#it's because his armor is a real pain in the ass to draw it

[the-path-to-redemption]

Why the Faunus storyline sucks ass: the personal/character level analysis

This is just my opinion, but to put in perspective how absolutely dogshit RWBY’s Faunus narrative truly is, I’m just gonna rant for a while and compare the storyline to another narrative that I think handled the topic of systematic racism and the cycle of violence due to racism very well: Full Metal Alchemist’s Scar and the Ishvalans. 

Preface: The latter two do so well, in my opinion, because they never truly portray racism as a straight-up allegory in the premise of a fantasy world. By separating a fantasy narrative from completely writing it as a reflection of any specific civil rights movement, it becomes a universal message that everyone can understand and make connections themselves to real-life injustices without inaccurately and/or offensively portraying a sensitive topic such as racism like how RWBY did.

Extremely Long Post Below the Cut. Spoilers for RWBY, Full Metal Alchemist, and Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Trigger warnings for: graphic character deaths, depictions/reference of character deaths, ethnic genocide, war crimes, mentions of abuse, racism, slavery, depiction of a hate crime (branding), reference to child slavery, mild gore, and depictions of violence. 

We shall begin on a personal level, then perhaps move on to the systematic level of how these storylines are so different in the portrayal of racism in another post. Let’s start with the bad: Weiss Schnee and her racism against the Faunus.

I’m gonna be front with ya’ll here: I actually didn’t mind Weiss’ initial behavior at first; it’s obvious where they were going with her character and story: she started off as an entitled, racist and cruel person because of many factors in her life. Weiss came from the wealthiest family in Remnant, with a unique and versatile Semblance that can easily grant her a high status in Atlesian society, However, she is also from a broken and abusive household, with a neglectful mother and a father who was willing to put his heiress through a dangerous trial for her to leave to another nation to find her own path, which resulted in a permanent scarring on her face. 

[A screenshot from RWBY White Trailer. Weiss Schnee in a dark room, eyes closed in a painful expression while blood trail down her face from a wound from the Armor Gigas]

However, Weiss has expressed quite vocal and malicious racism towards the Faunus, especially Sun during Volume 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”

[RWBY Vol 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”. Team RWBY gathers around an irate Weiss, who refers to Sun as a “riffraff” following his escape from authorities after stowing away on a ship.]

[RWBY Vol 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”. Weiss holding up a caricature drawing of Sun Wukong to Penny, depicting him as a violent individual while referring to him as a “filthy Faunus”.]

[RWBY Vol 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”. In response to Blake’s demand as to why she was degrading Sun for being a Faunus, Weiss gestures to a trashcan, insinuating that she equates him to being trash/referring to him as “filthy” due to his status as a Faunus]

Narratively speaking, these are condemnable behaviors for a character to possess, let alone one of the main characters of the show. Blake, another protagonist, even criticize Weiss for her racism and defended the Faunus, stating that people like Weiss and Cardin are the reasons why Faunus such as the White Fang have to resort to extreme measures to gain their rights. 

[RWBY Vol 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”. Blake angrily declares that it’s people like Cardin and Weiss, in their discriminatory behavior, have caused the White Fang resorting to extreme measures in their civil rights movement]

So, narratively speaking, we should see that Weiss would reflect on her actions later on, and aim to remove herself from such toxic mindsets and redeem herself from her bigotry, right?

[RWBY Vol 1 Chapter 15 “The Stray”. In response to Blake’s anger, Weiss snapped back, declaring herself a victim in the ordeal with her family and the White Fang. She then recounts the deaths of the supporters of the SDC, the Dust robberies committed by the White Fang, and her father’s reaction, claiming that it had made her childhood difficult.]

Not even close. 

Call me heartless, but while I’m not condoning Jacques’ abuse of his family, I find it insulting that Weiss would see herself as the victim over an entire race of people who are still enslaved by her family, and exploited by those same board members causing them to fight back. 

Sun’s entire kingdom was drained of its resources by her grandfather and the Atlesian kingdom. Ilia, another member of the White Fang, lost her parents in Weiss’ family’s Dust mines after a collapse, then find herself without empathy from her human peers who mocked their deaths. Adam, who was another Faunus character, was enslaved and branded, permanently disabling him for life. 

To compare their lives, knowing subjugation for the majority of it because of the way they were born, to Weiss’ is straight-up stupid. She’s a victim of abuse, but she also perpetuated the cycle of hate on a group of people who were still being used by her father, instead of placing the blame at Jacques’ feet.

What’s even worse? Weiss never apologized to Sun or Blake for being cruel to them in the show canon. You know what’s even more insulting? 

[RWBY: The Official Manga Chapter 8 by Bunta Kinami. Weiss admits her wrongdoings, and apologizes to Blake.]

That apology was written in a secondary source material, by another author not directly associated with the main writing team at CRWBY. And guess what? This decision will never have any impact on Weiss’ canonical character or the main storyline. This is the same as fanfic, and we will never get that closure in canon. 

Weiss then continued to not apologize, and in Volume 7 seemingly developed a “white savior complex” towards the Faunus racism in her own home kingdom. She told Blake that she wishes that she could “take back all the years of abuse her family committed against the Faunus”, but then went to a movie with Jaune and Oscar instead of a rally in support of a candidate running against her father in the Atlas council election, who was supposedly pro-Faunus. 

Why? Why not have both of them be at this event? Sure, it went to shit, but to show the audience that Weiss has truly changed and Blake wanted to continue to fight for Faunus’ rights, it’s logical to have them go to this rally right?? No, Weiss went to a movie with a guy she dislikes, and Blake went to a club with a team she doesn’t like. Neither of them took initiative to actually change the systematic racism against Faunus in Atlas, the infamously most racist kingdom in Remnant. 

Matter of fact, Weiss and Blake rarely have any development with this conflict between them save for sparse moments that don’t amount to anything and came out of no organic progression at all. They never talk about the ongoing discrimination anymore, Blake blamed her own kind for the way they were treated and placed the responsibility of Adam’s White Fang at their feet, and Weiss never truly did anything to change the Atlesian people’s mindset on the Faunus citizens there. Hell, Marrow, the token Faunus in the most elite unit of the Atlas military, never has another conversation with them about what it’s like being a Faunus in Atlas. It all went to waste. 

Now, let’s compare that to FMA 

[Full Metal Alchemist. A young Scar faces his people during the Ishval Civil War]

The character Scar is a fascinating one; he’s a survivor of the Ishvalan people who were massacred by the Amestrian government and their State Alchemists to create a philosopher stone (a great form of alchemic power) in exchange for their lives following torturous experiments. 

Scar also lost his brother in the war, who before passing away gave Scar his own arm tattooed with a transmutation array as a legacy. Understandably, Scar was enraged by this chain of events and went on a killing spree to eliminate every State Alchemist as revenge for what they did in the war, even if they weren’t involved at all. 

[Full Metal Alchemist. A heavily injured Scar awoke to see that his arm has been replaced with his brother’s, who died in the war. His face was twisted in an expression of horror and shock at the revelation.]

