#hope to see them use those knives eventually

[issdisgrace]

Jason x (kinda) villain reader where they're fighting but at some point Jason's jacket gets ripped of and you can see his slutty little waist, and reader is just absolutely gobsmacked and 'daaaaamn' and completely stops fighting Jason and just flirts with him, because with those hips he has to be a good housewife (I AM IN LOBE WITH JASON AND HIS SLUTTY LITTLE MAN WAIST RAWR RAWRRR IM FERAL)

TANGO

WARNINGS: Yeah there are some but nothing triggering or some shit

A/N: Might make a part two to this later down the road but don't get you hopes to high I have a tendency not to do what I say I am. Anyway I hope you like this.

Like clock work I tangoed with the Red Hood. He was a good fighter, skilled, and he could keep up with. That’s why I kept up our little cat-and-mouse game going. I could’ve easily killed him if I wanted to and both of us knew that, but I didn’t want to kill him. Id grown to like him over time despite our jobs, if you could call them that. And now, like many other nights, we were stuck in a fast tango that wasn’t coming to an end soon. We took slashes at the other with our respective knives. Never striking the other in a vital place. Both having a silent agreement to not do severe damage to the other, so in a couple nights from now we could do this song and dance again without a worrying. We slashed and slashed at the other and eventually I caught his shirt tearing it. The torn shirt revealed his waist. It looked so small, so holdable, so slutty. 

“Goddamn Red I didn’t know you had a slutty little waist.” I said, stepping back and holstering my knife. He stopped dead in his tracks pure confusion written on his face. 

“WhAT?”

“Do you need to get your hearing checked, Red? I said goddamn Red, I didn’t know you had a slutty waist.”

“What the fuck?” He said lowering his knife confusion still present in his face. 

“Have you seen your waist? Like look at it.” I say gesturing to where his waist was showing. He looked down at the rip and his exposed skin then back up at me.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why would I be fucking with you? Your waist looks so small and foldable and slutty.” I say, stepping forward and grabbing his waist. A part of expects him to stab me with his still in sheathed knife but he doesn’t. 

“And your hips are so wide and childbearing. Fuck your so hot, Red.” He seemingly short circuits as a blush creeps on his face. Which causes me to chuckle at the fact I caused the big bad Red Hood to short circuit and blush at the same time. I definitely didn’t have that on my bingo card this year. 

“You’re cute when you blush, Red. I wonder if you look just as cute all fucked out.” 

“You’ll have to see,” He says, catching me a bit of guard as I was not expecting him to respond with the whole short circuiting thing. 

“Is that an invitation, Red?”

“Maybe and it’s Jason.” 

“Well Jason, I’m Y/n.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whisper of the Forgotten | pt. 10

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 1,5k words | warnings: war | masterlist

“AZRIEL!” Your wail, the scream of pure pain and agony, tears through the few Illyrian warriors left on the battle ground, shaking the ground. You need to find him, but have no idea where he is. Dead bodies are scattered all over the ground, covered in blood and weapons, and dirt and fear kicks in that he is one of them. 

You haven’t felt like this in a long time, helpless and broken. Last time you had felt like that was when you had been locked into the Prison, many centuries ago. 

Your heart hammers against your ribcage when you spin around, trying to make out anything in the distance, but the dust in your eyes and fog hovering above the ground make it hard for you to see. 

Wails of pain coming from warriors who have been injured reverberate through you, making you shudder and you fold your arms around your body. 

The feeling within your soul, the tug, the bond that connects your souls, fades more and more with every ragged breath you take. The air burns down your throat, and tears start to fall from your eyes. 

Only an hour prior the battle had still been raging on, Illyrians and Darkbringers, joined by all the armies from the other courts, battling and fighting against the Death God and his supporters. It was blade against blade, steel against steel, wails and war cries sounded from every corner and then—

Then the land fell dark as an otherworldly being, a creature made of darkness and vengeance, one that you once used to call your friend, and hope to do so in the future again, landed upon the fighting warriors, upon those who supported and belonged to Koschei.

It was a nest of swirling black shadows, ruling over the land, wiping out every living being in its wake, sparing those on your side, until nothing but destruction and dust was left.

You and Nesta, your powers unified, were the ones who landed the death blow. 

Ataraxia tightly clasped in her hand, she lunged at Koschei first. You joined her on her quest, fuelling your energy, gathering all the power you had, and then, joined by the forces of the Wild Hunt, you came upon him, knives and magic working together as one — ending his life.

He had been weakened before, but had his people, his supporters, armies from the continent to protect him, shield him.

The battle had raged on for months, you had all been weakened, but you had known the day would come where you would face him. The battle would come and you would return from it victorious.

The land roared, cracked open, screamed when Ataraxia pierced through his chest, followed by the blow of your magic. You sent a gust of wind at him, at the ashes and dust, the only thing left of him, and allowed the wind to carry him away.

A mixture of tears, dirt and blood coated your face, your entire body, and when you turned back to face your family, you fell into their arms.

The Wild Hunt, brutal beasts and warriors, all came together to hug one another, screaming and weeping now that you were reunited and won the war.

But right now, you can’t waste any time, you need to find your mate. 

All these centuries, everything that has happened between you – you can’t lose him now. Not like this. Azriel doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to die out here. You need to find him and tend to him, heal his wounds. And–

“Y/N!” Cassian calls to you from a distance and you need a moment to figure where his voice is coming from. Eventually, your eyes land on the Illyrian male who looks battered and broken, his body coated in grime and blood. He is standing in front of a healer’s tent, but walks into your direction, limping. 

“Y/N!” he calls again. “It’s Azriel!” Cassian trembles as he braces his hands on his thighs, his eyes revealing everything you need to see. 

And the pain in his voice is everything you need to hear. 

Driven by fear and terror, you dash forward, into the general’s direction, past him and into the healer’s tent and fall to the ground, a sob bursting from you when you take in your mate and the–

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up with a loud scream parting your dry lips, and burning fiercely in your throat. Your eyes a damp with unshed tears and—

A strong arm curls tightly around you and you feel the soft press of lips against the side of your neck.

“Share your nightmare with me,” Azriel mumbles, his voice hoarse and low.

Your breathing is ragged but you relax immediately, pressing into his warm and solid body, finding solace in it. 

You close your eyes, hoping to ease the burning and for your heart to calm down. Your breaths start to calm as well, levelling, and you slide your hand into his scarred one.

“I dreamt of the war.”

Azriel’s body shudders in response to your answer, and his arm curls tighter around, his naked body flush against yours. 

“I dreamt of how I couldn’t find you, how I was looking for you, and how I was reunited with my family.”

“But you found me,” Azriel breathes, his voice full of emotion. 

You turn in his arms, slowly in order to not hurt him. The war hasn’t been over for too long, Azriel earned himself many deep gashes. The blades that caused him those had been drenched in faebane and the healing took much longer.

“I did,” you whisper and a tear rolls down your cheek.

“I can’t believe you could forgive me, Y/N.” Azriel‘s eyes are closed almost as if it pains him to look at you. “After I‘ve hurt you so much, after I betrayed you, after—”

Having wiggled one hand free, you place it atop his lips, stopping him. “Our souls belong to each other, they were for another and so are we — made for another. Two hearts that belong together shouldn’t be kept apart. It is true that you hurt me, but you apologised and you have shown me that you are a better male now.”

You push up on your elbow, allowing your naked limbs to tangle with his. 

You lean over him and brush your lips against his, at first sweet and delicate, then a little deeper. The kiss is bittersweet, full of tears, longing, love, pain, madness and desire.

“I love you, my mate.”

“I love you, my mate,” he says with a smile but claims your mouth in another kiss in the next moment. This one is deeper, hungrier, a dance of tongues and lips.

You are both breathless when you part, your hands resting atop his heaving chest, not all the wounds from the war now having healed yet, but bandages protecting them. 

“Shall we get up?” Azriel asks, his tone a little lighter, sparkles glittering in his hazel eyes. “We have a lot of rebuilding to do, don’t we?”

You have started to rebuild the Middle with help of the Wild Hunt, your mate and some of his family members. Both Rhysand and Feyre apologised and told you that they could, for the time being, not return to the middle — their experiences and what was done to them here has been too traumatising to be yet ready to return here.

You understood of course.

But the Valkyries join you a lot, helping you greatly.

“I think that rebuilding can wait a little longer, Azriel,” you hum and kiss his jaw. “There are other things I want to do now.”

“Other things?” Azriel drawls and pulls your leg over his waist. “What other things?”

You let your fingers dance up his chest, before curling them around his neck, bringing him in for another kiss. “Oh you know exactly what other things.” Your lips curl against his when you press against his front. 

And oh does he know! Making love to you for the rest of the morning, before you head outside and start to work on your house and the large garden beyond.

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[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Seven

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 5010 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

CW: Sexual content (dry humping, whoo!), self-harming behaviour (to feed Astarion), knives, heavy descriptions of dissociation, references to abuse, gore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

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A/N: Remember when I was uploading these chapters regularly? HAHAHAAAA... As a gift to say sorry for my absence, here is an extra long one, plus my first ever shot at writing smut. Feedback is always appreciated, my lovelies. Hope you enjoy xxx

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Chapter Seven - Yes

The sweetest of dreams are always in reach, but never obtained, blocked by unwelcome intrusions that if you were conscious, you’d have no trouble swatting away. But here, with nowhere to run? Nothing to look at? They hold you. They caress you in the only way you know how: Brutally.

I’m so… Tired…

__________________________________________

Eyelids snap open, her hand is no longer gripping your wrist and you don’t see it, but it’s there: the mark she burned into you. And like so many others, it’s now healed and concealed from view. Just the way she liked it.

Forget… Please…

You slip out of your bedroll and throw on your green robe, fixing it to your body in the way that everyone seemed to enjoy. After all, you could do with the pick-me-up after those dreams. Sweet, fresh air fills your lungs as you step out, into the open. The first one awake, as always.

Stepping in front of your station, you take in the ingredients before you. The colours of vegetables, fruit and meat begin to blend together until you can’t recognise them anymore. But you’re calm, you’re stable, you’re just… Not here… “Tav? Are you alright?”

You nod, barely, not breaking your gaze on the fuzzy, watercolour mess before you.

“Are you sure?” You flinch as a hand touches your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

“Hm? Oh, Shadowheart, y-yeah, I’m fine. Breakfast will be ready soon.” You don’t know how long you were standing there, only that now you have to get on with your duties before someone starts asking questions that you aren’t ready to answer. You begin selecting ingredients and taking them to the counter.

“You’re not sick, are you?” She asks, following you.

“No, no. Just need to wake up a little.”

She inspects you for a moment before shrugging and choosing not to press you. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Eggs, bacon, sausages. You prepare each but don’t feel your arms move. In any case, food is presented on plates, ready for consumption. You turn away, hearing the plates scrape against the surface as they’re eagerly taken away, coupled with echoed murmurs of gratitude.

Wrist. Cup. Knife. Skin. Breath.

You wonder if you’ll feel it, sitting all the way back there in your mind.

You wonder if you want to.

Blade moves. Flesh opens. Red spills.

A sharp inhale, but it’s not yours. “Is that mine, darling?” Your first smile of the day. You take the cup and keep it under your wound as you turn to face him.

“If you ask nicely.” You smirk. His gaze is fixed on your wrist as it leaks with the most delectable substance he’s ever tasted. His half-lidded eyes watch the liquid rising in the cup, his breath growing heavy. For a moment, you think he might actually beg, and why not indulge? You could use the distraction. A moment of feeling desirable to numb everything else.

“What?” He asks, smiling eagerly, mind clearly elsewhere.

You take it a step further. “Say please.” Feeling the warmth of your blood growing closer to the rim of the cup, you remove your wrist. Precious drops drip to the floor as you reach for a cloth, and Astarion mourns each one.

As you’re distracted, he reaches for the foot of the cup and slowly drags it closer, but you catch him and place your hand over it, stopping it in it’s tracks. His fingers absorb the heat from your palm, but you don’t mind, you just hold on tighter. “Ah, ah, ah! What’s the magic word?”

He scoffs. “Please.”

“Good boy.” You slide your hand away from his.

“Cheeky little pup.” He grins as he takes his gift. “Are you going to humiliate me every time we do this?”

You laugh. “Until I get bored, yes.”

He laughs too. “Ha! Something tells me that won’t happen for a while. At least you’re honest.” You shrug, knowing he’s right. Watching this beautiful man squirm is quickly becoming one of your favourite pastimes. He smiles and resists the urge to tip the entire contents of the cup into his mouth immediately. “Thank you, my dear.”

You sigh and nod with the knowledge that soon he’ll leave and you’ll be forced to take a seat in the back of your mind, once again. Your smile fades and you turn away to properly dress your wound. He does begin to leave, but something tugs at him, convincing him to stay. “You don’t seem like your usual self today, darling.”

You chuckle nervously, trying to cover up the emotions that he’s clearly spotted. “Don’t I?” You slow down, taking extra time to dress your wound so you don’t have to face him just yet.

“No, you don’t.” Silence. You expect him to say something else: A question, words of comfort, maybe even a joke. But no, it’s silence. It’s unlike him. You raise an eyebrow and turn around to see him looking down at his fingers, tracing circles around the rim of his cup. You shrug and take a deep breath, ready to move on, but he speaks first. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

Yes. Gods, anything to take my mind off this…

“I suppose so.” He lights up and takes your plate, you follow him, expecting another forest clearing or the lakeside. But no, he takes you to the outside of his tent, where everyone can see. He shuffles a cushion to the side with his foot.

“Here, take a seat.” You do so, eyebrow raised. He hands you your plate and sits beside you with a sigh. A moment passes, you avoid looking at him, he confidently gazes at you. You eat, keeping your mouth occupied so you don’t have to speak.

“Do you…” He fights with the words, trying to get them out despite the resistance. “Ugh… Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh at his reluctance. “Well, with such an enthusiastic offer, how could I refuse?” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him, he chuckles back and shrugs. It looks like this is the best you’re going to get.

“Well?” He asks again, softly.

Your smile relaxes. “It’s hard to explain… I’m just having a rough morning, that’s all.”

