rude.”

“You must get along great,” he muttered slyly.

“What was that?”

“I said that’s great.”

“Dreu!” The chiss laughed, descending the ramp. “Babe! Hi. We were in the system and needed some repairs. Also fuel. You mind taking a look, sweetie?”

She giggled and kissed Aurren’s cheek before heading inside.

“My sister is here too,” she said to Dreu on her way past, with a thick Ryloth accent.

First a zabrak - Dathomirian by his tattoos, Crow though. He looked scary, but he had a medkit at his belt, so he probably wasn’t that dangerous.

A weequayan came next - guy with one eye, who looked a bit familiar. He was pretty sure he’d seen him - wait.

Oh, hell. That guy was Doriana’s ex.

The next guy off the ship was a blind Mirialan with long hair, who was laughing over his shoulder to the last person on the ship -

Crow backed up into the shadows of the garage, still watching her coo to the bird like it was a baby tooka. He caught a snatch of Dreu’s argument from behind him.

“- and I bet you weren’t planning to go home and see your mother while you’re on-planet, were you?”

“You leave my mother out of this!”

Crow looked back at the bird woman. He caught his breath. The hawk looked right at him and screeched.

She turned her head slightly, curious to what her hawk decided warranted a shriek that had given it its name, only to be distracted by a tiny pantoran darting out of the ship. She was smudged with grease from head to toe and didn’t even pause when she tripped over her too big boots. The twi'lek watched her go for a moment before glancing thoughtfully back at Crow's hiding spot.

“Is there a reason you’re skulking in the shadows?” she called out to him, smirking. She had the same thick accent as her sister. “Or are you just shy?”

He felt another jolt - he was the best at hiding. The spy, the assassin, the knife in the dark. Nobody found him as quickly as she had.

He swallowed and stepped out into the light, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Just watching,” he said lazily. “Gotta make sure everything’s safe.”

She nodded, smiling with one side of her mouth. “Fair enough. I’m Avis Deryn, by the way.” She poked the screech hawk in the wing. “This crybaby here is Turtle.” She whispered something to the bird and fed him a strip of dried meat.

“Crow,” he said, ducking his head. “Or CT-3791 if you want to get technical.”

She clicked her tongue, and when she shook her head her lekku swayed behind her. “Now where’s the fun in technicalities, Crow?”

He wondered where exactly the strange little thrill in his stomach came from, when she said his name. That had never happened before.

“So, I was going to go for a walk,” she said. “You know, clear my head. Let Turtle stretch his wings a bit. You want to show me around?”

“Ah - yeah, sure. Love to.” He led her around behind the house to the path that wound along the edge of the cliff, in some places extended with a boardwalk that looked like it was held together with duct tape and spite.

Turtle trilled happily and flew off her shoulder to circle above the ocean. The sound of waves from below was becoming familiar, and the breeze blew Crow’s hair back from his face.

“You weren’t here the last time I visited,” she said. “How long have you lived here?”

“Me? Oh, we don’t….” His voice trailed off.

Did they? Was it really likely they’d ever go back? Crow didn’t think so, whatever he might say to the boys. Besides, everyone he cared about was here.

“Here? Just yesterday and today. But we’ve been on the Ebinor for the past month or so.”

He crossed his arms and looked out at the ocean. With the borrowed shirt he was wearing - shorter sleeves than he was used to - the tips of his wing tattoos could be seen, just about down to his elbows.

She nodded. "And that's why I haven't met you yet. I've spent the last two and a half months on Confederate planets, petitioning and out in the field, helping native avian species." She shook her head, narrowing her green eyes.

"Sentients only think of themselves when they fight with no concern with the other creatures they share their home planets with. Too many birds are nearing extinction because some fool started a fire in a patch of their only food source - no offense."

"Oh, none taken," he said, raising his hands. "I agree. I mean, they don't even care about other sentients, let alone animals. Look at me." He shrugged his shoulders, the neck of his shirt slipping sideways so she could see more of his tattoo. "Don't tell my brothers I said this, but I've figured out by now we were born slaves. If they don't even care for their own precious army, why would they care about anyone else?"

She’d been listening and nodding along at first, but then her eyes fell to his tattoo, and she tilted her head, reaching out one hand to lightly stroke the feather patterns.

“Impressive,” she said. “That’s excellent work.”

"Hm?" He glanced at her, distracted. "Oh. Thanks. My brother did it for me, to match my name." His dark eyes glittered as he smirked slightly. "You should see the rest of it."

"I'd love to." She winked back at him boldly, smiling that half-smile that showed the dimple in her cheek.

His eyes widened slightly, like that wasn't at all the reaction he was expecting.

"Ah - yeah, sometime, probably," he said, a faint flush on his high cheekbones. "I mean - sorry."

"For what?" She grinned and whistled, calling Turtle back to her to feed him.

"Nothing. I guess. I just - I'm fine, how are you?" He winced and shook his head. "And there's your answer. For being a total idiot."

She laughed and shook her head. “If I’d known clones were so cute when you’re flustered, I’d have come back to Republic space sooner.”

He huffed out a laugh, narrowing his eyes at her - a you did this to me expression. “You wanna see the view from the roof?” he asked. “It’s even better than the one from the cliff.”

“Lead the way, pretty boy.”

……

While he was trying to figure out where he’d seen them, the mirialan in front of him - he’d assumed he’d just move aside, even if he was walking backwards - crashed right into him.

“Hey, watch it!” he said automatically, scowling as he stepped back. “Watch where you’re going, mate!”

The mirialan turned around, carrying a crate of spice or something. His eyes were closed, eyelids mottled with scarred skin.

“Well, you know, I would,” he said seriously. “But I can’t find my eyes anywhere.”

Switch held back a laugh, hoping it wasn’t rude to stare. “You’re blind?” he asked stupidly.

“Nope.” He grinned at him. “I just can’t see. What do they call that again?”

He did laugh that time, and took the crate from him. “Well, someone’s snarky today.”

“Thanks, cutie. I try.”

He was glad the mirialan couldn’t see the sudden flush across his face. Switch shook his head, clearing his throat. “Switch,” he said, shaking his hand. “My name’s Switch. And how do you even know I’m cute?”