But perhaps one of the most interesting differences between Scar’s story from Blake’s, and even to the rest of the Faunus storyline, was that even though Scar’s actions were extreme and he himself acknowledged it with great guilt, especially after murdering a doctor couple who did nothing but saves innocents in his grief, FMA’s narrative never invalidates or demonized his anger. 

Scar was allowed to be angry, to be hateful, to be in emotional pain after a traumatic event in his life without the narrative ever condemning such emotions. The narrative never fully condones his rampant extremism either, especially after the murder of Winry’s parents and orphaning their young daughter in his grief. And despite all of this, Scar was given more to his character than just a man consumed by wrath and blood. 

[Full Metal Alchemist. Scar places his hand on the amalgamation that was Nina Tucker and her dog Alexander, with the intent of mercy killing them after they were forcibly fused by Shou Tucker, Nina’s father, and a State Alchemist.]

Scar exhibits mercy, sadness, understanding, and empathy towards other characters throughout the series. He was allowed to be a fully fleshed-out character, with more than just the drive for vengeance and the need to destroy out of fury. And once again, he fully acknowledges that his actions were wrongful and do not excuse himself for killing innocents such as the Rockbells. And this is where another important character in his story comes in: Winry Rockbell, the orphaned daughter of his first victims. 

[Full Metal Alchemist. Scar was surrounded by the Elric brothers while Winry Rockbell aims a gun at him, racked with grief after learning that he was her parents’ murderer.]

When face to face with Winry, Scar never blamed her for hating him. He fully understood her pain and told her that he wouldn’t stop her from trying to shoot him out of vengeance for what he did to her parents. But he claims that he would not just let her, because he has a mission to complete, just like she does. 

But then, Scar’s entire ideology was flipped on its head after this sequence of events:

[Full Metal Alchemist. Scar aimed to attack Edward Elric, who threw himself in front of Winry Rockbell to protect her. Scar was reminded of how his own brother protected him and hesitated.]

[Full Metal Alchemist. Winry approaches a bleeding Scar after he told her that she can enact her vengeance. However, Winry surprises everyone by offering to bandage up his wound, claiming that he would bleed to death if he doesn’t tend to it.]

Scar was shown an alternative to end the cycle of violence from the girl who he had wronged, altering his previous mindset of only stopping the cycle by completely destroying a side in the conflict. Winry, instead of continuing it out of retribution like he did, chose mercy and compassion. But at the same time, she refuses to forgive him for the atrocities he had committed.

[Full Metal Alchemist. Winry declares that while she doesn’t want to kill Scar, he should not misunderstand her actions as forgiveness.]

Compare this to how the characters in RWBY reacted to this sort of conflict; an in-universe minority acted with extreme measures against an oppressive and murderous system, causing them to commit atrocities against innocents that affected another important character in the narrative in major ways. 

What FMA did right was not invalidating either Scar or Winry’s pain and anger, the narrative of FMA never condemned Scar for fighting back for his people, the narrative never judges Winry for not forgiving him, the narrative of FMA did not sacrifice either of their characters to progress the plot and the conflict. 

RWBY did not do anything like that. Blake lost all of the sparks that marked her as an interesting character, who aimed to fight for her people’s rights and calls out bigoted actions, even when it came from her teammates and someone who she will see as a friend. Weiss never apologized to the Faunus she had hurt, nor did she substantially change anything about the way she or her fellow Atlesians think about the Faunus. Weiss did not add anything to Blake’s story, and she never even met the greatest sin her family has committed that we, the audience, saw on screen. 

[RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 11 “The Lady in the Shoe”. Adam Taurus with his signature White Fang mask off, revealing a branding scar across his left eye spelling the initials “SDC”, permanently disfiguring and disabling him.]

Weiss never saw Adam. 

Adam, arguably the character who underwent the most racial abuse at the hands of humans, at the hands of WEISS’ FAMILY LEGACY, was made into a caricature of an abuser. Despite the fact that this proves that he was a slave, the fact that her family continues to exploit an entire race of people and treated them like property or dirt, despite all of the possibilities of these characters having more to them.

Weiss never saw what her family’s name has done to Adam. And Adam himself was made into someone the audience hated, instead of having the respect he deserved. The respect that Scar had. 

His anger was demonized, even by Blake who knows he has this brand on him, his fury was condemned by the narrative and the characters in said narrative (Ghira, Blake, and Sienna), and his trauma was mocked by the writers when Miles motherfucking Luna referred to his torture as “grab a branding iron and let him have it”. 

And the conclusion to these two narratives cannot be more different. Scar, having gained the knowledge of what truly happened to his people, aimed his anger at the one who was deserving of it the most. King Bradley, better known as the Homunculus Wrath, was the ruler of Amestris and the one who ordered the massacre of the Ishvalan people. 

[Full Metal Alchemist. Scar, using the arm with the Construction array, delivers a fatal blow to the Homunculus Wrath.]

This outcome was both narratively and symbolically satisfying for Scar’s story, as well as the Ishvalan narrative. Wrath was the one who spearheaded the ethnic genocide of Scar’s people, creating a seemingly endless cycle of violence and pain, giving birth to the man known as “Scar” who was willing to throw himself into hell to enact vengeance for his people. 

But Scar defeated him after altering his view on the cycle of violence, no longer just depending on mindless destruction but to truly changing for the better while never compromising on his righteous fury for his kin. But he aimed it at someone who deserved it, instead of innocents. And it started with a girl who showed him another way to live with grief. To move on. 

So he killed the Homunculus named Wrath and symbolically separated himself from that version of the wrath inside of him. Scar the Ishvalan got the respect he deserved as a character, and subsequently his story, the story of the Ishvalan the fantasy race who underwent horrific treatments that we the audience can see happening in our own real-life history, was given that respect it deserved. 

What did Adam Taurus, the civil rights fighter and the child slave, have in his story’s conclusion?

[RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 12 “Seeing Red”. Adam Taurus was stabbed by Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao Long during their conflict with the severed halves of Gambol Shroud, Blake’s weapon.]

[RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 12 “Seeing Red”. Adam Taurus collapsed onto his knees before the waterfall’s mouth, while Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao Long watches him.]

[RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 12 “Seeing Red”. Adam Taurus succumbed to his injuries and fall into the basin to his death.]

This. 

This is what Adam was given as a conclusion. Let it speak for itself. And let it speak for what RWBY truly sees about a racism storyline that the writing crew chose to write in their narrative. The narrative that they themselves claimed to be a direct allegory to the African-American civil rights movement in the U.S. during the late 60s-70s. 

This is what RWBY gave to their narrative of a racism plotline. 

[elveneye]

``I know now fragility.``

-

You would think for a character that has basically become my profile mascot, I would draw him a lot - but alas art block is constantly swinging a bat at my head. 👍

This is my version of Dagri'Lon from Interesting NPCs! Despite being a super follower there's not a lot of content on him (I understand. He's a pain in the ass.) so here's some recognition for this edgelord.