He nods, understandingly. “Bad dream?”

You’re taken aback by his accuracy, can he really read you that well? “Y-yes. How did you…?”

He smiles, looks ahead and takes a moment. “I just… I just know how it feels, that’s all. Plus, those little bags under your eyes don’t give the impression of a person who gets a lot of sleep.”

You feign shock and rub your fingers under your eyes. “Okay, first of all: Rude…”

He laughs. “I meant no offence, dear. I actually quite like them.”

Smirking, you dismiss the compliment. “Secondly, you’re right. Gods… What I’d give for a full night’s sleep…” You lean back on your hands and close your eyes, imagining how it would feel to drift away without fear, to wake up without urgency.

Astarion brings his cup to his lips. He inhales your scent and takes his first sip of the day, eyes darkening as he watches the body it came from relax in his presence. He tastes you, and you’re perfect. He lets it sit on his tongue, savouring every note of flavour before swallowing with a groan. A groan that he quickly follows up with a concealing cough, but you catch it anyway. Peering through one eye, you watch him as he shifts his position, using a pillow to cover himself. He tries to drink the rest slowly, but as usual, his hunger takes over, causing him to devour every drop in seconds. Then, the inevitable, insatiable sigh once it’s gone.

Facing him, you can’t help but feel sympathy. “Is it enough?”

“Hm?” He returns his eyes to you.

“The amount I give you each day, is it enough?”

“No, it is absolutely not enough. Nowhere fucking near.” He thinks to himself. “Y-yes…” He says, much to his hunger’s dismay.

“Are you sure? You never seem satisfied.”

“Darling, if I was satisfied, you’d be dead. Trust me, it’s enough.” He sets the cup aside.

“Come on, soldiers! We gotta’ go!” Karlach yells from the other side of camp. Astarion sighs and stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and lift yourself up. Without a word, he retrieves his armour from the inside of his tent and begins to put it on over his clothes. You look over at the rest of the group and see them gathering, fully equipped with their usual gear. He’s late.

You turn back to him. “Hey, let me help, it’ll be faster.” You lift his chestplate, inspecting it to see how it should be attached. He hesitates but nods, tying his boot as you fix the straps around his shoulders. He feels your body heat move around his torso as you continue to help, never touching. He’s hyper-aware of your proximity, enjoying the closeness and only wishing to be closer. As you finish up, you step back, checking it all, one last time. He watches you, admiring the way your brows furrow when you’re concentrating. “All done. I’ll see you later.” You smile and walk behind him. With a subtle, deep breath, he walks away from you, forcing himself not to watch as you bend over to pick up the dishes.

__________________________________________

As they leave, you collect the other dishes around the camp and wash them. It’s a typical day of cleaning, organising, laundry and food preparation. Tonight, it’s vegetable risotto.

Carrot shaved into neat curls, butter gliding through solids as it melts, thinly sliced onion softening until reduced to translucent shards, a liquid gold stock caressing rice and a flux of flowing cheese to bond the components.

Without distraction, your mind is free to wander to difficult places. It pushes you back, forcing you to watch your sight from afar. Body present, self absent. It’s a hazed, strange view that doesn’t feel quite real, and your arms aren’t quite your own as they work diligently. You can’t hear her words anymore, but your body feels them. It feels the way your muscles tensed, the way your breathing quickened, the way your heart stopped. You’d think you’d be able to see it, but being so removed, your face hasn’t caught up yet.

Time passes, the risotto is covered and kept warm by the fire. You don’t remember making it. Footsteps approach. The midday drop off must have arrived. You continue cleaning the surfaces and don’t look to see who it is before saying. “Hey, you can just leave it over there, I’ll get to it in a minute.” You gesture towards an empty space near the fire and continue cleaning. You hear a thump as the backpack is set down, then the footsteps get closer. Closer. Closer. There’s breath on your neck. “How are you feeling?” You pause and turn to face them.

Astarion towers over you, yet again covered in blood, personal space reduced to inches. “I’ve been worse…” He nods, but doesn’t move away. “So, you ‘pulled the short straw’ this time, huh?” You ask, attempting to break the tension. He doesn’t allow it, he holds you there, thickens it.

“No, dear. I offered.” You release a breath, stepping backwards and pressing the small of your back against the food station. Feeling the string of distance between you tug at his chest, he follows it, closing the distance once again. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

You begin shaking your head before you can form the words. “Not at all…”

“Good.” He moves forward, placing his hand on the surface behind you and resting his weight on it.

He breathes in, scented air travelling through his nose, eyes drifting to the covered risotto. “Gods… I wish I could taste the food you make…”

You chuckle softly. “I wish you could too. Does it smell good?”

“Divine, as always.”

“Why, thank you. You’ve never commented on it before.” You smile, his eyes return to you, somehow darker.

“I try to ignore it, mostly. My ‘condition’ comes with a lot of disadvantages. This one, I found to be somewhat manageable, until you came along and made it positively torturous.”

Laughing, you relax your posture. “You know, I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“Oh? And what was that, darling?”

“About feeding you… I’d… I’d like to try something, if that’s alright with you?”

He raises his eyebrow, his eyes betraying his calm demeanour with undeniable excitement. “What is it?”

You understand why he must be cautious, but you want this to be a surprise gift for him. So, you won’t reveal the details just yet. “I think you’ll like it. Do you trust me?” He almost scoffs at the question but then he finds your eyes again, takes note of your sincerity, then matches it with his own, nodding. “Then come with me.”

You take his hand and lead him to your tent, lifting the flap for him. Smirking, he ducks under, sitting on your bedroll. Before you even make it inside, you hear the clinking of buckles and the thumps of discarded armour. Now clad in his simple, ruffled shirt and leather pants, he leans back on his arms, watching your every move as you sit opposite to him. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Is it? I’m just making myself comfortable, darling.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Uhuh…”

He sighs and looks around the tent, taking in all the knick knacks and decorations you’ve hung. ”Now, you have me, all to yourself, in your own little piece of nowhere. What do you intend to do with me?” He may as well have purred the words as the deep rumbling sound vibrates in your ears, so perfectly.

You laugh, cross your legs, and secure the flap back down. The sun pushes the bottle-green shade of the tent onto your faces, bathing you in it. With nothing left for your hands to do, nothing left for your eyes to focus on, his curious gaze becomes your entire view. You don’t say anything, just smirk at him, and he returns it. The longer you watch him, the sharper you feel his eyes pierce your skin. Your smirk fades and eyes widen, eyebrows twitch, threatening to knit. He isn’t phased by the look on your face, the way your chest seems to rise and fall deeper than before. He just tilts his head, watching you intently, presumably to gauge your desires. You think if someone were to look at you this way, you’d feel naked, you’d ask questions. But he doesn’t, he’s used to this. He’s used to eyes, like this.

Before you turn to stone, you hold out your arm, offering your bandaged wrist. “Here.” He looks down. The dry, maroon spot pokes through linen, inviting him closer. He takes a deep, shaky breath and obliges. “Just, don’t kill me.” You laugh and expect the same from him, but there’s a deadly solemnity when he nods in agreement. Sitting to full attention, he gently wraps his fingers around your forearm and with his free hand, removes the bandage. He reveals a sticky, sweet mess of a cut, barely knitting itself together. Dried, crusted crimson adorns the masterpiece before him: A physical testament to your generosity. He traces around it, gathering flakes on his fingertips and gazes up at you: A silent ‘Are you sure?’. Biting your lip in anticipation, you give him a subtle nod.

He brings his fingers to his parted lips, closes his eyes and savours the taste of your red on his tongue. Unable to wait any longer, he leans down, baring his teeth in preparation, but he stops. He felt the shift as you winced and flicked your face away. Inspecting his meal once again, he takes in the redness of your skin, the way it’s swollen and irritated from repeated cuts. It hurts, and it’s only going to hurt more. It takes all of his willpower, but he manages it, covering it once again with the bandage. The pressure and softness of the fabric isn’t the sensation you anticipated, you open your eyes in confusion.

“Tav… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I-it’s fine. I want this.” You reach for the bandage, attempting to discard it but his hand stops yours.

He sighs. “Alright… But not here, darling.” He slides his fingers up your other arm and turns it to face him. Fresh, clean skin. He can’t resist pressing his thumb into your wrist, searching for that delicious pulsing of your veins. Once he finds it, he bites back a groan.

“Is this okay?” He whispers.

“Yes…” You whisper back.

You feel his lips first, cold and soft. They suck on your skin in a way that you could almost mistake for a kiss. Then it’s sharp, it’s deep, it’s ice. Sucking air between your teeth, you lean your head back, trying to control your breathing, repeating his words back to you in your mind.

“It hurts a fair bit, but only for a few seconds.”

Taking drag after drag of your essence, he grips your arm tighter, unable to hold back from groaning into your wrist. The sensation is desperate, it’s insatiable, but no longer painful. Now it’s a tingling, coursing fire, igniting goosebumps and warming your reddened cheeks. Somehow, although the pain has gone, your breathing is harder to control now than it was before. It’s shaky and intimate. He matches his swallows to the rhythm.

“Then… Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the rest…”

A familiar feeling: The pooling of desire between your legs. You know this well, and there is comfort in that. But, somehow, it’s tinted in a different shade than usual. It’s primal. Reducing all other wants and needs to secondary. You find your fingers carding through his hair, gently guiding his fangs further into your flesh. Feeling the eager pressure, he obeys and whimpers into your arm. The sound shoots through your veins and you find yourself scooting closer to him. He’s entirely lost in your taste, eyes squeezed shut, brows raised in pure pleasure. Your eyes drift lower and you gasp at the sight of the seams in his leather pants, strained over his aching erection. You need more.

You tug on his hair, but he latches on harder. You try prying away his grip on your forearm with your fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Astarion…” You whisper. He flicks his eyes open, pleading with you to let him stay. Smiling warmly, you lightly take his chin between your fingertips, guiding him away from your arm. You watch as your flesh clings to his fangs, as though it wishes to stay connected to him. Once he’s removed, the wounds spill over and drip down your arm in a steady stream. He takes it, collects the mess on his tongue and suckles on the source, adding enough pressure to stop the bleeding. His eyes close and he stops, lingering his lips on your damaged skin.

“Was it too much?” He whispers against your wrist.

“No...” Although there’s nobody around to hear you, you whisper back. It feels right, intimate. He sighs and pulls away, meeting you with a lidded gaze. You can only imagine how you must look, as flustered as you are. Leaning in, you feel his bated breath mingling with yours in what little space there is between your lips. You look down at a neglected drop of your essence, running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Catching it with your thumb, you bring it back up and smear it across his lower lip. He opens his mouth for you with a hitched breath. You continue to paint him with it, admiring the rich colour against his pastel skin. Though, you do notice a new, rosy tint to his cheeks that you’ve never seen so strongly before. It earns another warm smile from your face.

“Darling.”

You watch the word form in his mouth before languidly dragging your gaze up to his. “Yes?”

“You want me to kiss you, don’t you?”

Yes.

You release a short, breathless laugh. “Would you like that?”

He grins. “My dear, let’s not play coy. We’ve been waiting long enough...”

Yes.

You cup his face in your palms and stare deep into his eyes. He hears something: The pulsing echoes of a voice. Your voice. In his mind.

Yes.

It’s all you can manage, but it’s more than enough. He releases restrained breath and slides his hand under your hair to cup your jaw and pull you closer. He waits for you to close your eyes. You do. He leans in and meets his lips with yours. It’s perfect, rhythmic… Rehearsed. To his lips, you are anyone, you are no one. It feels and tastes good, but it isn’t right. You feel yourself drifting away again.

No. You can’t. You refuse to witness this from afar. You need to save it.

You lean in further, taking control of the pace. His motion falters in the sudden shift and you take advantage of it: Tilting his head into a better angle and massaging the tension out of his kiss with your own. Once he accepts it, it works. And in sliding your hands down, towards his shoulders, you encourage them to soften. Sensing his free hand inching closer, itching to touch you, you find it and bring it to your waist.

The moment you let go, something within him snaps and he snakes his arm over your curves, grabbing and grounding himself on the fabric of your robe. Your body is pulled, flush against him with a fervid groan. You reward him with a soft noise of your own longing into his mouth. He parts his lips wider to taste it. Taking the invitation, you slip your gentle tongue over his bottom lip, seeking his. He eagerly presses you further into him and before you lose your balance, you slide yourself into a straddling position on his lap, pressing your breasts against his chest. He gasps as your weight sinks into him, grounding him in reality and locking him down as your infectious taste coats his tongue. With what little movement he can muster beneath you, he tilts his hips, craving your touch against his desperate length.

Smirking against his lips, you pull away and take hold of his chin, forcing his lidded eyes to meet yours. Together, you pant. There are no words, because there are none needed. His hands are stretched to their widest span, eagerly groping as much of your flesh as he can. They slide down your waist, slip over the dips and curves of your hips to find your thighs. He travels further until he finds the hem of your robe with a flash of challenge in his eyes. That’s when you roll your hips.

“Gods…” He breathes.

He liked that.

You couple each heavy breath you release with the same motion. You study his face, adjusting your weight slightly to tailor your body for him. His hands push the robe further up your thighs as he grabs your hips, guiding them. It’s not the stimulation that does it, (with all the clothes in the way, it’s hard for this to feel as good for you as it does for him) but the way he’s looking at you causes your underwear to soak.

You’re only just far enough apart to see his full face. His tousled hair, the new, intense rouge tinge to his cheeks, his eyelids fighting the urge to close, his eyebrows canting, groans and gasps that match yours so perfectly.

“Th-that’s good, d-darling… But…” He grunts the words before attempting to slide a hand down your front, towards your centre. You stop it. As phenomenal as it would be to feel his dexterous fingers stroke your folds and make you keen to the heavens, it’s too much. You’re not ready for him to see you like that yet. To have you like that yet. It’s too… Vulnerable.

“Please, just let me do this… Just for a little while…”

He gazes up at you in a mix of pleasure and confusion. You roll your hips in a particularly long motion, dragging your aching, wet heat over his full length, causing him to throw his head back.

“Ah! Fuck…” He takes a moment to compose himself as you continue your ministrations. He catches his breath and brings his focus back to you. He nods, earning a passionate kiss from your lips.You capture his eager whimpers as you increase the pace, and savour each one.

“Do you like that?” You breathe the question into his ear. He nods. You kiss his neck and gently suck on the skin before bringing your lips up to his earlobe. You scoop it into your mouth with your tongue and nibble on it. His breath hitches. “And that?”

“Fuck, darling… Yes…” You begin to guide his hands under your robe but the moment he senses your invitation, he takes over. He immediately starts groping at the supple flesh of your ass. He brushes against the hem of your underclothes and whimpers with longing, itching to rip them off. But he resists, he won’t push you, no matter how tempting you are.

He digs his fingers into your skin, pushing, pulling. Back and forth, back and forth. You oblige, increasing the pressure, increasing the pace. You notice his breathing and moans reaching a desperate level, he’s close. He must be. You swipe your hair away from your neck and lean into his ear once again, reducing your voice to a whisper.

“Bite me…”

He looks up at you in shock and arousal. Once he’s sure that you do, indeed, want this, he wastes no time baring his fangs and sinking them into your neck. You yelp at the initial pain and grab onto him, gritting your teeth and waiting for it to pass as it did before. And sure enough, it does. You match your hips to the rhythm of his ravaging tongue against your skin as it devours any trace of your nectar it can find. You feel your veins pulsing for him, your essence gushing for him. He brings one hand to the nape of your neck, holding it still. His touch isn’t cold, it isn’t warm, it’s hot. It’s a familiar heat, because it isn’t his. It’s yours. And it’s coursing from your body to his.

“Tav… I… I’m…” He clamps his hands down on your body, gripping you tightly. Whimpering urgent, sweet vibrations into your flesh as he shudders beneath you. “Ohhh ff-fuck…” He thrusts his hips up a few more times, his wetness mingling with yours through his pants. You move in languid strokes, gently kneading the final few drops out of him until he has to stop your hips, himself.

He unlatches his teeth from your flesh and gasps for air. His face: Painted with crimson and temporary bliss. He leans back, stumbling into a relaxed position. You breathe heavily and look down to see the mess you’ve both created. You lift up your, now barely tied together, robe and observe the large dark spot on his pants. Your underwear is completely soaked through; rendering the white fabric translucent. Scooting backwards, you can see just how large that stain on his pants is, you bashfully clear your throat. You notice Astarion’s eyes are open again. His hungry, vermillion gaze locked onto your underwear, but most notably: the glimpses of colour that he can see through it.

You drop your robe, covering yourself again and slide off his lap, to his side. “So… That happened…” Scratching your head, you try to overcome the awkwardness between you. Though, it seems like you’re the only one who feels it.

Astarion admires the glossy sheen that covers his pants and grins at the knowledge that it’s mostly your doing. “Yes, it most certainly did…” As he sits back up, his grin falters into a more defeated expression. “But you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t.” You take a deep breath and avoid looking at him.

“Don’t you want to?” He reaches out his hand to touch your leg.

You let him, but don’t take your eyes off it, noting it’s every movement. “N-no, thank you. I’ll sort myself out later…”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Sort yourself-...” He laughs at the thought. “My dear, I’m hurt! I assure you, I’m more than capable of-”

“I’m sure you are… But it’s still a no. Thanks anyway.” You take his moment of silent disbelief to adjust your robe and primp your hair, attempting nonchalance.

He blinks away his shock and scoffs. “Well… This is a first for me…”

You don’t look at him as you finish up your ponytail. “Hm?”

He slouches, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, I’ve… I’ve just never had someone leave before being… satisfied before…”

“That you know of…” You smirk, you can’t resist teasing him, even now. He’s too fun to mess with. He takes it lightly and laughs.

You exchange glances and share his laugh together. It feels good.

“You should probably change your pants before you head out again.” Grinning, you lean over him to undo the flap of the tent, pulling it to the side and tying it.

He gazes at your soft form draped over him as he pieces together what you’ve said. He’d completely forgotten about the rest of the group and has no idea how long he’s been here for. “Shit.” He remarks to himself.

You climb over him and crawl out of the tent, turning back to help him up. “Come on, they’re probably worried sick about you.”

He sighs, gathers his things and takes your hand. Once stood together, he tilts your face towards him by your chin and leans in. “Thank you.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours once more in a final, slow, tender kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[galactiquest]

I just adore your blog! Something about it and your imagines are just so sweet and homey 🥺 Could I please request some headcanons for Vash, Woowoo and Knives with a reader who loves to draw and is really passionate about it? I mostly have general sketching/figure studies in mind but you can do whatever is easiest for you! I hope that you have a good day and your blog continues to prosper <3

Thank you for the compliment 🥺!!! I'm so glad it feels homey. I try to make things like a home here... after all I LIVE HERE... thank you I hope to keep this blog going for a while after trying to revive it like twice before!

I think this request is so cute, I'm an artist too (have been for like, over a decade ^_^) so I've got lots of ideas in that aspect. I tried to keep to general sketching/traditional stylings of art but I think a lot of these can be applied to other art areas too!!

Vash, Wolfwood, and Knives x Reader: Artistry

Content Warnings: None! Reader doesn't have a specified gender, and some parts of the imagines are a little romance-oriented but this could also be interpreted as a strong friendship. Also this is my first mutli x reader so I hope the formatting's alright. No version was in mind for any of these so take them as you will!

Vash

Oh, he is definitely excited about this.

Vash is a bit of an artist, himself. He can do those super-complex technical drawings, and he really likes making art of machinery and stuff like that. There's a lot of diagrams of his arm lost in a notebook somewhere.

He loves to see your style and interpretation of the things around you. Seeing the world through your eyes, even for just a moment, is like heaven to him.

If you ever give him some of your art as a gift, he keeps it hung up on a wall or wherever he can stay for a while. (If he's in a more permanent place, his walls are covered in your art. He just loves it that much.)

The ones that are most special to him, he likes to keep in his pockets, so he can look at them whenever he needs a morale boost. Like, this is what he's fighting for: a world full of love and peace, a world that's able to keep creating beautiful art like this for years to come.

One day, the two of you get to draw each other as a sort of practice. Seeing each other through the others' eyes... again, it feels like a dream. Vash draws all the parts of you that you weren't always confident about with such care that you feel truly loved by him in that moment.

Wolfwood

"Oh, yer an artist? ... Can ya draw me?"

Yes he will absolutely pull that stunt at least once or twice, if only to get a hilarious dirty glare out of you. If you do actually take him up on this, he might let out a nervous "Haha... I mean, ya didn't have ta' do it, but..." He'll be really charmed.

Though his hands are strong and nimble from doing all those flippant tricks with the Punisher, he's entranced with the way you're able to use yours to create, to draw.

He's always sneaking you extra supplies, like pens, pencils, and paper, whenever you least expect it. You never have to ask for any of those things anymore, or even shop for them--they just happen upon your desk whenever you think you're running low.

One day, he takes a piece of your paper and a pen and doesn't let you see what he's doing until he's all done. He's a little dodgy about showing you, eventually he does. It's a crude scribble of the two of you, though you can tell he really put his all into it.

It's your most prized possession, and you give him a big hug for it.

Knives

Much like Vash, he's actually an artist himself--but doesn't really call himself one, rather saying that he's... capable of copying something he's seen part-for-part. So, his drawings are more like pictures or prints. They're exact. Eerily so.

The art that you make gets a half-hearted snort of approval from Knives, which is basically one of the highest praises he can offer in his own sort of language.

Though normally he'd want to give some sort of unwarranted criticism for a drawing looking wonky or off, he saves you from it. He doesn't want to break your passion--but he's not going to admit that outright.

If you do ask for criticism, though, he's very thorough while keeping you on the road to improvement. If you're studying a specific style, he's reading up on it. If you're trying new materials, he's making sure you have all the tools necessary for it.

And speaking of materials, he's able to secure uncommon colors and rare tools for you to use for art. He's making sure that everything you create is of the highest quality.

One day, you drew a portrait of him and presented it to him as a gift. He gave out that little snort of approval and maybe even a a tiny "Thanks..." as he wandered off. He secretly keeps it close to look at it in his private time, tracing his fingers over the ink marks and recalling your movements.

[rootsofdread]

I really liked your last request with the Ghostface and Trickster with whole unrequited thing with a survivor who just ain’t into them! Could you possibly write another with those two or expand on it with those two? Love your writing btw, I’m really glad I stumbled across this blog! Made my whole day when I did!

i could indeed!! and thank you so much, i'm very glad my writing could make your day like that! <33

Danny Johnson / The Ghostface:

Danny slowly gets very physically affectionate with you, an attempt to worm his way into your heart. He links your hands together, grabs your shoulders or your waist. But if you’re uncomfortable with his physical affection, his compliments simply increase. Every five seconds, he’s complimenting something about you. Your hair looks amazing, you smell nice, he loves what you’ve done with your outfit.

You start seeing him pop up almost everywhere you go. He used to be more subtle about following you around, but he intentionally makes it more obvious to get some kind of a reaction out of you. A positive one, he hopes. Maybe you’ll finally see how much he loves you and wants to be with you.

He leaves as many hints for you as he can in the hopes you’ll realize he loves you. He won’t say it, but he shows it in everything he does around you and regarding you. He spends so much time trying to communicate his affections, all in the hopes you’ll accept him. He needs you to know he loves you, and more importantly, he needs you.

Ji-Woon Hak / The Trickster:

Ji-Woon’s love notes slowly become more ominous in tone as time goes on, and he starts leaving them stabbed into the bodies of your teammates. You’re sure he wouldn’t hurt you, but he certainly has a funny way of telling you that he loves you. And it’s not even like you didn’t know he liked you — he’s always made it very obvious.

Clearly he’s making it more obvious in the hopes you’ll decide you should be with him. He knows you should, you deserve a romantic like him. Someone who always makes sure to tell and show you how much he loves you. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t let you know how much you’re loved? And yes — he does consider himself your boyfriend already. He knows he’ll win you over eventually, so there’s no sense in pretending he’s anything else.

Even if his behavior may be off-putting to you, it has its benefits; like him protecting you from other killers, standing between you and them and making sure they know you’re not up for grabs. Though most killers may not be so inclined to listen to someone as puny as Ji-Woon, they do listen to a few knives stuck in their body. There are easier survivors to pick on.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"I Want You to Scream" -- Hero Tortured by Villain, Intimate Whumper part 1

Warnings: chains/restraints, severe torture, blood, cauterization, iron rod branding, knives, intimate whump, etc.

(Villain whumper is she/her Hero whumpee is he/him)

Villain slowly slunk towards her victim with predatory grace, who was chained up and pinned so nicely on the bed.

It was Hero, her prized whumpee, at her mercy at last after so many months of battle.

Hero was tied down on the bed, completely exposed and vulnerable only in underwear.

His eyes tracked every one of Villain's movements around the room as she fished out her phone from a pocket, aiming it and taking several pictures of Hero's restrained form with a coy smile.

Hero's skin burned with shame, and he desperately wished he could cover up, but there was nothing he could do but lay sprawled out on the soft mattress. Metal cuffs were on each wrist and ankle, attached to the furthest parts of the bed that strained his muscles to their absolute limit until they were aching and sore.

"W-What are you doing?" He snapped, and the Villain's smile widened.

"Why, I'm ruining your flawless reputation, of course!" She laughed coldly. "I wonder what your friends and the citizens you're supposed to protect will think when they see that you've been sleeping around with the very villain you were supposed to save them from. I imagine they'll turn against you, don't you think? You'll become just as much of an enemy to the city as I am! Isn't that exciting?"

Hero's gut twisted violently at the thought. There had been one hero in the past he knew of that had done such a thing with a villain, and the citizens had been so enraged they attacked and killed them in a riot, even if it was partially accidental. And it was all Current Hero's fault. He had exposed the affair to the public, having no clue the citizens were capable of such violence.

Hero desperately hoped his friends and teammates would understand. He hoped they would see the fear in his eyes in those pictures, and realize that he was trapped, not pleasing the Villain in some wicked game.

Villain came over to sit on the edge of the bed, giving him a mockingly sympathetic look.

"You know, hero... I used to be in your shoes. So eager to please, to be loved by the citizens of the city," she said icily. "Until I realized that they weren't worth the effort. They'd turn on you the first chance they got, no matter how long you've protected and looked after them."

Hero's brow furrowed in confusion. What on earth was she talking about?

Villain chuckled pityingly at the puzzled expression on his face. "You'll figure it out eventually." She patted his shoulder condescendingly.

Hero's mind whirred trying to figure out what she could possibly mean as Villain got up from the bed, walking over to a dresser and rifling through the contents of the top drawer, before pulling out a small but wickedly sharp knife. Hero's chest seized with fresh fear, eyeing her warily as she returned to the bed.

He cried out in pain as she pushed him down into the mattress, putting even more stress and tension on his already over-strained muscles and joints. Then it suddenly clicked.

"Wait... are you the hero that went rogue?" He sputtered.

Villain smiled wolfishly down at him, her voice dropping low and dangerous. "Bingo," she whispered maliciously.

"But... how? You were killed!" Hero couldn't believe his eyes anymore. A good amount of time had passed since Former Hero's presumed death... but now that Current Hero was looking closer... he recognized Villain.

"No, dear one, I did not die," Villain said coldly. "The villain I was in love with was the man who was killed in that bloody riot. They killed him as an act of revenge against me for 'betraying them', in their eyes. They stole him from me and butchered him. That's when I realized the people of this city deserved to suffer, not be saved by a knight in shining leather. After everything I did for them as a hero... and they still ruined my life by killing the one I loved." She grinned wickedly, tracing her fingers up Hero's bare chest before booping him on the nose.

"And now you are being exposed in the same way you once exposed me. As a filthy. Dirty. Liar. Having an affair with a villain. So poetic, isn't it? I may be a bit theatrical when it comes to revenge..." She hummed to herself, tracing lines along the sensitive parts of his skin teasingly.