[More info under "Keep Reading"!]

Sorry if I say anything that makes no sense up ahead my english is running low on fuel today …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

You could say this version of him is an AU, because I changed aspects of him that just wouldn't be anything like the real Dagri'Lon you get me? Dagri is supposed to be a serious character but I sort of picked him up like "You're my friend now, we're having soft tacos later :)"

It's very funny having this ancient dude who's body is in a vortex of slowed time and is no doubt tormented by that tag along with the Dragonborn that is only alive by sheer luck. Oh and also Inigo. And they're brother and sister. I don't know how one survives hanging out with siblings who start throwing shit at each other when bored (as siblings do).

Anyways about his design!!! I knew I could improve his original outfit somehow, so I took a couple of mods, jumbled them up together aaand created something, I guess! So it's not really my design I just sort of played dress up with him LMFAOA

I do feel like I could've given him armour that's more... the best I could describe is, grim reaper-y? Like some kickass black robe - but I couldn't find anything at the time, so I just stuck with Contractor armor. It does improve stealth, though!

But no matter what I absolutely HAD to have a hood to highlight the fact he's got no head. I mean that's like the focal point of his design, his non existent head. I'm too lazy to write the entire story of how he lost it but the way I remember it (and this I couldn't find on the internet I had to listen to him repeat it in the game) was he had these 3 servants that had to guard his body during the transfer which I assume was him trying to become immortal. One of them, never specified which, was like ay fuck you guys and sort of nuked the entire transfer, killing everyone in the process except for Dagri'Lon, who's soul was now in the void and his body in slo-mo. He also says there was a dagger in his neck which he just throws in randomly? And it took him about 300 years or more to even conjure up movement. TWO ENTIRE CENTURIES LATER his body is just, still in slow motion. And his fate has lead him to be the side kick of a Khajiit woman who jumps head first into traps and cries whenever she has to count.

Oh and the horns are purely accessories. Just thought they looked cool.

"If he's headless, why the eyes and teeth?" Well here comes the part where I intervene! If I'm being honest I was like "Yeah this just looks cool lol" but I made up a reason so now I have an excuse to draw him like this.

The eyes and teeth aren't real, they're purely just an illusion spell. If you tried sticking your hand under his hood (good luck) it would just phase through. But it's not a permanent spell, so if he forgets to recast it, well you can see in the drawing what happens. It doesn't hurt him or anything, it's like some sort of ectoplasm breaking down, which now makes this drawing funny because it would be the equivalent of not blowing your nose in a while and snot shooting out when you sneeze. If this doesn't make sense in the Elder Scrolls world I can't think of a better reason sorry 💔

There's more little details that I changed about him... Like he doesn't hate absolutely EVERYTHING that isn't decay (he likes hares. really likes hares), not as Gary Stu as he is ( I like to think that whenever he makes some sort of egocentric comment some Looney Tunes type of shit happens like he immediately gets sent flying by a trap) and most important of all HE'S NOT BAREFOOT !!!

I only now remembered to mention this but he's a mage who, If I had friendly fire on, would end up vaporising me every other fight. I've never seen worse aiming in my life.

-

If you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading. This is like the first time I've publicly just info dumped about an interest lol.

If you've got any questions about him send em my way in the asks!

[titanicfreija]

Insistent

"I need you to go away."

Freija and Sunny stood at the door of the barracks, having just come back from fishing on Nessus, Freija still in her dirty armor and a gun on her hip. Sunny knew better than to expect innocence. "What's going on?"

"I got you a surprise and you're not allowed to see it until I've set it up," she explained shortly.

"You're not good at surprises," Sunny told her guardian, tilting at her.

Freija flicked a whisker on the Hareball shell. "That is because you aren't either. If I could just be all, "Oh, nothing, I'm not up to anything at all, but seriously, can you give me space?", you'd spy. You're still gonna spy, and I've already told Rex about it so he's gonna be a remarkable pain in your ass if you try to sneak in."

Sunny froze in the air, glaring at her guardian and wondering again how many cogs were in there-- and how to get them all to turn at once. "Did you. Are you. Did you plan this on your own? Did Thomas help?"

Freija feigned pain, placing her hand on her heart and rocking away with a groan. "Oh, come on! I'm not bright, I'll be the first one to tell.... Maybe fifth after Rex, Thomas, you, and Zavala-- but-- Look, you're predictable and I can spot a pattern, okay? You sneak and spy and ask and dig and pry-- it's what you do. I love you for it, but you cannot leave a question unanswered."

Sunny sank bashfully to her guardian's chest level, ears lying sideways.

"Which is why I have taken extra measures to keep you out while I set up your surprise. I'm really hoping that the promise is good enough to keep you back, but if it takes me more than an hour, you'll start chirping."

~

Sunny slowly hovered forward and pressed her shell to the center of Freija's chestplate. "I never give you credit for the brains you have."

"Good. You won't expect them of me," Freija laughed, kissing the air over the ghost. "Go see your friends, go check on your other friends, go argue with Rex, go do something. I love you. I shouldn't take long. Go see about the paint guy again, that bear and rabbit thing was cute, the apartment could stand some colors. Dunno what to make for Thomas, but you could do a gambit thing for Three real easy."

With that, Freija vanished through the door, leaving Sunny hovering in the barren hallway of the Tower Barracks.

~~

Upon her return, Sunny felt better-- she did need to catch up on her socializing, and lots of guardians were in the Tower for the events, so lots of Ghosts who rarely visited were also in the Tower. Listening to everyone else's stories and commiserating (and silently thanking her luck that she and Freija got along) felt better, too, even if it was schadenfreude.

Freija's comms were perpetually set to a fairly small freqency, but she probably wasn't wearing her gear anymore. Thomas left a speaker on his table, though.

"Where are you?" Freija asked in the comm. Sunny used an ear to tap on the door.

Opening the door, Sunny didn't see anything, and she scanned the room for changes.

A corner that had long collected discarded armor and gun parts and ammo had been cleared and now featured a... table?

Not a table. The four legs and flat top stood, but contained a flat spread of sand within a deep tray.

"What is it?" Sunny asked.

Freija took a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "Okay. So. You said the drawing thing with your petals--"

"Freija--"

Freija lifted a hand under Sunny to 'support', letting her rest on the light bubble she usually emitted. "You don't have to use it until you want to, and you never have to use it at all. Thomas said he liked the idea and Three won't care as long as no sand gets in any trigger springs."

Sunny couldn't even name the churning inside, something like being sick with joy, and it made her want to beat her guardian about the head with her body.

"Anyway-- so this neat table thingie, which I found in a book believe it or not, sounded perfect. It's supposed to be a meditation thing? Or something? From some ancient ass cultures that were ancient before ancient was ancient-- but people like 'em, apparently, and draw stuff in them with sticks."

Sunny turned to look at it again, surprised to hear that. "So you didn't... look for it? No... trying-- did you make this?!"

Freija's face fell blank as if trying to hide an expression. "Uh. Are you angry if I did?"