Hero shuddered and twitched at the light touches, flinching every time her cold fingers brushed his body as she shifted from those deceptively gentle touches to rubbing her hands on his broad shoulders, pushing him down even further until he felt like his arms might dislocate at any second from the sheer pressure of the chains holding them taut.

"Please..." Hero let out a pathetic groan, the stretching pain was almost too much to bear. "Please... I'm sorry for the pain I caused you... please let me go... I promise I will leave you alone."

Villain let go of his shoulders and tapped her chin thoughtfully, dramatically pretending to think it through.

"Mmmhmm, a tempting offer, but I think not." She smiled viciously, eyes narrowed and full of hate and venom hiding deep-seated pain and grief as she leaned closer, looming over him and dropping her head to the side of his face.

"I want you to scream like my lover screamed when your precious citizens murdered him in cold blood," she hissed in his ear, then placed a mocking kiss on his neck, before planting another on his cheek as she pulled back.

Hero shivered with sudden terror, feeling violated as Villain invaded his space. His heart sank with dread. Villain had earned a reputation for being violent and vicious... and now Hero was the center of her attention, and at her mercy, which was a very, very bad place to be.

"Wait--We can talk about this--" Hero started trying to negotiate, but his words turned into a blood curdling shriek of agony as Villain suddenly dug her knife hard into his shoulder without warning, deep enough to scrape bone.

Hero thrashed and writhed as much as the chains would allow as she slowly started carving a bloody emblem into his shoulder, taking her sweet time to make it look nice, a mark of ownership. Her victim screamed wildly, unable to out-scream the pain as the sharp blade plunged into his flesh over and over again with detailed precision and skill.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

[herofics]

OK hear me out? The league of villains with a quirkless reader who is a bad ass fighter just like Rick, Daryl and Negan combined and only one of them started falling in love with her (Spinner)

A/N: I have no clue who any of those people are, so I can’t really base this on any of them, but oh well. I have a lot of WIPs that I need to work on, because I have a couple of requests from like back in May, and I just haven’t gotten around to those. I hope I can get them done in the coming week, but we’ll see

•The league was looking for strong fighters for their cause, and you were a customer/acquaintance of Giran’s so he recommended you

•This was after a lot of the League’s vanguard action squad got caught at the training camp

•Spinner doesn’t really consider his quirk to be anything special, sometimes he even wishes he didn’t have it, because it has caused him a lot of grief in the past

•The fact that you’re quirkless doesn’t particularly bother him, but he doesn’t really care either

•He was a bit worried if you were going to be any good in a fight, but that worry was dispelled quickly after the first time he saw you fight

•All the League and Shigaraki cared about was that you were a good, ruthless fighter, who didn’t have any misgivings about what the League was doing

•So as long as Shigaraki was fine with you joining, Spinner didn’t have any complaints

•You were a bit of a loner just like Spinner, but you and him kind of bonded over video games

•You hadn’t really played much in recent years before you joined the League, while that’s basically all Spinner had been doing before he joined

•Spinner never really had any friends before he joined the League and he was pretty much a shut in NEET

•Your own situation hadn’t been much different, but you had become an active villain a couple of years before joining the League already

•Spinner and you use similar weapons such as swords and knives, but you also have a modified metal bat with spikes

•You both take care of your weapons, sharpening them and cleaning them after each fight

•During those times, the two of you got to talking and you realized you were kinda similar in the way you thought about hero society and your admiration for Stain

•You’d never had to worry about how people perceived you based on your appearance, unlike Spinner

•People with the mutant type quirks are often treated unfairly and straight up like shit, especially if they have bigger mutations such as Spinner’s

•You never treated him differently though, no one in the League really did, which he appreciated a lot

•Spinner ended up developing feelings for you during your time together with the League and you became close

•You were sort of oblivious to how he felt about you until he just told you

•You didn’t really know what to say to him for a long time, so you just stopped talking to him until you figured out what you wanted to say

•You eventually accepted his feelings, but the week between his confession and that happening was nerve-racking for him

[1neverendingstories1]

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts. Ant-Man: Quantumania spoilers

This.

Okay. I love the first Ant-Man movie. It's a comfort film, it's what made me watch the rest of the MCU. So you can imagine my utter lack of enthusiasm when I was told that quantumania was going to be large scale. Scott, is small scale. He just wants to be a good dad to Cassie and ogle at all the handsome guys he sees when he meets up with avengers.

He's a light character. He's optimistic. He's the comedic relief in every guest star he's in. His lightness works so well to keep people, viewer and villain alike, underestimating him. It has always been used to give him the upper hand both emotionally and intellectually. Knowing this? Makes Kang's introduction—because that's what this really is, Kang The Conqueror not He Who Remains, is why this movie was made—all the more perfect. Well, it would've been had the writers given it the chance that was so clearly there, had they tried to give it focus.

Kang was mostly a mysterious figurehead who spoke of horrors and wars and destroyed little children's worlds like Sylvie’s for the "sacred timeline" with just the promise of more of his destruction if variations were allowed. That is what I've always considered to be his Thanos introduction. His single appearance in Loki was Kang's version of the multiple teasers throughout phases 1-3 that Thanos had. It was faster, more efficient and more powerful because it told you exactly what he is capable of without making you figure it out or wait. It told you he is the end, no half of the universe no half of our heroes will survive. He did it all in a single episode. He did it all to make you know, so when we next see him we can feel.

Kang and Scott are extreme contrasts. They are light and dark personified. Their power difference ("you're out of your league") is so severe that they don't just not belong in the same fight they don't belong in the same movie. And that's exactly why Scott was the perfect person to introduce Kang.

Scott, while incredibly intelligent and did outsmart the forced field Kang set up, and did destroy the power source, is physically helpless to Kang. He was stepped on, broken and bloodied in just a few seconds under Kang's strength. Just his body's strength. And as Scott was forced to ground Kang looked at him in pity. Kang pitied the man he was killing because it was, laughably, inevitable. Scott has no way of winning. He knew that and said so himself. He knew the only way to get rid of Kang was to lose, for them both to lose and—isn't that a thought. "Our hero was entirely helpless, he could only get rid of Kang if he also lost, are all our hero's going to be helpless? Lose everything to Kang. Is that the only way to be rid of him?" This is how it should've felt at the end of quantumania to properly build the foundation for phase 5.

These two would've been able to bring the full fright and might of the upcoming Kang Dynasty had marvel let the movie be an Ant-Man movie. Quantumania should have been allowed to be like it's previous two in the franchise and been a comedy, had focused on what made this franchise shine: it's relationships: Scott and Cassie, Scott and Hank, Luis and Kurt, the blended family; the light even in the darkest of times. Instead it focused on the VanDyne women. Mainly Janet. Having the focus on Janet, her mysterious-past-arch with knives and fights and guns and the morbidity of being lost from your loved ones—while admittedly intriguing and worth exploring sometime else—that complete lack of light stole that weight the scale put upon this movie desperately needed. And Hope demanded darkness in her scenes with her curiosity of what horrors took her mother from her and ripped her father from her emotionally for years (and this is all interesting and important for her character/viewer and should be expanded upon further and could even be paralleled with Cassie so we can eventually see a bond between those two). However for this film to work, she needed to either learn how to finally accept light with her parents and Scott alike, or have already accepted it. Her scenes with Scott were extremely sweet, I will admit, but her relationship with her parents were more the focal point since the very beginning. Cassie, Hank, and Scott carried the lightness, but it wasn't enough to balance out the scale with the sheer severity of Kang's darkness, and the VanDyne women's additions.

Seeing Janet and Kang interact made me lose the fear of Scott dying. I shouldn’t have lost that fear. Focusing on Janet being relatively fine (considering), and physically unharmed the whole movie, and having escaped Kang even after having destroyed his entire pursuit in life for years eliminated any fear of Scott dying. I walked into the movie believing he was doing to die, and I walked out thinking I was crazy for even entertaining the idea. I shouldn’t lost that fear. We shouldn’t lose the fear of the man who threatened us with multiversal war in Loki. If they used Janet’s and Kang’s bond when he was banished and she was alone, not to show how cool Janet is (though yes she absolutely is for outsmarting and trapping him), but to parallel Janet to Scott it would’ve helped not only the film’s pacing but also to connect the viewer to Kang.

Thanos, he had a reason. His purpose was perhaps one of the simplest motivations to understand. Kang, however, has an infinite amount of variants. What we know so far is that he wants power, he wants to conquer. When he’s done all that he wants to conquer himself; hence the war that started the scared timeline. But. Why did one of his variants decide to stop this? What would cause this variant to suddenly become guilt ridden, compassionate, tired of himself and his suffering he both experiences and causes? Kang is complex. He’s so very interesting. But how can we as the viewers even begin to care about this man who, whenever we see a sympathetic variant, gets killed off (Sylvie, Scott) before we can see why? Why did he change? Why would we care if we’re denied the opportunity to learn.

Paralleling Janet to Scott and only through the eyes of Kang would’ve given the casual viewer the opportunity to ask why. Kang bonded with Janet over her kindness in saving his life, he valued her’s because of it. He wanted to eliminate her pain and bring her home to her daughter. But once she saw who he was she left and tried to stop him. That’s exactly what Scott is trying to do here. Get home to earth and protect his daughter, stop Kang when he tries to hurt others. If Kang saw this and still tries kill him? Still tries to hurt everyone for his “great mission”? It would make Kang so much more approachable to understand. You would want to know why he would still hurt people he saw value in. He considers them good, yet he kills, and still sees himself as good?

Ugh I don’t know. I feel like this franchise was the perfect one to introduce the Kang Dynasty but they just didn’t do it well. And they didn’t do it justice to the original Ant-Man or any of its characters.

[sugolara]

𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙗𝙮𝙚

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

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After another few hours, they all returned back to the bus. Some of their shoulders were beginning to get sore from the kickback of the guns. As Gunhead drove the bus back, Shota looked down to his clipboard where the names of people he had taken were written.

It was harsh to say, but most of these people don't have any strength. He can see the way they're scared and he can’t have that. So as he went down the list, he checked off those he wanted, those who were staying back to defend Sorston in case of anything and then those who weren’t having any part of it.

The drive wasn’t that long, so they easily and quickly made their way back, parking the bus by the side on a patch of grass. F/n was super bummed out when she exited the vehicle and made her way to the center of the community, she really wanted to fire a gun.

How long has it been? Weeks? Maybe a few months, right?

“Where are you going?” Shoto quickly caught up to the girl.

She looked at him and shrugged, “Home. Or the weaponry, I think they might need help placing the guns back. Why?”

He pointed behind him where his classmates were standing, all talking among each other, “They’re making a small dinner in memory for Kyoka. I guess in a way we should celebrate so that she can peacefully move on.”

“Touched.” She said, placing a hand on her heart, “But, uh, I was never part of her class, and I didn’t even know the girl.”

“You can still show up, they’re fine with it.” He really wanted her to go, “Hanta will be there.”

She thought about it, biting her lips, “I’ll think about it-”

“Please.” He grabbed her hand, “At least for me. She was my friend too.”

Ah, he pulled that card. She finally nodded, “Yeah, okay sure.”

He pulled her along to his friends, almost yanking her arm, “They want to get started right now. They also need extra hands.”

She wasn’t a great cook, so hopefully someone taught her a lesson or two, “Okay, what about the funeral?”

“That's later.” Momo said when the two reached them, “I hope you don’t mind helping us out. I know…Kyoka wasn’t your friend, so for you to help, really means a lot.”

“Yeah.” Not like she really had a choice with the male next to her, “Sorry…for your loss.”

This was awkward for her as she stood by, idling watching the class talk. Should she pretend to be upset at the funeral? She hoped she didn’t have to say anything and if she did, she should thank the dead girl for the guns.

Before the funeral, they all made their way back to Momo’s, Mina’s and Ochaco’s house. Kyoka also resided in the home, but since she was no longer here among this world, they would close her room and let it collect dust. 

“So, like this?” F/n eyed Izuku's hand and how he gripped the knife, he was showing her how to cut a cucumber for the salad.

“How is it that you're good at handling knives, but not using one to cook?” His voice held a teasing tone.

“Hey, my mom did all the cooking. If she had birthed a son, then I would have been stuck in the kitchen.” She shrugged, “And I do know how to cook…a little.”

“Your shit at it.” Katsuki said as he passed by, eyeing her thick and thin cucumber slices, “What the hell am I even looking at? It looks like a damn tragedy.”

She scoffed, “We’re going to eat it eventually, so does it matter if it's pretty?”

“Well…” Izuku looked at the vegetable, “It would at least be nice if it looked pleasant. Kind of adds to the whole dish.”

The blonde shoved the girl, “Why don’t you go help Hanta at the grill. You gotta be at least good at that.”

“Well just so you know, I am.” She rolled his eyes at him and left the kitchen, heading to the front porch, unbeknownst of the freckle male feeling bitter at his childhood friend for taking her attention.

“What do you think you're doing?” Izuku asked the blonde, slightly glaring at him. 

He scoffed, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“She was doing just fine here.” He stopped his cutting movement, “You didn’t have to send her out.”

“And yet she did.” The blonde looked at him before smirking. They were rivals before, but they thought they squashed it all before the world ended, but now that they were going after the same person, that was all it took for their rivalry to begin once more. 

They both looked at each other. Now that Izuku wasn’t a meek little kid who would let Katsuki control him, they wondered how this would play off. They of course had forgotten about Shoto, the said male was just outside with the girl. 

Denki clapped his hands, “Hey, hey, whatever is going on with you two, blow it away. We’re not done and I want this to be perfect.”

It was Izuku who looked away first, smiling at Denki, “Sorry, I’ll get to it.”

As always, Katsuki took this as a win as he left to go help Ochaco and Eijiro with the potatoes, “My bad, Dunceface.”

The yellow-haired male shook his head before heading to the bathroom where he locked himself in. He sniffled as he washed his face with cold water. He felt so guilty for not being there with Kyoka. She was his friend and probably more than that, so for her to just die suddenly…broke his heart. 

How many more people he loves needed to die?

“Y’know when my dad made steak, he used to put beer on it.” F/n said, flipping a steak, “It was pretty good.”

“That’s probably why you’re like this.” Hanta laughed, though he flinched when she punched his shoulder.