Sunny couldn't speak, and she flew over to study it again.

"Anyway, it was a thing about meditation, which Thomas did point me at, and while I thought it sounded like something I'd turn into glass on a bad day, it sounded exactly like something you'd draw on the way you said you drew on stuff."

"You made this?" Sunny repeated.

"I mean, I ordered the pieces. Thomas did help me with specs, but only to double check my work, that was just math and geometry, I can do that."

The plain metal had been shaped to fit together, bolts and nuts and washers and all, even the crossbeams on the legs, and she made sure the ones holding the sand were soft and...

"Oh, Freija," Sunny whispered, circling the table.

The titan beamed, swaying back and forth where she stood. "And you still don't have to use it until you're ready, I'm happy you're happy. Oh!" Freija dove under the table to reach an edge against the wall, flipping a switch and spanned the table with a protective translucent covering that looked similar to helmet glass. "For when you do want to save something for a bit. I know the art is meant to be impermanent, but long enough for you to decide to erase it, kind of thing."

She flipped it back off before she clambered out to stand. "So, yeah. I got you a surprise. Thank you for not breaking into the apartment to see it before I finished, the work in progress was abysmal."

"Is Thomas here?"

"He's with Rhys."

Sunny couldn't make her ears stand up properly, and they flopped down. "You. Designed this. Got pieces made for it. And put it together? On your own?"

"Thomas double checked--"

"--double checked, yes, but that doesn't count as doing, that's supervising. You did this on your own?"

Freija leaned to poke the sand, writing something on a corner in clumsy lettering. "You don't have to make it sound like I'm that stupid. I do geometry all the time, my breachload grenade trajectory is second to Three and that's it."

"But I didn't notice?"

Finished with her writing, Freija stepped away from the table, a frown pulling her lips. "You slumped real hard there for a minute. I did it one of the days you were hiding on the fridge, got all the measurements of the barracks when I moved in and noticed that corner was empty in the way a junk drawer is, and it was mine and Thomas's, 'cos Three's is all in her room. So figured I'd fill the space and give you a thing."

Sunny scanned it again, seeing Freija's drawing (Freija loves Sunny) into the corner.

With little warning, she flew to Freija's chest and applied fifty pounds of pressure. Freija, used to the ghost 'hug', pressed her palm to Sunny and held tight. "I'm glad you like it."

"You're so sweet!"

"I gotta give something back, you literally keep me alive," Freija teased, 'scratching' the back of the shell as Sunny let up the pressure. "The switch should be within reach, I didn't make or get or look for any tools, but apparently there's things like... forks? Rakes? Sticks? I don't know. And rocks. And those tiny grown-up trees."

"Bonsai," Sunny told her, still marveling. "You're such a herbo."

"What's a herbo?"

~~~

@annieruok94

[dzpenumbra]

12/13/22

Today has been a bit tricky. I noticed that Max's hyperthyroid meds were running very low last night. It's a twist applicator and it has stickers all over it, so it's like... impossible to see what level the ointment is at, and I don't know how to even eyeball the amount. And --- I'm getting frantic. I'm afraid that she's going to run out of meds. I probably wrote about this last night. I ordered overnight delivery, the pharmacy says it shipped and I did 1 day delivery, like I shelled out $30 for that shit... But I can't see tracking info, it just gives me an error. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here, I am praying it gets here tomorrow before 1PM, or that I even have enough meds for tonight - let alone tomorrow morning, too.

It's the not knowing that gets me. And kicking myself. "I can't believe I didn't think to refill this sooner." "How did I not notice?" "I'm a bad pet parent." "She's going to have to be in physical pain, possibly get more sick, because of my inability to manage my life."

I have no idea why I am so afraid of the criticism of others, no one could kick my ass a fraction as bad as I kick my own ass every day. I don't think anyone has even come close. Like... when people try to make fun of me or mock me or criticize me... I'm not even exaggerating, it sounds comical. It sounds like a Kidz Bop version of an insult. Because inside my head... inside my head is an improv stand-up comedian who's been doing crowd-work in my head for over 30 years. Who knows all the ins and outs of my personality, every weak point, every insecurity, every chink in the armor to slip that dagger in. He rolls nat 20s in his fuckin sleep. So seriously, I have no idea why I give a shit about the superficial, juvenile judgements of outsiders when I have this demon to deal with.

Maybe that's why isolation is so hard for me. It's not being by myself, that's never been an issue, I kinda prefer it in a lot of ways. It's being stuck with that motherfucker. Having the only critique of my work being: "Welp, you just sank like 2-3 hours into polishing this piece of cool green mineral and... your dumb ass decided to use purple Sharpie to mark bevel lines. Purple. Remember color theory? Remember how that's a complimentary color? Like the highest contrast, most out-of-place color you could use? Yeah, did you... um... think to check if the mineral was porous or not? Nope, of course not, why would we do that... Now your hours and hours of work have resulted in a beautiful green mirror-surfaced mineral with big purple splotches soaked into it. Way to piss the day away dude, you could've done wood carving, you could've worked on that weird goat skull project, you could've drawn on your tablet. Now your arm is completely worn out. Way to go. <slow clap>"

When that's the only feedback you get on your work... How long can you keep going?

But with something like this, like caring for a loved one, like medical stuff, executive functioning stuff, life stuff. It's just whole other ball game. And I just feel like a complete sack of shit. Like how the fuck... Okay, you know what, I'm going to give the real second half to that sentence. Not "how the fuck do I keep fucking up so bad." Nope. It's "how the fuck do people keep track of all this shit?" "How do 'normal' people function?" It legit blows my mind, probably the same way it blows their mind that I can draw the way I can. I just can't keep up, I can't keep track of all this stuff. It took me like an hour to just figure out what the hell I was doing for dinner, and I was trying to do something easy. I tried to do Grubhub and just kept getting distracted, then I couldn't make up my mind, then the clock was ticking and I had to order before a specific time, then I think about how expensive this is getting and rabbit-hole on that for a while. Then eventually I'm just like "fuck it, I'm just making ramen, this is dumb." After like an hour of not being able to find anything appealing. It's obnoxious and it's like... every fucking day.

Can you tell I'm stressed out? XD

So... my cat's fate on this is really in the hands of the delivery people. This needs to be an act of faith. I did my best here. And I --- okay, you know what, I'm telling the story.

I used to be on Lamictal. I was on a bunch of different meds, one was some fucking anti-psychotic med they give to people in retirement homes (I was told after I got off it) that I was taking for the side-effects to help me sleep... yeah... Not even gonna tangent on that one, I'm sure you can go on your own personal journey of medical outrage. And I was on a titanic dose of Xanax just for daily functioning. If you want to call it that... All this from a psychiatrist who wore more makeup than any person I've met in my whole life. I was neurotic about my meds. I had the fear of God put in me with a bunch of side-effect scares - serotonin syndrome being one of the biggest, but not the only one. After not being able to move my eyes without vomiting for hours, trauma ground the lesson in my head that you do. not. fuck. with. meds. You take them on time. You do not miss doses. The side effects can be life-threatening, and you don't know how bad it is for you personally until you're there. So... what happened?

I forgot to get my prescription refilled. And it was a Sunday afternoon. I remember it clear as day, it was a cloudy afternoon, it looked like a storm was rolling in from the South. It was summer of 2019, probably around... May or June. It was like 4 in the afternoon, that was when my med time was and I just flat-out did not notice that I need a refill until I opened my med container thing and there was nothing there. I fucking lost my shit. I called every pharmacy I could find, nothing was open. I called places up to like 45 minutes away. I was driving around town while calling these places, saying "I'm in my car right now, I can be there in X minutes." Nothing, no one could help me. I panicked so much, I shit you not, I went to the police station. God, this is so embarrassing, but like... when you don't have any friends and no one picks up the phone, and no professional will help you... and you're afraid for your life... what do you do? I panicked. Maybe I should've gone to the hospital? Nearest one was 40 minutes away. Anyway, they didn't know how to help me either. No duh there, I guess. So eventually I just was out of options and I went home. This part of the story feels weird to tell because... well... in the past, it might have gotten someone into trouble. At least that's what he thought, I disagree, but whatever. I called up an old friend of mine that I recently reconnected with briefly. He mentioned he was on Lamictal at one point, we connected on that. I... asked him if he could spot me one so I didn't go into withdrawal. And, because he worked at a mental health facility (as a like... handyman, but still...) he was unsure if that would be okay. Like... it was weird, and he was afraid he'd get fired for it if anyone found out. He hasn't worked there in a few years so I feel okay telling this now, and it's not like I'm naming him or anything. See how fucking paranoid we all have to be nowadays?! This isn't even a controlled substance!!! Like I really don't think you can abuse Lamictal... But yeah, he bailed me out with one dose so I didn't freak out. And I guess that was like... one of the biggest friend moments I've ever had. Though I wish we could've been less afraid of the cops showing up or some shit. It's so stupid looking back at it, like... all of it. But, this is a big one for me.

So, I'm dealing with a similar story with my cat now... At least, it feels the same. Where, despite my best efforts, I have managed to overlook med details, forget to keep up with them, and I'm praying to any deity that will listen for her to not have to go an extended period of time without the med in her system. But it hits different. See, when it was me... it was fear of mortality, fear of death. With her? It's fear of guilt, of having to live a life with that blood on my hands. In my fucked up imagination, she's already dead from thyroid imbalances somehow cascading and leading to organ failure. And it's all my fault. And I have to live with that survivor's guilt for the rest of my life. Dark as fuck, right?

See, that's why I don't like isolation. I don't have anyone else in the world to say, "Hey, look, it's probably not as bad as you think. Let's do some research on this." So I can feel my feelings fully, which all stem in intensity from how much I care about her, and not deny or suppress them. But also make informed, logical decisions. God fucking damn is it hard to do both at the same time. And I see so many people take this insanely valuable asset - another human perspective, emotional grounding, compassion, comfort, reassurance, support, stuff like that - for granted. It's the piece that's missing for me right now, and I really don't know where to go to find it. I mean that. Instagram? Feels weird. Here? How? Dating apps? Feels even weirder, somehow. At this point in the list... I just start getting really depressed and resign to my current situation.

I wrote to my social worker today. I told him about the ADHD stuff. I tried to keep it brief and ended up writing at least a full page, it's hard to really gauge how much I write in a digital format, I guess that's why they're switching from "pages" to "minutes" as a way of telling how long a read things are nowadays. I'll see how he responds.