“Don’t be insulting me.” She glared at him, “I remember you stuffing your face with three.”

Shoto would have also chimed in, but he didn’t really have any fond memories of his father. His mother, yeah, but not his father. Speaking of his father, he wondered what he was doing below his feet. 

Then he stared at F/n. She’d been different these days and he wasn’t sure if the girl knew. She’s less hostile, more talkative, and out of her shell. He liked that. It seemed like he and of course Katsuki and Izuku, were able to shatter her walls. 

“You think we still have to be twenty to get drunk?” Hanta asked as he swung himself on the porch swing, “I saw some beers in the pantry room.”

“I don’t think Denki would appreciate us getting drunk.” F/n said, though the idea of getting shit faced sounded nice. 

“Maybe another time?” Shoto asked. He’s never even tasted beer. Maybe it’s not so bad with how many alcoholics are out there, or at least were.

Hanta shook his head, “I think Aizawa and the rest of the council team will get drunk. They too are mourning for Hizashi.”

“You guys celebrate separately?” Shoto looked at the other male.

“Yeah.” He said, looking at his cup of soda, “Then we do another celebration with the whole community, but with the way things are now, I doubt it’ll happen.”

The front door opened and out came Ochaco. She looked at the three, “Suns setting down, so we’re heading out in a bit.”

They nodded and watched as the girl left. After F/n placed the last steak on a paper plate, she handed it to Shoto who took it inside while she and Hanta began to clean up. As she did so, she would eye her cousin, “Sorry for your friend. I didn’t know her, but she seemed cool.”

The male sadly smiled at her, “Thank you.”

It seemed like almost half of the community was here at the burial site. Despite the dirt being damped, the graves looked beautiful. Bundles of different flowers were placed on top of the graves, some being in vases. 

F/n hung in the back, letting her friends and their friends as well as the other people take their time to say goodbyes. She watched as some placed small trinkets, possibly something that reminded them of their fallen friends. 

Even if she was coldhearted, she couldn’t help but feel sad for them as she looked down at the graves. The moody weather didn’t help  much as she could feel the rain coming. Maybe this was Kyoka and Hizashi giving in their last cries before they truly disappear. 

About another forty minutes, the crowd began to disappear and head into their homes. While Shota, Toshinori, Nezu and the rest of Hizashi’s friends headed to their own small gathering, class 1-A headed to Momo’s home.

The feast began as the friends tried their best to cheer each other up while music played in the background. F/n could hear them laugh and some dancing. She had a feeling that someone snuck in beer as she could see Mina and Fumikage a bit tipsy. 

She hadn’t bothered to join in and instead sat in the living room after she finished eating. She sat next to the armrest, her right arm leaned on it as she stared aimlessly at the black TV. Her other hand held a cup of soda, almost empty.

Hanta had stumbled across her, landing on her as she groaned and quickly lifted the cup so it wouldn’t spill. She glared at her laughing cousin, “What the hell is so funny? It's a funeral, behave yourself.”

He made no effort in moving as his legs were on top of her, his feet hanging from the armrest, “I don't know if I’m happy or sad. I feel like crying, but I want to be happy at the same time.”

She watched as he wiped his eyes, “Are you drunk?”

He let out a choked laugh, “No. Don’t be silly.”

Her glare had softened as she let her hands rest on top of his legs. She patted his legs in a comforting way, “It’s going to be okay, Hanta. I’m sure, wherever Kyoka is, she’s happy and free. She’s probably looking down on us and laughing at her friends behavior and maybe she's glad to see that her friends are doing fine without her.”

He stared at the ceiling light before letting out a warm smile, “I think I’m just tired. Today was pretty eventful and with what we're facing next, it's making me stressed.”

A tiny smile displayed on her lips as she watched him get up, “You going to bed?”

He nodded and ruffled her, which she usually never liked but allowed it to happen if it meant he’d feel better, “Goodnight, F/n. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Hanta.” Once his figure exited the door, she stared at the blank TV. The soda cup in hand as she listened to the rowdy commotion. She could faintly hear Izuku laughing and Katsuki yelling.

The spot next to her dipped, “You’re not enjoying yourself?”

She gave a brief glance at Shoto before looking back at the TV, “No, I am. I’m just…pretending to watch my favorite show.”

“Funny.” He said while looking at the TV. He pursed his lips as he needed to tell her something. Something about that day when Tomura came, when he came in contact with his brother. It was now or never, right?

F/n seemed to sense that he wanted to say something as she sat up, looking at him “What is it?”

He hesitantly looked at her, “...Do you remember when I told you about a brother of mine?”

When she nodded, he continued, “The day when…they died, he was there.”

She was confused as her brows shifted. 

He then looked at her, a very depressing smile played on his lips as he softly held her hand, “...If anything happens to me…I want you to know…that I love you.”

Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated as she watched him stand up, give her a short kiss on the forehead before leaving the home. Her heart was racing at a pace that she didn't know it could go at and she had to blink several times as her eyes began to water from how widened they were. 

She was…appalled. Shocked. How could she have been oblivious to the signs? Considering it was right in front of her. She’s spent countless nights with him, so how had she not noticed? 

She had to take a deep breath and remember where she was. She couldn’t let anyone look at her like this so she stared at the cup in her hands. Being caught off guard was something she did not like, but…her heart couldn't help but do flips as she let her hand touch her forehead. 

She could feel her form heating up as it felt like his lips were still on her. However, despite the lingering touch she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off. Everything about his confession felt wrong. To say she was flattered was the least of her problems as she needed to  know what he meant by if something were to happen to him. 

Did he know something that she didn't?

She couldn't think with how loud everyone was. She needed to leave, she didn’t like what she was feeling so she left the room and went to the porch where she hoped the male would be and knock some sense into him. 

Though he was nowhere in sight and she was left alone in the cold, staring at an empty street while the music and the people inside began to get louder, deafening her racing heart.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 20: The Outpost

The hunt for the general continues. You and the Mandalorian have a chance to do some good. A continuation of Beskar Doll ch. 1-19 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.8k

The bar, it seemed, had regulars. Much of the crowd that had been there in the previous afternoon was there again. You’d explored the outpost a bit more that morning, taking note of places that seemed questionable, things that could be Imperial hide outs. You also noted places where the Crest could safely land, if needed, and stopped at a weapons stand. There was a vibroknife there, one similar to the knife you’d stolen on Hosnian Prime that you were pretty sure had burned with your house on Dantooine. You bought it, figuring you could just add it to the tally of whatever it is you owed the Mandalorian - he still hadn’t given you a number. 

You’d always been partial to knives. Doing the work you’d done, you’d frequently wind up in close quarters and you could never rely on having more reach or more strength when it came to your opponents. But if you were close and could get more inside, a knife got the job done. And people rarely looked for knives. They took a blaster and assumed you were unarmed. A mistake that had served you well. 

You hadn’t learned much in your travels that day, however. Still no indication of the general, beyond the one lead you had from the bar the day before. You wondered if he actually lived anywhere near there or if he was on the move, that this was one just one of his frequent stops to find information, people, supplies. 

The outpost itself was bleak. It was a hub for the junk trade, one of the main industries on Jakku, and what there was here seemed to have grown out of that. Small spaceport, stores that sold the bare minimum. There was another cantina and inn, too, but after a quick stop, you quickly ascertained it wasn’t what you were looking for. Not unless Imps had suddenly gotten a lot smarter - something you doubted. 

You used the people in the bar as a gauge for how often you should come and go. Many seemed to stay there all day, others would only stay for an hour. One or two others approached you for work but you kept turning them down, saying they weren’t offering enough or that the job wasn’t worth your talents. You’d have to take a job eventually, if Shadrin held out for longer than a few more days. Just sitting there, saying you wanted work but not taking any, would look suspicious before too long. 

It had gotten dark out when the man from the day before came in, approaching your table. 

“Still here,” he said, sitting down across from you. 

“Not much on this rock that’s worth my time,” you shrugged. “I had higher hopes.” 

“Unfortunately, we’ve fallen far,” he sighed. You raised a brow. “When I think about the power we used to have, what we could do…” 

“What’d you do?” You asked, taking a sip of your beer. He peeled the label on his bottle. 

“First Lieutenant, ground forces on Naboo,” he said. Your jaw tightened, reflexively. “Ever been out that far?” 

“Once or twice,” you took a sip of your beer. “Grew up on Tatooine so it wasn’t far. Got my blaster there, solid weaponry.” 

“Good thing they didn’t have a standing army,” he smirked. 

“You stay through Cinder?” You asked, digging the nails of the hand he couldn’t see into the back of the booth your arm was draped across. You needed an outlet. You couldn’t scream at him or shoot him or beat him sitting here and expect to make it back. You took it out on the booth.

“Yeah,” he took a drink. “We were up against those fucking frogs, who knew lower lifeforms would put up such a fight.” 

You dug your nails in harder. You’d worked closely with the Gungans in your time on Naboo, had always admired their people and culture. This man had slaughtered them. 

“Ever make it to Theed?” You asked, against your better judgement, really. As if you needed more reasons to want to destroy him. “Only place I really saw.” 

“Few times,” he shrugged. “Ended Cinder there, actually.” 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. It would be so easy to kill this man. You could shoot him or slit his throat or entice him back to your room and take your time with him. If you cut his tongue out he couldn’t even properly call for help. 

“If it hadn’t been for the fucking rebels we’d have destroyed them,” he almost growled. “The whole planet was fucking useless, save for a few people around the palace.” 

You took a sip of beer to hide your expression. If he’d crossed your path that day, he’d be dead. All he’d done was delay it. You were killing him. Not today, perhaps, but soon. 

“Your friend still looking to hire?” You asked. 

“Mentioned you to him,” he replied. “He’s interested in meeting you.” 

“I’d like to know the job,” you said. “I don’t like wasting my time on pointless bantha shit.” 

“Is the glory of our Empire pointless bantha shit?” 

“No,” you shrugged. “But revenge missions are. I’m all for stamping out rebels and the New Republic and doing everything we can to retake power but I’m not going to be part of some officer’s tantrum. I’ve got better shit to do.” 

“Suppose you’ll have to meet with him then,” he smirked. 

“When?” 

“Two days,” he said. “Meet you here, dusk.” 

“Fine,” you replied. “Assuming I don’t have a better offer by then.” 

“Trust me,” he said. “You won’t.” 

You stuck around for a bit after he left, watching as people filtered back out of the bar before going upstairs and flipping on the comm. 

It was the first time you’d tried to talk to the Mandalorian since he’d talked you through fucking yourself in your room. You sighed. This had the potential of being so uncomfortable. 

“Mando?” You said, wincing at how hesitant you sounded. 

“There you are,” he responded barely a second after you finished saying his name. “What did I tell you?” 

You frowned. You didn’t get a chance to ask another question, he answered before you could ask it. 

“Every 12 hours, Doll,” he snapped. “I was about to come find you, it’s been damn near 24.” 

“Right,” you winced again. “Sorry.” 

“What were you thinking?” He demanded. You thought about saying what you actually had been thinking - that every time the man made you cum he seemed to want to pretend like you didn’t exist for a while after so you figured why bother him. Instead, you sighed. 

“Got an early start, didn’t want to wake you up since we’d just talked,” you said. Talked was a strong word for what you’d done the night before but fuck it, why not. “Didn’t really have a good chance to step away. I have more information though.” 

He was silent for a second. “What is it.” 

You filled him in on the meeting, leaving out the stuff about the contact you had made. No need to tell the Mandalorian you’d be leaving at least one Imp body behind you. 

“Sounds promising,” he said. “Think he’ll meet with you there or make you go somewhere?” 

“Probably second location,” you shrugged. 

“Don’t like that,” he replied. 

“Worst case he’s got some ex-stormtroopers with him,” you shrugged. “I can take them.” 

“How many stormtroopers have you handled alone,” he was skeptical. 

“In one go?” You asked. “Took down more than a dozen on my own once.” 

You left out the fact that after those 13 or 14 troopers you were overrun and nearly died.

Din was silent for a moment. You smirked. 

“I still don’t like it.”

“Are you mad that my body count is higher than yours?” You asked.

“It’s not,” he replied. You laughed. “Meet him, confirm the ID, then call me.” 

“How am I supposed to get out without arousing suspicion?” You frowned. “Hey, nice to meet you General, but now that I know who you are, time for me to go call my bounty hunter friend to haul you in?” 

“You’re smart,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.” 

You ground your teeth. 

“Working with you is going to be difficult,” you said. You could almost hear him shrug over the comm. 

“There’s a reason I work alone.” 

“Because no one could tolerate your attitude?” 

He was quiet. You sighed. 

“How’s the kid?” You asked. 

“He’s been bouncing off the walls today,” he sighed. “I’ve almost got the ship fixed, but I haven’t been able to spend much time with him. So he’s started finding ways to entertain himself.” 

As if on cue, there was a squeal in the background and the Mandalorian sighed. 

“Do me a favor and keep yourself in one piece,” he said. “This makes me nervous, Doll.” 

“I’ll try my best,” you replied. 

“And Doll?” 

“Yes?” 

“Call in the morning.” 

You actually obeyed this time, calling him before you left your room, cautioning him that you wouldn’t call again until you were back in the room for the night. But you liked the sound of his voice in the morning. You stretched out on the bed and closed your eyes, pretending he was next to you instead of outside the outpost, that you were just having a conversation before starting your day, almost like you were a couple. Maker, that was a weird thing to consider. But it didn’t feel weird to want it, not with him. 

You wandered the outpost again before settling in at the bar for the afternoon. You expected a quiet day and were halfway through your first beer when a woman you hadn’t seen before came into the bar. The bartender approached her and you saw her nod in your direction. You steeled yourself, straightening your spine. The woman ran to you, her eyes wide as she almost fell into the booth across from you. 

“She said you were for hire,” she grabbed your wrist as you held your beer. You glared at her. “Please, I need help.” 

“With what?” You asked, fighting your natural urge to jump up and find out what troubled her. 

“A junk trader is convinced my son stole from him,” she clung to your wrist. “I can’t get him to listen to me, please…” 

“Pay him off,” you shrugged. 