I'm afraid I'm just... too fucked up. I struggle with too many things, and I have for too long. The system doesn't seem to be designed to help people like me, I guess. Like... it's supposed to be like a social support system, social services, right? But everyone I talk to just gives me tips on positive self-talk, how to set healthy boundaries with people and encourages me to exercise and meditate. All of which I work on, and none of which are fixing the massive gaping holes in my life like... I've been living out of piles of cardboard boxes for like 6 years. It takes about a week for me to lose my structure and my dishes pile up to the ceiling. I build up my self-confidence into a freight train of motivation, then go to a job interview, feel like I did a great fucking job and then... it goes nowhere. Rarely even a call-back. Same for applications, I write this legendary cover letter, something heartfelt, conversational, personal, real. And I don't even get a fucking "sorry, we're not interested." And I try to set up my own businesses, and somehow... no one can help me with... any of them? Like... at all? It's fucking weird, it's like I'm radioactive. Naw. It's like I'm cursed. It's like I was hexed by the Witch of the Woods and everyone got the memo like 10 minutes before I showed up, so they hide the memo behind their backs and go "hey, _____, nice to meet you!" With a big fake smile that my naïve and insanely emotionally overwhelmed ass reads as completely legit, and then they nod and smile as I do my best to confidently, honestly stroll through the interview. Meanwhile they're checking the clock the whole time, because they made up their mind before I walked in the door.

I feel like no one. Not my family, not my friends, not therapists, not mentors, not potential employers, not potential business partners. No one wants to take a chance on me. And I don't know why. Maybe it's because I have too much to say? Maybe my constantly racing mind is too overwhelming for them? Maybe it's my strong emotions? Maybe they're intimidated by me? I have no idea, this is all 100% speculation.

Can you tell I'm depressed? XD

So yeah, I don't have huge hopes that he will be able to support me in the way I need it. And, despite browsing two dating apps every morning, I feel like if I were to date someone, I would seriously just be giving them a big list of chores. Like... dating me would be a job. Make sure he doesn't forget that the daily alert to start his sleep routine went off in his pocket, but he got distracted and wandered off to dig through a random box for something he hasn't used in 4 years. Make sure he's actually eaten food and drank water today. It's 2AM, tell him to go to bed. I would do these things for a girlfriend in a heartbeat. I mean that sincerely, and I have. I've actually been denied the ability to do that by my ex, due to her pride, and it made me feel like I wasn't allowed to be a good boyfriend. And it sucked. I know how much these and other gestures mean, especially to people like me. Like... it's life-changing. But it still feels like a tall order.

So yeah, difficult day. But I sanded down an agate today - it's really pretty, pink and purple and white - the best I could until my arm wore out, then I played Rimworld, smoked a tiny tiny bit and took a shower, then worked on sanding another piece of that green stuff, I still don't know what it is, I think it's fluorite but it's very grainy and opaque. And I worked on a small triangular piece of reddish... I'm guessing sandstone or something, it was very easy to polish, much more pleasant to work with. And here I am.

I'm gonna dig up a midnight snack. I guess this brain dump was helpful, I don't know, this kinda just felt like my depression jacking off. Like... I'm very conflicted on this. I have a lot of deep gut instincts that have been telling me for a long time that the solution to most of my problems would be to get in a healthy relationship with someone where I can help them in ways that they lack, and they can help me with the things that I struggle with. And every time I float this idea, people look at me like I have 40 heads. Like I should have 20 friends before I even start looking for a girlfriend. Well... who is going to go out and meet people with me?

I have always been the tag-along. Any time I moved, it was because I had a friend there. Any time I went to an event or a party or... anything, really... it was because someone I knew was there. I have always functioned atrociously when I don't have someone else there.

Someone was being really loud in the hallway and decided of all walls to bang against... to do it on mine... Made me jump. Still not used to being in close proximity to other humans. Maybe I don't function atrociously when I'm alone. I function differently. I don't think in social-mode. Because the majority of my experience on a daily level is... internal. It's in my head. It's not interactive. I shift purely into introspective mode. Where, when I'm in regular social interactions, I have outside stimuli to pull me out of my head. When that's absent, I have a tendency to go through gigantic creative growth spurts... I fucking wonder why... but also, all the shit you're seeing here tonight, that runs rampant. Like a cartoon of Halloween or some shit, all my demons and depressions and anxieties and panics and inner-critiques and all that shit are just swooping around and divebombing poor me as I'm just trying to go throughout my day. I think it's a BIG reason why people like me tend to impulsively just jump from relationship to relationship, without even noticing it, without even thinking about it. To avoid that. The alone scaries. Being stuck with their own thoughts. Alone.

So yeah, good night! Sleep tight! XD

I try so hard to end on a good note with these things, or at least a mic drop or something, but yeah. Fuck it. Today is just a weird one. Fingers crossed I get some good sleep, and here's hoping for a better tomorrow.

[lesbobiwan]

Congrats on 100! 🥳 I was wondering if I could request #100 and Wolffe 💕

thank u so much for the request!!!

#100: "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you." + Wolffe

warnings: kinda public sex. you dont fuck in front of anyone but its kinda close, jealous sex, clothed sex, creampies

You could think of a million different things you'd rather be doing right now.

You'd rather clean the barrack bathrooms after the boys don't have the heart to turn down Plo's well-meaning attempt at cooking. You'd rather be dropped off on an abandoned planet and be told to find a way off. You'd rather be getting shot at by fucking Seppies.

But, no. You're here in this ridiculous dress for some party thrown in the name of the GAR's brave and selfless troopers.

What a load of shit.

As if any of those senators give a shit about any of these men aside from how a picture of them shaking hands will boost their approval ratings.

You know you were invited as a deliberate political move. As the only volunteer nat-born medic for the 104th, you make the war easier to look at.

Look, Senators will say while they point to you, we don't rely solely on the creation of clones who are made to fight and die for a war they have no choice in! We have regular people involved in the war too!

Again. What a load of shit.

It's sickening the way that these politicians will pretend to care about the well-being of the soldiers who fight and die for them when it will make them look good. These people, if you can even call them that, don't know what it's like on the front lines.

You can barely understand what it's like on the frontlines, but you see the aftermath. You see the shell-shocked shinies and the trembling hands of even the most veteran trooper after a battle gone wrong.

Politicians are a disease, you think to yourself, and the sooner you can get out of this ridiculous dress the better.

The only benefit to this is the free champagne and the way Wolffe acts as a deterrent to any smart Senator or politician that comes your way.

Dressed to impress in a sharp gray suit, Wolffe cuts an imposing figure next to you. The tight suit jacket makes his already broad shoulders look impossibly broader and the buttons of his dress shirt strain against the muscles of his chest.

Your dress seems to compliment Wolffe in every way. Your dress is mainly white, but the gray accents serve as a subtle call to Wolffe's suit. Claiming you as his, you like to think. The same designs etched into the cuffs and collar of Wolffe's suit jacket are present at the bottom of your dress, circling the hem before fading as you look higher up the dress.

You think you'd enjoy the night if it wasn't for the Senate's... everything. You may be in a war, but you enjoy looking and feeling pretty. You think you'd feel very pretty if the meaning of the night didn't make you feel sick to your stomach.

With the commander acting as your shadow for the night, you've had little trouble keeping pesky Senators looking for a quick fuck away from you.

At least... the smart ones.

"As I was saying, my father is one of the main beneficiaries of the GAR," the boy — and truly he isn't enough to call a man — prattles on in front of you, totally oblivious to your uninterested expression and the clone commander hovering over your shoulder. You think he might be a senatorial aide and his father might be the Senator?

You wonder if you should adjust the plunging neckline of the dress so that the hickey Wolffe left behind last night peeks into eyesight.

"And I tell him that he shouldn't waste our family money on this war. Honestly, there's no need for clones," he continues, eyes flickering to Wolffe before he turns back to you, "I mean, what could clones possibly provide that a real man can't?"