“I can’t afford it,” she was frantic. 

“Then you can’t afford me.” 

“Please,” her fingers dug into you. You tried to beseech her with your eyes. She had to try harder, you couldn’t just get up and go help her. An Imp wouldn’t do that. Her eyes narrowed at you and she released your wrist, smacking her hands on the table. “You all talk about how we were better under the Empire but we need help and where are you? If your fucking Empire was so great, do something!” 

You almost smiled at her. That would do it. 

“Fine,” you said, standing. “Let’s go.” 

She looked surprised and you followed her out of the bar, keeping your pace leisurely until you were out of the door. You picked up the pace then. 

“Who has him and where is he?” You asked. The woman looked surprised. 

“Junk trader, he works on the blackmarket,” she said. “He’s convinced my son stole something from one of the wrecks he says is his but…” 

“Here at the outpost?” You asked. 

“Just outside,” she said. 

“Have a speeder?” She shook her head. You sighed. “Come on.” 

You led her to the speeder bike you’d stolen, getting on and jerking your head, commanding her to get on the back. 

“Tell me where.” 

“North side of the outpost,” she said. “About two clicks out.” 

“I go the wrong way,” you said. “Tell me.” 

You tried to ignore the nerves in you as you piloted the speeder to the outskirts of town, to a small hut in the shadow of the hulking shell of a Star Destroyer. It was easy to forget how huge those ships were when you saw them in the vastness of space. On land, they seemed impossibly large. There were two men outside standing guard, holding rifles. 

Their grip grew tighter on their weapons as you pulled up outside the hut. You smirked. They may be thugs but they were apprehensive. They might intimidate the people who lived here but for someone like you? They were nothing. 

“Stay behind me,” you ordered. “And stay quiet.” 

The men approached you, meeting you halfway between where you parked and the hut. 

“What’chu want,” one said, spitting into the sand at your feet. You looked down at it before looking up at him. 

“I don’t deal with lackeys,” you said. “Where’s your boss.” 

“Who’s askin’?” The other man said. 

“A friend of the boy your boss is holding hostage,” you replied. “He can let him go or he can deal with me. Tell him to decide quick, I don’t give second chances.” 

“That a threat?” The first man who spoke stepped closer, adjusting the grip on his rifle. You sighed. So stupid. He was so close he couldn’t even point the gun at you properly. 

“No,” you said, grabbing the vibroknife from its holster at your thigh and jamming it into his arm in one swift motion. The man screamed and fell to his knees, dropping the rifle. The woman behind you gasped and you caught the rifle as it fell, pointing it at the other man. “That was a kindness. I won’t be so kind again. Tell your boss to free the boy or he deals with me.” 

The man backed up a few steps, watching you, before running for the door. You lowered the weapon and slung it onto your back. The man at your feet whimpered and you pulled the knife from his arm. 

“Your boss have bacta?” You asked. He just groaned. You sighed. “Hold still.” 

You cut part of the man’s shirt free and tied off his arm above the wound, stemming the bleeding. 

“Find a better line of work,” you said, standing back up. “You’re not cut out for this.” 

He clutched the wound at his arm and you watched as half a dozen people emerged from the hut, all surrounding one tall, broad Abednedo and a boy who couldn’t have been any older than 13 who was trying to look like he hadn’t just been crying. The woman behind you cried out, but you shushed her.  

“Who the hell do you think you are, interfering in my business,” the Abednedo said. 

“Friend of the boy’s,” you replied. “Return him and we’ll be on our way.” 

He closed some of the gap between you, leaving the boy with his entourage. 

“And why would I do that?” He asked. “He’s a thief. Took what’s mine.” 

“What’d he take?” You asked. 

“Computer from that destroyer,” he jerked his head back to the corpse of the starship behind him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Craner Kree,” he snapped. 

“Well, Kree,” you replied. “Seems like even if he did take the computer, he’s stealing from the Empire, not you, and he can answer to me for that crime. I can make you answer to me, too, if you’d like.” 

A man from his entourage started for you and your hand went to your blaster, ripping it from its holster, firing and returning it to its holster before the man even fell to the sand. The guns all turned to you. Kree held up a hand, stopping them from shooting. He was in the line of fire and his staff seemed dumb enough to shoot, anyway.

“Don’t think the Imperials back at the outpost would take too kindly to you staking a claim to this ship,” you said. “Wonder what would happen if I confirmed that suspicion for them? Be it because I tell them or because I don’t make it back.” 

Kree’s eyes narrowed at you. You held his glare. 

“Fine,” he gave his lackey a wave and he shoved the boy forward. The kid stumbled and looked back before looking over his shoulder for a moment and then running for his mother. She clutched him to her chest, sobbing. You smiled. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said. You looked do the man on the ground. “I’m keeping your rifle.” 

You started back toward the speeder, putting your hand on the woman’s back and guiding her while she was lost in checking on her son. 

“Sleep with one eye open, Imp!” Kree yelled. 

You ignored him, getting on the speeder. The mother and son got on behind you and you tried to pretend you weren’t fucking terrified to be piloting a damn speeder bike with two additional passengers. 

You stopped on the edge of town, getting off the bike. 

“Please,” she looked like she was about to cry. “I swear my son didn’t take any computer, he didn’t steal from the Empire…” 

“I don’t care if he steals from the Empire,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “It was just a way to get Kree to back off. Was that the first time Kree’s caused trouble?”

“No,” she said after a moment, holding her son to her chest. She seemed surprised that you weren’t going to punish her. But then, she thought you were Imperial. “He’s done the same thing to several other families here, forces them into debts…” 

You nodded once, pulling out your com link and flicking it on. 

“Mando,” you said. “Need a favor. I’m not alone.” 

There was a pause before he replied. 

“Go on.” 

“Still have your guild contacts?” You asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Have them check on any open pucks on one Craner Kree,” you said. “Probably low level stuff but he could use cleaning up.” 

“I’ll take your word,” he replied. “Where is he?” 

“North side of the outpost,” you said. “About two clicks out, near the downed destroyer. Little hut, big idiots out front, can’t miss it.” 

“Consider it done. Do I want to know why you know about this guy?” 

“Probably not.” 

He sighed. 

“Remember what I told you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” you rolled your eyes, flicking off the com before he had a chance to reply and sticking it back in your pocket. “He won’t be an issue anymore.” 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “I don’t have anything to pay you with right now but I promise, when the harvest comes…” 

“I don’t want your money,” you said. “Just keep your head down until tomorrow, in case Kree decides to hold a grudge.” You handed her the speeder keys. “Take the bike, get out of town. Ride it, sell it, don’t care. Good luck.” 

“I don’t understand…” she looked at the keys and back to you. You shrugged. 

“Seems like you need it.” 

You walked back to the bar, the sun setting on the horizon. 

***

Karga was able to find information on your quarry quickly and you’d been right, there was a low level bounty on him. Only 2,000 credits but he was already there and he decided he could use the entertainment. And he doubted you’d send him after a junk trader without reason. He must have done something. 

Din put the kid in his pod after he fell asleep and locked the ship down before using the jet pack and flying to the location you gave him, skirting the outpost to not draw attention. He looked as he flew past, knowing you were down there, feeling closer to you than he had since you’d left the ship. Except maybe the few moments where he closed his eyes and pretended you were beside him instead of moaning over a com link. 

The junk trader’s outfit was easy to spot, exactly as you’d described. You’d clearly been out here - he just couldn’t figure out why. It was small enough that he decided he didn’t need to take out any of the men in advance, he could just brute force his way in. 

He landed in front of the men and drew his blaster. 

“Hey, stop!” One of them started raising his rifle but Din shot him, dropping him where he stood. He turned his weapon to the other man. 

“I’m not here for you,” he said. “You can run.” 

The man’s eyes darted from the door to the Mandalorian before he took off, running into the desert, toward the outpost. Din holstered his weapon. That was easy.

“It didn’t make a difference,” a voice drifted outside. “She just stabbed him in the arm!” 

Din shook his head. You’d definitely been here. He kicked in the door, four men standing around the desk. He found Kree quickly. 

“Craner Kree,” he said. The man straightened up from his desk. “You owe someone money and they’ve put a price on your head. I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” 

The men around him stiffened, turning to face the Mandalorian. 

“I don’t hold any bounties on you,” he said to them. “You’re free to leave. This is the only time you’ll get that offer.” 

The first man fired, the blaster bolt pinging off Din’s beskar. He sighed, pulling his blaster and shooting the man. He dropped. There was a hail of blaster fire then, Cree dropping behind his desk. Din took the men out one by one, their shots doing nothing but filling the small room with the ringing sound they made as they bounced off his armor. The last man standing tried to flee, skirting around the outside edge of the room, but Din shot him as he passed. He holstered his weapon and approached the desk. 

“Warm or cold, the pay’s the same,” he said. “Choice is yours.” 

The man straightened, a knife in his hand. He brought it swinging down but it did nothing but clang off the steel. The Mandalorian grabbed the man’s hand and twisted until he dropped the weapon, snapping his wrist with a shout of pain. The knife clattered to his desk and Din pushed the man facedown onto it, cuffing him. 

“You’re lucky I’ve been bored,” he said, hauling him up by the collar and out the door. “Otherwise, you’d be dead.” 

“Fuck you,” he snarled. Din just shoved him for the door, taking a speeder from the side of the building and flying back to the Crest. 

He turned the com link on as he got closer, expecting to hear from you soon, and he was right, your voice appearing just as he was hauling Kree up the ramp. 

“Mando?” You always asked. Like you were expecting him to just not answer you at some point. As if he could resist. 

“Doll,” he replied. “Here with a friend of yours.” 

“Have fun on the clean up crew?” You asked. You sounded amused. 

Kree looked at the com link. 

“That’s the Imp bitch who stole the boy!” He growled. That explained a bit more. 

“Poor choice of words,” Din said, shoving the man to the ground before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to the carbonite chamber. 

“Went on a rescue mission?” Din asked as he hauled the man back to his feet and shoved him into the chamber. Kree was about to say something else when Din started the freeze, the man’s words turning into a scream. 

“Woman came into the bar looking for someone to get her son back,” you replied. “Kree’d taken him, saying he’d stolen something from the wreck he’d claimed.” 

“Surprised you didn’t kill him yourself,” he replied. 

“Didn’t want to risk the kid,” you said. “Plus, his mom was willing to go into an Imp bar and insult the Empire. Don’t want combat with a wild card like that if you can help it.” 

Din smiled, the carbonite done. He pulled the slab out of the machine and put it to the side. He missed hearing your thoughts. You rarely said something that wasn’t worth saying but you were happy to say what was on your mind. Your voice drifting through the ship as you talked to the kid or muttered to yourself or made some biting comment to the Mandalorian had been strangely absent since you’d gone to the outpost. 

“Hopefully closing in on the end of this operation,” you said, almost like you’d read his mind. 

“The inn not up to your high standards?” He teased, going to sit on the rock outside and look toward the outpost so he could be looking at you, even if he couldn’t see you. 

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “No pre-Empire starship bunk, though. Or hold floor, for that matter.” 

He laughed. 

“I like your laugh,” you said quietly. 

“I like yours, too,” he said, watching where the outpost was on the horizon. You were so close, just a few clicks. He could be next to you in just a few minutes.

“And here I thought every sound I made just annoyed you,” you said it like you were joking, but there was something in your voice that said you weren’t sure. He thought for a moment, considering teasing you or joking back. But honesty felt less dangerous when you were miles away, not there for him to touch and be consumed by. 

“You’re one of my favorite sounds,” he said quietly. He kept watching the haze of the outpost in the distance. You were silent for a moment and he was worried he’d said too much. 

“You’re one of mine, too,” you said softly. Then you laughed a little. “First time I heard you without the modulator, I thought ‘damn, I’d listen to this man read ship maintenance logs and thank him for the privilege.’” His heart swelled in his chest, remembering how you subtly tilted your ear toward him when you sat, turned away, when his helmet was off. “I like the modulated version too, for the record.” 

You were both silent for a moment. He could hear you breathing. He wondered if you were sitting up or laying down, if you were dressed or just in a shirt to sleep, if your hair was still braided or if you’d let it down. 

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” He asked after a while. 

“Fine,” you said. Then you sighed. “Din… I meant what I said the other night. If there’s even a chance of you or the kid getting hurt, you leave me here.” 

His stomach dropped. He couldn’t tell if you were saying this out of an abundance of caution or because you were worried about the next day. He wouldn’t be able to just leave you here, that he knew. He’d kill everyone on this planet before he just left you here. 

“I won’t take unnecessary risks with the kid,” he replied. 

“Don’t take them with you, either,” you said. You pressed on before he had a chance to argue. “You’re that boy’s dad, Din. Whether you understand or know that yet or not, he needs you. No one else can be that for him. Don’t risk the kid’s dad, OK?” 

“What are you afraid will happen, Doll?” He asked softly. “Tomorrow. What are you afraid of?” 

“That you’ll do something stupid,” you replied. 

“I mean with the plan,” he said. “You’re afraid of something, it’s something specific. What is it.” 

You were silent for a moment. Then you sighed. 

“There are too many variables,” you said. “I don’t have enough control here. We don’t even know for sure if the guy I’m meeting is Shadrin. What if it’s an Imp who knows me? What if there’s a whole fucking squadron of them? If I’m captured or overrun, I don’t want you coming in here on a suicide mission out of some sense of misplaced obligation.” 

“Then get out,” he said. “I’ll come get you, right now. You don’t have to do this.” 

“If the Imps are planning something, we have to stop it,” you said. “The plan is… It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can hope for.” 

“Doll…” he began but you cut him off. 

“What if their plan involves the kid?” You said quietly. “They wanted him enough that they hired you. You said they need him for research. What if it’s for this and we could stop it, right here?” You were both silent for a moment. “We have to try, Din.” 

“I’ll be ready to go tomorrow,” he said. “Say the word and I’ll get you out.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” You said after a minute. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell the kid,” you took a deep breath, your voice catching. “Tell the kid I love him, OK?” 

Din closed his eyes. 

“He loves you, too.” 

He wasn’t talking about the kid. 