He leans towards you, and with his last few words he drags his knuckles lightly up your arm. A smile that he must think is charming slithers onto his face as he continues to caress your crawling skin.

"Better company, for one," you mumble into your champagne glass before you can cause a scene. You drain the rest of the drink before you say something stupid.

You don't think you muffle it well enough because Wolffe's shoulders shake in muffled laughter behind you.

"Would you like to dance?" The aide blurts out, and once caressing fingers turn into a greedy grabbing hand closing around your wrist.

Wolffe stiffens behind you, jolting against your back before stopping himself.

Your face morphs into one of distain before you can stop it, "Actually," you begin, yanking your wrist from a sweaty palm, "I promised Commander Wolffe my first dance," your smile is so obviously fake it's painful, but the aide doesn't seem to notice.

"Well, maybe after you're done with the trooper, we can —"

"It's Commander," Wolffe finally speaks up, and his gravely voice has goosebumps spreading across your skin.

"Excuse me?"

Wolffe's hand splays across the small of your back as he steps beside you, "I said, it's commander," he repeats, voice cold like stone. Fuck, it makes your thighs rub together beneath your dress.

The aide's nose scrunches up, "Yes, well, when you're done with the commander, maybe you'll come my way?"

What is it with men not taking a hint?

"No, I don't think so," Wolffe answers for you before the hand on your back shifts from just a grounding touch to a guiding one, and he's leading you away.

Your skin is alight with excitement. You look up at the commander, whose jaw in clenched in obvious irritation. It makes you feel guilty, but Wolffe looks extremely attractive when he's pissed.

"Wolffe, we just passed the dance floor," you whisper as he rushes you past the chunk of the room marked out for couples to hold each other close and sway to the music.

"I know," Wolffe says shortly, leading you to the nearest exit so fast that you nearly fall out of your impractical shoes.

He practically drags you out the door and into one of the hallways you know you aren't allowed to be in.

"Wolffe, where are we — Oh!"

The commander cages you against the wall, hands on either side of your head as his hips press flush to yours through your dress. You can feel the bulge of his cock even through the layers of your clothes.

He breathes in deep through his nose before he speaks, "You're mine, you know that, right?" he rocks his hips against you as he speaks, and you don't get the best friction through the poofiness of your dress, but it's his words that make your thighs clench.

"Yes," you whisper into the space between you, "only yours, Wolffe,"

And it's true. You are Wolffe's no matter the setting — battlefield or ballroom — and no matter the outfits — hard plastoid armor or dashing suits and dresses.

Wolffe stares down at you, breathing hard through his mouth, searching for something in your face before he leans down to crush your lips together.

He kisses you like he's fighting. It's vicious and he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth until you whine, and it's only then that he lets it go. "Call me selfish," he whispers in your ear before he flips you around so that your face is pressed flush with the wall, "but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

Wolffe's hands are desperate as he begins to wrench the layers of your dress up and up until it's all bunched up above your hips, leaving your lower half exposed to him.

He inhales sharply at the sight of the lingerie the women who helped you into the dress had given you.

You never know whose going to unwrap you by the end of the night, one of the women had whispered like a secret to you.

But that wasn't true. You knew exactly who was going to unwrap you.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, dragging one of his hands across the delicate lace that covers your ass. "You wear this just for me?"

You pant against the wall, hands scrambling for purchase as Wolffe leans down to bite the meat of your ass. "Shit!" you gasp, just a bit too loud for comfort.

Wolffe drags his teeth down the curve of your ass, nosing at the wet patch of your panties. "How long have you been this wet, pretty girl?" he demands, pressing the tips of his fingers against the wet lace over your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. It's exhilarating to thing that only one door and a left turn separates a room full of Senators and Very Important People from the two of you.

It's filthy what you're doing. You're sure if anyone were to see you — pressed face first into a wall with little regard for the makeup that was applied to you with more caution than one treats a bomb and your expensive dress hiked up around your waist to expose your soaking cunt, you'd single-handedly ruin all efforts to draw support for the GAR.

"Answer me," Wolffe spits out as he drags your panties down your ass to let them fall around your ankles. One broad hand swats at your ass, right over the pulsing bite mark he left behind.

"All night!" you sob into the wall, biting your hand to muffle the groans you want to let out. "As soon as I saw you in that suit!"

A part of you wishes Wolffe would turn you back around. You want to see him in that suit — want to watch his muscles bunch and flex beneath the delicate fabric.

Wolffe's huff of laughter blows a puff of hot air against your cunt, making you clench around nothing. "You like me in this suit, sweet thing?" He raises to his feet and you can hear his hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. "Well, I'm about to fuck you in it,"

You whimper into the back of your hand. Your own slick starts to drip down your leg. "Please."

The blunt head of Wolffe's cock presses against your entrance. Usually he would make you cum at least once before he fucks you just to get you ready for his girth, but in this moment you couldn't care less.

You want Wolffe to fuck you, and you want to feel the stretch. You want him to fuck the feeling of that grimy aide touching you out of your head.

"S'that what you want?" Wolffe breathes as he starts to slide in, "you want to forget that boy? Huh? You want to be fucked by a man?"

A keen catches in your throat as he sinks in halfway. Fuck, you feel like you're being split in half. His cock just keeps going and going in this position, and all you can do is take it.

You bite down hard into the back of your hand as Wolffe finally bottoms out, but Wolffe grabs your hair, fancy curls and accessories be damned, and pulls your mouth away from your hand.

"Don't you dare," he hisses as his hips set a deafening pace. "Don't you dare hide your noises from me. I want to hear you — I want them to hear you."

Your moan echoes through the hallway.

There's something feral in the way that Wolffe fucks you. With his suit still on, totally presentable besides the cock that's been pulled out of the fly, he's beautiful.

You, on the other hand, look filthy. Your eye makeup is smudged with the tears that Wolffe forces out of you, and you know your hair will be a lost cause by the end of this. Your dress is already wrinkling and your delicate stockings are ruined with the slick that drips down your legs from your cunt.

"Wolffe!" you cry out as pressure in your core tightens.

"'m gonna cum," Wolffe grunts, hips pistoning even faster.

He's ruining you, you think through the haze of pleasure. He's ruining you and you love it.

"Please," you sob, one of your hands leaving the wall to grab at his hips. You almost can't hold on due to the force and speed of his thrusts, but your fingers claw into the fabric of his jacket and you hold on for dear life as he brings you closer and closer to release.

"I think I'll come in this tight little cunt, what do you think?" Wolffe drags the blunt edge of his teeth along your neck and up your jawline, ending just under your ear, "Stuff you full of me, and send you back into that ballroom,"

You clench at the thought. Fuck, you want that so bad.

You're nearly incoherent with pleasure. You're just babbling in agreement to the filth that drips from Wolffe's mouth like the slick that drips from your cunt.

"You like that?" Wolffe asks even though he knows the answer, "You want me to send you in there smelling like sex and dripping my cum?"

One of his hands snake around to circle mercilessly around your clit. The pressure nearly has your knees give out.

"I think I'll keep your panties with me," Wolffe whispers in your ear, "so I'll drip out of that pretty cunt and down your thighs for the rest of the night."

The pressure in your core snaps and you cum around him with a wail.

Wolffe clamps a hand over your mouth as his thrusts turn more into grinds. His teeth sink into your neck as he finally spills inside you.

The feeling of his cum flooding your cunt has you clenching around him even more.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, fucking his cum into your spent cunt with an obscene squelch. "Fuck, you're so tight, pretty girl,"

You moan faintly, thighs trembling as he finally pulls out. A gush of his cum starts to drip out. You clench weakly, trying your best to keep it in.

Wolffe presses a kiss to the back of your neck, "Step out of your panties, sweet thing," he whispers into your skin, hands on your hips to steady you as you do what he asked.

You stand on coltish legs, wobbling in your heels with the aftermath of your orgasm, as Wolffe bends down to grab your ruined panties and stuff them in his pockets.

They ruin the line of his suit, and anyone who looks at him for more than half a second will know he's got something in his pocket that shouldn't be there, but you think no one will be looking at him when you're there.