[ravenromanova]

Winter Widow Masterlist

Hello my loves❤️🖤 welcome to the materlist for my story The Winter Widow! This story was originally going to be put on wattpad and have like 50 chapters. BUT i decided to do around 20 chapters and just make those longer on here. I will try to post two chapters a time when i do upload but don’t hold me to that lmao. But here you’ll find all the chapters linked down below to make it easier to find. I hope you enjoy the story and love it as much as i do.

Summary: Lilith Rose was taken by The Red Room when she was 9 years old. She was given to them by her parents who were in debt to Dreykov. Given the serum she was 15 Lilith was trained to be the best female assassin in the world. She was eventually trained by no other than The Winter Solider. Her and The solider got close until he left one day fro a mission and she never saw him again. What happens when she wakes up? will Lilith ever see the solider again

Warning’s for this series: Heavy violence (blood, beatings, alluding to sexual assault, use of guns and knives) Lots of angst, Mentions of the red room (slight mentions of mental and physical abuse and experimentation along with brainwashing) Lilith suffers from a plethora of mental illnesses (Ptsd, Depression, Anxiety And BPD) SMUT! 18+!!!! (Later chapters) Ill add more when they come.

ON HIATUS

Mood Boards

Where it all started

Gotta be good enough

Hello solider

Party time

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Heyy happy STS! If your characters were real, would you get along with them? Would you have stuff in common? Would you hang out? And if so, what activities would you guys do? (For any character(s) you want from any story!)

@orphanheirs Hiii hello! Thank you for the ask! (Do you do STS or any events, btw? I know you collect inspiration/aesthetic stuff for your writing, but didn't see any tag or ask posts.)

For Apophenia's characters...I'd get along with most of them, partly because many share fragments of personality or interest with me already.

Isaac and I would awkwardly make small talk until animals or supernatural stuff came up, then we'd lose track of time being gd nerds. We're both people who can enjoy just being around each other and doing our own thing, but also like to discuss ideas and do chill activities together (games, watch stuff, museums, etc.). We have some of the same flaws, but we'd encourage each other to do better because it's much easier for us to do that for others than it is for ourselves. All in all, I think we'd be close friends.

Renato has some of my more sociable/charming traits, just dialed up to 11. Honestly, he's too cool for me and would lose interest pretty quickly, especially because he's allergic to having genuine or introspective conversations. We don't have much in common beyond some general knowledge of ships and the ocean. If I had a party and invited him, all the other guests would forget about me and go follow him to a bar. (Then regret it after he, you know, drank all their blood or got them into a fight or something, but still.)

Another too-cool-for-me character is Elfy, but she's much easier to have a conversation with, and her charm and energy aren't weapons. We both love spooky stuff, and like Isaac I'd go with her to haunted sites. (Unlike Isaac, I'd enjoy myself.) All the stuff I could do with him I could do with her, plus if we did something more socially engaging I wouldn't have to worry about awkward lapses in interaction--Elfy would keep that ball rolling.

The best I could hope for with Kinslayer is that they adopt me like tarantulas will live with those frogs. We do both like books, poetry, and stories in general, and they're fond of Isaac, so I think I have a decent chance.

Breezy would be like the cool grandma or aunt I never really had. She's done a lot of traveling and had a lot of adventures, so she's full of stories and useful advice. These days she's content to run her hotel/bar in the middle of nowhere and stay slightly stoned at all times. I'd enjoy learning gardening tips from her and trying some of the, uh, special mushrooms she grows.

Friends aren't exactly Motley's thing, being a shapeshifting necromancer. I'd want to be friends with it, though, so, so, so bad. Maybe it would let me just hang out nearby as it sits in the desert and stares into the horizon, or wanders through abandoned places.

Oleander would be annoyed by me at first, but then again, she's that way with everyone so I wouldn't take it personally. She'd eventually warm up to me, I think. We could listen to Sisters of Mercy and practice throwing knives. I could probably convince her to try video games or DnD, which she'd enjoy once she got over how nerdy they are.

[thatsgay-writes]

Hey! So I had an idea and I was wondering if you would consider writing it. It's a Beatrice X Reader.

It's just after the final battle of season 1. Mary and Reader being the badasses they are fought together. Mary died. Reader didn't. It's around 6 months after( I don't really know the timeline) , anyway Adriel and his supports took Reader and basically toured her for info and anything they could use against the 'Warrior Nun' and being the person Reader never said anything, no matter how bad it got they kept their mouth shut. Eventually Adriel left, he knew R wouldn't speak but he found joy in keeping his supporters there (basement) where she was held so that they could continue hurting her. It's a day or two after Adriel left and word got out they something was important there but Ava , Beatrice , Camilla and whoever you want there didn't know what. When they get there they don't find anything and they are about to leave when they hear punches and shouts from a group of people. They go to the basement and they see 3 or 4 men kicking punching and slicing with a knife (if you want) against someone they can't really see because it's too dark (Reader could be strapped to a chair or hung from their wrists from the ceiling). A few seconds later, all of the men r down. They get closer Camilla turns in the lights and they see Reader. Shock. Gasps. (you know absolute shockkkk) they thought R died with Mary. Moving Reader to the amazing van they have. Reader is unconscious at this point. They tend to her wounds like loads of wounds- stab wounds-slice wounds-bruises and scars. R wakes up and has a heartfelt reunion and you can decide how that plays out. If this is uncomfortable for you, you don't have too right it, just an idea I had because I love myself an angst,love ending story!! :)

Not ProofRead, Off The Dome

Days bled into weeks, blurred into months as you hung from the ceiling. It was routine by now, wake up, get hung by the ceiling from your wrist, get tortured for information, get unhooked, and then repeat it all the next day. Sometime you wish you had taken Mary's place or been by her side as you bled out together instead of being forced to watch as the life drained from her eyes. The first days of your torture hadn't been that bad by standards. You were hit a few times, pushed around but nothing seriously damaging. Until the big bad, Adriel, paid a visit to get information out of you. Knives, tasers, even a few well placed gun shots were used almost everyday. Your hands were numb and blue by the time you were taken down from the ceiling and you were healed as much as possible each night. It was always the same set of questions, "Where is the Warrior Nun hiding? What is her weakness? How long will it take for her to come for you?"

You never answered any of the questions, you barely spoke and if you did it would be something along the lines of a fuck you or just straight up calling Adriel a bitch. In your head though, you were begging for either freedom in the form of escape or death. You had lost hope that your friends would come for you or that they even knew you were alive. Even after a while the thought of Beatrice coming to rescue you dwindled away. You hadn't seen Adriel in a few days, so you figured he left, but the beatings and torture stayed almost consistent. Clearly, Adriel had left specific instructions on how to handle you this time rather than just leaving it up to the Firstborn Children.

---

Beatrice sat in the back of the slightly sexual puff pastry truck as Yasmine drove them all to a secret building they had uncovered by getting information from a member of the Firstborn Children. She stared at a small photograph of the two of you from your first anniversary, almost five years ago. Beatrice wishes that she could go back in time and relive those years all over again. She'd make sure to hold onto you tighter, spend all her time with you, maybe she'd even ask you to marry her, just to spend a few years in complete bliss. But now you were gone and Beatrice felt cold and alone. She wasn't alone in a literal sense, Ava sitting next to her, Camila across, and Mother Superion and Yasmin in the passenger and driver seat but in her heart. She always felt this constant coldness that couldn't be taken away with a cozy blanket or hot chocolate, the only time it ever felt warm was when she was asleep and dreaming of you or reliving memories. Only to wake up the next day, cold. Beatrice had always been the one to think through things and go into fights logically but if this building was as important to Adriel as the Firstborn Children said, she wanted to to tear it apart and burn it to the ground.

---

Beatrice was pissed, this whole excursion had felt like a waste of time. Not only was the building huge, it looked and felt abandoned. There were no secrets in this building, the Firstborn Children must've just used this as a distraction. Camila could feel the frustration rolling off of Beatrice and she felt terrible for the older girl. It was clear how much everything had taken a toll on her. It was clear from the beginning that Beatrice, Mary, Shannon, Lilith and you had been the unofficial Warrior Nun dream team. But now you, Shannon, and Mary were dead and Lilith had disappeared. Beatrice was the last one standing and even Camila could see she barely was.

They were about to give up their search of the building when Camila hears a faint noise coming from down the hall. She peeks her head out of the room they all stood in and she could see a faint, barely there, glow of light. "Guys!" She whispered to her fellow nuns and gestured towards the door and the light. All of her friends tensed and instantly got into a formation as they made their way down the hall. Coming up to the door it was slightly left open, allowing Beatrice to see into the room. "They're torturing someone, this must be why this building is so important... I see nine people in total. Ready?" Beatrice asks, not really waiting for an answer as she kicks down the door and enters the room, cutting out the lights so the men were more confuse and unable to see.

---

"I think that's all of them." Ava says as she catches her breath. All the men they fought were uncharacteristically big and bulky, which Beatrice had failed to mention. "All right, let's see who all this fuss is about." Ava says as she moves in front of your body, Beatrice and Camila were standing by the door keeping look out. "Beatrice hit the lights please... Thank-" As soon as Beatrice flips the switch, Ava's heart stops. There you were. Head hung, hands slightly blue, blood dripping from one of your many injuries onto the floor but alive. "Camila help me quick!" Ava yells as she grabs a chair in the corner of the room so she can get you untied from the rope. "What? Who is-" Camila lets out an audible gasp as you come into view. She helps Ava untangle you and lower you to the floor. "Beatrice cover our front and Yasmin help us get them out of here!" Ava commands, she couldn't let Beatrice see you till they were out of the building. She knew Beatrice would freeze and that's not something they could afford right now.

---

"Are they okay?" Beatrice asks now that they are comfortable back in the truck and on the road. Ava and Camila share a look, how do they explain who they found. Yasmin just looks a little confused at the two's silence. Ava nods her head towards Camila who returns the nod in understand. She gets up and walks to the front of the truck. "Beatrice, I need you to look at me." Beatrice turns towards Camila with a confused look, why was she being so serious? "You have the most knowledge on medicine, which is why I am begging you to not let feelings get in the way for right now. Once we get to out hideout you can feel whatever you need to feel but I am begging you right now to let logic and reason take over." Beatrice stands, well as much as she could in the truck as she swaps places with Camila, scared to know why she said that. But the second she see your face, it takes everything in her to not fall to her knees and cry and beg for you to wake up. Her mouth feels dry as she swallows and pushes everything to the back of her mind, this was you. She thought you were dead but now you're not and she wasn't going to let you bleed out and be taken from her again.

---

You feel warm as you wake up, which was concerning. You could feel the blanket laid across you and the soft bed and pillow under you as you opened your eyes. Sun was streaming through a window and into the room and you were sure you were dead. You finally gain the strength to sit up and you can feel all the aches and pains and the tightly wrapped bandages that cover your body. Ok, maybe you weren't dead but you were highly confused. You shakily get out of bed and look at the clothes that were put on you. Normal things, pants, a shirt, socks, nothing crazy but what did get you to freeze was the scent coming off the clothes. You hold the hem of the shirt up to your face and you can feel your eyes watering, it smells like Beatrice, it smells like home. With a newfound vigor, you walk as fast as you can from the room, ignoring the way you have to favor your right leg. You could here conversations and laughs the farther into the house you get and the more excited you feel.

Could this be a new way of torture created by Adriel so that your dreams were no longer safe? Yes. Did you care in that moment? No. You reach a large set of double doors, the only thing left blocking you from, who you hope is real, Beatrice. You take a deep breath as you attempt to fix your shirt and hair, like Beatrice hasn't seen you at your worst and open the door. The silence to your arrival was daunting, luckily almost everyone looked familiar and grew smiles on their faces at the sight of you. But the person you were mainly concerned for looked like she could cry, "Bea." You let out breathlessly as you feel all the hope you had lost return to you instantaneously. You take one step into the room before Bea is closing the distance and pulling you into her arms, mindful of your injuries. "Is this real? Please tell me this is real." You say to her over and over again as you cry into her shoulder. She pulls back from the hug to take you face into her hands. "This is real, I promise. And I am never letting you out of my sight again." You can see the way Beatrice's eyes look at you like your the most important thing in the world and you know that your not dreaming and you know she will stick to that vow. "Good." Is all you can say as you lean forwards for a kiss and thank any and every high-power that there is that you were back in Beatrice's arms.

[theslay3d]

Heey! I'm here for Alex with a sarcastic reader that loves to joke around and make funny comments, please <3

Alex Fierro x Reader

Gender: Gender neutral

Warnings: um arson? man idk just slay also probably spelling mistakes

Word count: 1132

A/N tbh hate the aesthetic pic for Alex might change it...Anyway hope you enjoy!! also sorry if you didn't want it romantic.

You've been in Valhalla for around the same time as Magnus. You even helped him when he had to go on those crazy quests. You were also there when Alex got there. 

You didn't like Alex at first. When Alex first got there and changed into a wildcat and started running around she stepped on your foot and ruined some of your stuff which made you be well…mean to Alex. 

Of course Alex was mean and sarcastic too but that was just her personality. You did start to get along after a little bit Which totally wasn't because Magnus made you to be friends because he couldn't  handle all the comments and insults thrown around. 

Anyway after all of you defeated Loki. You and Alex started to become closer until eventually you started dating. It wasn't much of a surprise to your friends as loads of them shipped you two. 

Alex likes your personality a lot. It reminded her of herself and it was easier to get along with you. Plus you both could bounce off of each other with insults to your friends. 

One time before you both started dating you were sat in the dining hall and were talking to your friends about Alex. 

You sighed. “You know Magnus I tried to be nice but then Alex happens and it ruins all of my progress.” 

Magnus’s eyes went somewhere behind you. “Alex is behind me isnt she?” You turned around and looked up. Alex raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you gonna say it to my face?” Alex taunted with a stupid smirk on her face. 

“You ruin all my progress of kindness” She seemed surprised you actually said it. You turned back around to sit normally. 

Alex rolled her eyes and moved to sit in the only empty seat. Across from you. 

That was one of the times you realized you may have liked Alex. There were other times when you realized it like this one time that totally did not involve arson. 

You and Magnus decided to go to one of the training areas to fight for fun. Now you both were standing outside the room that was currently on fire. 

Alex along with others ran up to you. “What did you do!?” Alex yelled looking at you. “Nothing!” His eyes narrowed. Alex knew it was probably you who set the room on fire. 

“Okay well I did commit a touch of arson but really it's Magnus’s fault” You pointed behind you to where Magnus was standing. “What!” Magnus yelled, raising his hands. “I didn't do anything!” 

You rolled your eyes. Can't Magnus take the blame for once?  

“Shut up Kurt Cobain wannabe take the blame” You whispered to him. Magnus looked at you offended.

Alex seemed to have heard you and he rolled his eyes. He grabbed both of your arms and started dragging you. “Your both grounded” 

Alex continued to drag you both to your room. He shoved Magnus in his and slammed the door. Then he dragged you into yours but stayed in. 

“Why are you staying?” You asked with narrowed eyes. Maybe Alex would actually murder you this time.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to see your room” You sighed and turned to jump on the small couch in your room. 

You could see his eyes dart around until they landed on a wall. 

“Is that a wall of knives?” Alex asked.

You turned to see where he was pointing. “Yes!” Alex noticed that you seemed excited about it. “Why?” He asked. 

“It's my emotional support knife collection.” You turned your head back and smiled up at him. “Maybe one day i'll get to use one on you” 

“Was that a threat?” 

“Did it sound like a complement?” You tilted your head. 

Alex didn't reply and turned to leave. “Are you leaving?” you called out from the couch. 

Alex turned back around but kept walking backwards. “Yes Y/n that is the point of turning around and walking to the door.” 

“Fine bye”

Alex opened the door and left. You didn't realize you were smiling at the door until a minute later. You rolled your eyes at yourself. Hopefully this crush would go away. 

Another time during a Valhalla battle Alex got hurt but not enough to die. 

You were standing near Alex while your other friends were off fighting. She was leaning on a wall trying not to fall over from her wounds. Alex knew she would heal which is why she was just waiting. 

You tilted your head at how much blood Alex had on her. You couldn't even see the designs she once had on her shirt. 

“If you pass out I'm not catching you” You blurted out. 

Alex rolled her eyes. “Remind me to kill you later” 

“Oh of course I'll set a timer incase i forget!” You said sarcastically. Alex sighed “This healing thing is taking to long just kill me already” 

“I dropped my weapon back on the field so…” 

“Of course you did” Alex muttered and moved to grab something from the belt she had on. It was a knife. 

“Oh! A knife, are you flirting with me?” You teased as you grabbed the knife from her hands. She locked eyes with you. “You need therapy” 

“I know!” You said and quickly killed her. Obviously she would come back but even just killing her felt a little weird. You kept having to repeat in your head that she would come back. 

Finally moving on to the time you finally kissed her. Or well she finally kissed you. 

You both were alone which seemed to happen a lot these past few weeks. It seemed your friends got super busy lately. 

You all were supposed to meet in one of the movie theaters in Valhalla to watch a movie. So now it was just you and Alex. Sitting right next to each other for some reason.

You sighed again. “My hands are cold” You whispered not expecting Alex to hear you. 

“I'm tired of you complaining” Before you could think of what she meant she grabbed your hands and held them. 

Your eyes widened. Alex Fierro was holding your hands. 

Before you could think about what you were about to say you blurted it out “You know what for some reason my lips are getting cold too” 

Alex turned to you a little surprised. You were also surprised at what you said but were even more surprised at what Alex did. She leaned in and kissed you. You kissed back. 

You broke apart from Alex. She turned back to the movie. “Now be quiet, I want to watch in silence.” You nodded your head and listened to her. 

Maybe you were glad that the crush never went away. 

[rudnitskaia]

question in the subject of the marvelous miss maura!! what's the relationship between her and rocky? is there a romance between those two kitties or is it platonic? oh-- and dynamics!! how are they like? pardon the onslaught of questions, that art you did of them piqued a lot of interest! sending hugs and hearts your way rudni <333333

Omgomgomgomgomgomg my first ask aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa *runs around in circles*

Mars, Iza, thank you, honeybuns, I’m honored, hug both of you tightly <333 I’m a bubbling puddle now ✨ QwQ ✨

Answering your questions: yes, I see an opportunity to intertwine Rocky’s and Maura’s storylines and develop their relationship in a romantic way, BUT this is not necessary at all. These folks just communicate quite well and like to play verbal ping pong with each other. :3 But friendship is the strongest foundation for romantic relationship, isn’t it? So, yes, I can consider this option. Despite Maura is a talkative one, she is also a very eager, curious and attentive listener, while Rocky is a VERY erudite guy and a fount of unusual information, who clearly won’t neglect unironically interested listeners. Therefore, these two characters can quite soon turn from “the restless oddball” and “the chirping firecracker” into friends and, eventually, into something more. A flame thrown into fireworks. It will definitely be loud, bright and fun.

I guess Rocky and Mau would generally have a lot of strange, but mutually interesting topics to discuss. Like, on the one hand, Rocky can recite Yeats and Mau is quite savvy about the Gershwin brothers’ musicals, but on the other hand, both can easily stuck on discussing the issue of “do bugs crawl or walk in a recumbent position”. :D

I can even imagine how these two might spontaneously get married because of an accidentally blurted out series of utterly stupid puns. Because it’s simply something fun to do. Like, they sneak out on the roof in the night, chatting incessantly, and then

Mau: You won’t do such a felony to me. Rocky: A fell-on-knee? Well, I can dare. Mau: And if I agree you’ll dare to do it right now? Rocky: Oh, Miss Venza, it would be such a delight, but no one will marry us in the dead of night. Mau: The dead of night, huh? I remember you told me about some business you run with a funeral home. There's supposed to be a minister. A funeral home marriage in the dead of night. Sounds like a perfect match.

And soon Rocky, arm in arm with Mau, will be banging on the door of the Arbogast Funeral Home, and if the face of sleepy Abelard Arbogast could have stretched more from their request, it would have stretched. :D Though everyone should pray for Rocky if Maura’s father, Augusto Venza, knows about it. Just remember what Viktor did to those guys who decided to woo Ivy. Augusto would have reacted the same in case of his daughter and Rocky. He will simply break the poor guy in half like a dry spaghetti noodle, so secrecy is the only option here. :D

Aside from any jokes, Rocky’s and Maura’s skill to use words sharper than knives is the reason why they will get along not only because it is mutually entertaining. Both Rocky and Mau are accustomed to create an image that’s somehow different from what they prefer to expose as an armor, but it’s hard to hide your soul forever from a person who literally exactly knows how to pin people. What questions to ask and how to ask them. Rocky and Mau simply won’t manage to hide the truth about themselves from each other. And when one of them hits the right spot, a dark page of one’s biography or some fondest memories, Her Majesty empathy gets onstage. And here they are, developing trust and, eventually, affection. Knowing each other’s weaknesses, but never daring to use them after revealing them. Their little secrets, hidden between their words and smiles understood only by them. Friendship, that deepens into partnership.

I guess mainly that’s it and I hope I answered your questions, guys! Thank you SOOOO MUCH for asking and giving me an opportunity to write about this. <333

P.S.: Though I have some additional thoughts on the subject, I’ll prefer to hide them under the cut for the most curious readers. :3

For everything I wrote above it is necessary to, uh, make some assumptions. Firstly, the events in Lackadaisy, at least in the comic, are developing rapidly, and it is not an easy task to insert another arc there, especially a romantic arc. We simply need to have more extended time periods between the main events in the comic to get the opportunity to add a romantic subplot for any character. Secondly, Rocky, no matter how much we all love The Best Boi, is a doomed character with a very strong line of development that, ironically, can be easily skewed by romantic subplot as such, which, if it is added, must add something crucial to Rocky’s improvement as a character. Not to mention that he has a huge chance not to survive at the end of the comic. To fit romantic feelings into Rocky’s character arc to add an interesting angle to his already mastery canonical development, motivation and character itself is also an extremely non–trivial task. I’m not sure if I can manage it, ha-hah. Besides, every time I thought about it while writing an answer to this ask, the potential outcomes of intertwining Rocky’s and Maura’s storylines are rather angsty and gloomy due to these characters’ personal arcs.

It is not a secret that Rocky’s main intention is to save the sinking ship called Lackadaisy, as it is the place he belongs to and considers much more of a home due to his core, deep inner loneliness. If any personal romantic interest somehow outweighs his role of the “Lackadaisy savior”, it will inevitably cause a conflict in Rocky: a choice between “me and my personal happiness” and “the well-being of my home and family (Lackadaisy)”. The easiest way to solve it (from the character's point of view) is to combine these two elements, and if Rocky considers Maura as his ladylove… many obstacles occur on their way. Mau and her father are literally chased by the criminal syndicate from New York, and Mau herself has nowhere to go and is doomed to flee with her father. She is sick of this situation by the time when the Lackadaisy comic takes place, but she can’t solve it, especially because she has lack of personal money. No escape. At all. And if it’s the matter of earning money the only thing Mau can do very well is playing pool for bets, but rumors spread in a jolt, so if she uses this skill in any underworld establishment, it will draw guaranteed and definitely unwanted attention both to Maura and this establishment. Rocky has no money either, and the best he can offer to Mau is to live together in a car (:D) or to run away and wander together, which he won’t do because of, look upwards, his main intention to save Lackadaisy. And if Rocky, God forbid, will suggest Mau to run away with him and work for the Lackadaisy speakeasy (again, in order to share with her his home and his chosen family), it will be equivalent to throwing an armful of dynamite sticks in his own cherished home. The last thing that Lackadaisy needs is the attention of another potential rival in addition to Marigold. And though I can imagine many warm and enjoyable romantic interactions between these two, as a narrator I MUST admit that Rocky and Maura fallen in love = a disaster multiplied by ten. Ka-boom. No survivors.

So, if Rocky and Mau decide to develop their relationship in a romantic way, it will be an interesting plot… and an interesting game of survival. And which bet will win in this game is unpredictable. But let’s hope they’ll handle it. Let’s hope they will.

[fandomscompilation]

The story of two broken souls (Kaz Brekker x Reader) Part 10

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: eventual Kaz Brekker x Reader

Warnings: mentions of knives, mentions of Pekka

A/N: Hello! Another part is here. We're getting into plotline of the show. Working on both series at the same time is kinda hard, but I'll post another part for Kirigan soon too. Enjoy this one and let me know what you think!

Taglist: @d34drapunzel @coldheartedmar @igakc

Gif is not mine!

Finding a way through the Fold was the main topic between Crows. Kaz tried to make me come with them to the people who might know something, but I managed to stay at the bar. Going around with them would make people see me as a new addition to their group. But when the three of them failed I made a decision, that might cost me my life.

"Long time no see." I smirked at the woman who was carefully picking her fruits.

"What do you want?" She frowned looking slightly scared.

"Can't say hello to an old friend." I quirked an eyebrow making her huff in irritation.

"We were never friends." She spat making me sigh tiredly.

"You're right. I didn't really make a good first impression. But you can't really blame me, I was quiet angered when we met." I pointed out while she bought some type of sweet fruit and started to walk around the stalls.

"What do you want?" She asked again making me cheer inside.

"I've got a job at one of the clubs. I work the bar and I remember you telling me about your love for card games." I said watching her carefully. "Come by, I'll get you a drink. On my tab of course." I smiled while she hesitated.

"Alright. Any drink I want?" She asked after a second making me chuckle.

"Any drink you want." I winked before putting a small card of the Crow Club in her hand.

I walked into the Club and maneuvered my way to the table Kaz, Inej and Jesper were occupying. I nodded at them but didn't say much before Rotty brought me my drink.

"Here's what I don't get." Jesper started making Inej and I exchange glances.

"We're going to be here all night." She teased playing with her knife.

"Rude." He replied making me smile lightly. "Why haven't they tried going under it? Just dig a tunnel." Jesper said sitting upright.

"Tried that. More than a century ago." Kaz informed leaning on his cane. "Something.. heard them digging."

"It was made hundreds of years ago by that crazy Grisha.."

"The Black Heretic." Inej butted in and I looked away to the Club.

"The one who controls shadow. They've got one in their army now, don't they?" Jesper continued not minding Inej's words. "General Kirigan?"

"Your point?" Inej asked furrowing her eyebrows.

"If one of his kind made it, can't he unmake it?" He asked like it was the obvious thing. I huffed shaking my head.

"Have you ever put out fire by adding more fire?" She retored while Kaz eyed me carefully.

"Then what's the opposite?" Jesper really didn't knew things involving Grisha.

"A Sun Summoner." Inej said softly with hope in her tone.

"I found her, I finally found her. I can make Ravka better now." I frowned with his voice echoing inside my head. Was he talking about the Sun Summoner? Did really manage to find them after all those years? Did he already make them believe his words? Were they going to willingly follow his plan?

"Boss, boss." I snapped back and noticed Rotty coming up." We intercepted a note from Dreesen." I smirked his way as a good job sign.

"Did you now?" Kaz leaned back slightly, making me wish he was a bit less professional when it came to us.

"It's for the owner of the Orchid. Says they require the services of a Heartrender. Tonight." He informed and we glanced at each other.

"A Heartrender? Why?" Kaz asked confused and I bit my lip. I wasn't a Crow and I didn't want to cross the Fold, no need in helping them out.

"Doesn't say. Just they need it before midnight." He supplied making me huff. I got up leaning on the barrier behind Inej. Kaz will probably find a way to make me work with them tonight.

"You don't bring in a Heartrender unless you need an answer out of someone who isn't willing to talk." Brekker finally caught up to all the information he had. "That's how we get this job before anyone else." I heard his chair scrape the floors lightly. "Bring Dreesen a Heartrender."

"Boss, just one problem." Rotty spoke up making all of us turn to him again. "Pekka Rollins knows." My gaze met Kaz's in a second. He quietly repeated the name before walking away.

As much as I wasn't willing to cross the Fold, getting the job from under Pekka's nose would be a nice touch. I watched Kaz climb the stairs to his voice. He was already getting in the role of the Bastard of the Barrel, oh how I missed this guy.