Not with your hair a mess and mascara smeared just so around your eyes. Not when you reek of sex and sweat and there are bite marks littered across your skin. Not when your dress is so obviously wrinkled due to less-than-appropriate events.

Still, you walk back into the ballroom with your arm linked with Wolffe's and his cum sliding down your thigh and soaking into your stockings.

The senatorial aide doesn't bother you for the rest of the night, but that might have something to do with the clone commander flashing him a bit of lace from his jacket pocket.

When you get back to the barracks, Wolffe fucks you with those same ruined panties in your mouth to make sure none of the boys hear you two.

[youbloodymadgenius]

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​

[butterflyinthewell]

Raditz headcanons!

(Warning: some nsfw text ahead! Scroll to the second picture to avoid it.)

The funny stuff:

Raditz fucks. He calls himself a slut because he fucks often and he’s good at it.

He is happy to suck dick, eat pussy and eat ass for money. He’s not picky as long as the presented part is clean.

He’s proudly bisexual.

His dick is huge. Monstrous.

He loves to land on a planet he’s going to decimate and shmooze, go to bars, get drunk, say he’ll let them live if the sex is good, fuck whoever offers and kill everyone there anyway.

He rawed Zarbon’s brains out because Zarbon said he doubted Saiyajins could fuck. Zarbon still refuses to admit it’s the best dick he ever got in his life. All Raditz has to do is grab at his own crotch around Zarbon and that pretty jerk gets all flustered.

Raditz loves to be naked. He’s immodest and an exhibitionist, so he only wears clothes because he gets tired of people yelling at him to put some on.

He’s that guy who will eat the most disgusting food item or food mixture you put in front of him just to gross out everyone watching. Ice cream with toothpaste? Pop tarts with ketchup on them? Something alive and wiggly? Sure, he’ll eat it without flinching and watch you squirm.

He’s an expert troll. No, he’s a god-tier troll.

Once, he pranked the Ginyu Force by making Guldo stink. Guldo has no sense of smell, so Raditz smeared rotten meat all over the inside of his armor once while the little guy was in the showers. It took a week to figure the stink out, but nobody knew Raditz did it.

He can do a pretty good impression of Zarbon’s voice, so he once got a bunch of troops outside of Freeza’s room under “orders from Zarbon”. He got caught for that one and got his ass beat, but he’ll say it was worth it.

He draws things on the back of Nappa’s bald head while Nappa is asleep. Usually faces, but once or twice it was a dick or butt crack.

Once, he sent a dick pic to Freeza’s scouter during a debriefing and made the little bastard choke on his wine.

Another time, he got a dick pic onto the debriefing display and it ruined the whole meeting because everybody started yelling at each other. Raditz sat back and watched the chaos unfold with a shit-eating grin on his face. Yep, he showed the entire Freeza Force a picture of his enormous fully erect dick and he’d do it again.

And another time, he played the audio of Zarbon moaning and gasping all over Freeza’s ship, and Zarbon couldn’t do anything about it because it would mean confessing to letting Raditz fuck his brains out. Zarbon likes to project this image that he’s chaste and above such base desires, so being reminded of the time he had with Raditz embarrasses him so so sooooo much.

He jacked off into Freeza’s wine once. Freeza took a drink, spat it out and killed the guy who brought the wine. Nappa and Vegeta were in on this one, so the three of them snickered about it for months.

He taught Vegeta how to kiss by making out with him. It sorta broke his heart a little when Vegeta later said he wasn’t interested in him that way, cuz he had a bit of a crush on the Saiyajin prince.

Raditz might act cold and uncaring, but he has a big soft spot for kids. He wants to settle down and have some of his own someday. Unfortunately, life under Freeza doesn’t give him that opportunity. Plus, he’s a little afraid to for the genetic reasons about to be mentioned below.

The serious stuff:

Raditz’s biggest struggle is his epilepsy.

He was born with a rare gene mutation called a Naeb deletion (or Naeb syndrome) that kills most Saiyajin babies before their second birthday. (It’s pronounced “naw-EEB”.)

There are four Naeb genes in the average Saiyajin, or seizure suppressor genes. All four have to be present or a Saiyajin comes out with Naeb syndrome. Raditz is missing two of these genes.

Some Saiyajins carry an extra (fifth) Naeb gene-- a mutation-- that causes these deletions in children. If only one parent has that gene, the chances of a kid with Naeb syndrome are fifty-fifty. If both parents have the mutation, all their kids come out with it and it's usually fatal. Bardock had an extra Naeb gene, but Gine didn't. That's why Raditz has seizures and Goku doesn’t.

Every Saiyajin with Naeb syndrome is missing their last set of molars, has two extra ribs, has denser than average bones and extremely long hair. Their brain development is also faster than average, which can mean it grows faster than the skull around it. Sometimes the skull doesn’t grow fast enough to keep up with the brain, so the brain is crushed.

Structurally, Raditz’s brain has all the parts it’s supposed to, but they’re in slightly different places. He has less cerebrospinal fluid than average, his corpus callosum looks like a ring from the side and his lateral ventricles are smaller because his brain had to fold in on itself more to fit inside his skull. There’s a spot in his parietal lobe that’s pressed right up against the inside of his skull, and his meninges and a few millimeters of cerebrospinal fluid are the only thing that stops his brain from lacerating itself. That spot is always spiking with abnormal electrical activity. It’s like a match striking over and over. His brain doesn’t like being so squished in his skull, so sometimes it misfires when that “match” strikes and you get a flame, which is a seizure.

Raditz has a few different seizure types depending on which parts of his brain react to the constant “striking” activity and some of his seizures have a few triggers.

Doctors call Raditz’s epilepsy “mild”, but Raditz disagrees and considers it severe because he’s the one affected by it and not them.

He’s tried many different medications and none work. Surgery isn’t an option because Saiyajins don’t tolerate brain surgery very well and the chances of developing new seizure sources outweigh the benefits.

His scouter records and logs his seizures. He gets the time of the seizure, the length of the seizure and a video of the environment he was in. (If something flashes, the flashing is removed.)

Flashing lights can trigger seizures. His scouter has special polarized glass that counter flashes whenever someone’s ki flashes, so he just sees a solid color in that eye. Blocking one eye helps prevent the electrical excitation in his brain that turns into seizures. This doesn’t work if he’s exposed to flashing lights for longer than sixty seconds though. This is meant to give him time to turn away or cover his other eye.

He can’t go anywhere with strobes because of his seizures. Bars are okay since most don’t have strobes, but nightclubs are inaccessible.

Focal aware seizures are his most common seizure type, and he can have hundreds of these a day. They’re twenty seconds long. You can’t tell he’s having one unless you know what to look for, which is a faint quiver in his eyelids when he blinks. Sometimes he closes his eyes until the worst part of it is over.

It’s hard for him to describe how these seizures feel. They start as a little tingling at the tip of his thumb that spreads to his wrist. It’s a very annoying sensation. Then he gets sudden vertigo like someone yanks the ground sideways. During that vertigo he perceives everything as being way too close and too real. He gets a strong sense of doom. That’s the worst part. Then it’s over. The tingling stops, his senses return to normal and his heart rate slows.

He learned to compensate for the vertigo, so he can still fly and fight while having a focal aware seizure and nobody would know the difference.

Atonic seizures aren’t his most devastating seizures, but they’re the only seizure that embarrasses him to have in public. His muscles suddenly lose tone and he blacks out for a split second. If he’s walking or standing, he falls headfirst to the ground. If he’s sitting, he slumps. If he’s flying, he loses altitude for a second or two.

His atonic seizures happen when he doesn’t get enough sleep. They tend to come in clusters of two or three in a row. They can mess with his memory, causing him to lose a few minutes or be confused about where he is. If he’s in the middle of a conversation, he might forget what was being talked about, but reminding him gets him back on track.

Tonic clonic seizures are Raditz’s most devastating seizures. These are the big bad seizures that can be triggered by flashing lights. He can have them spontaneously, too, and averages about one or two a week.

Spontaneous ones start with his usual tingly focal aware seizures. He knows it’s going to generalize if the tingle continues up his arm instead of fading away. The second the tingle reaches his neck, he goes. His eyes roll back, he gets stiff, he shakes and he’s down for awhile.

Induced seizures give him no warning other than a sudden, extremely intense pain in the back of his skull. Induced seizures are worse than spontaneous ones because they’re more violent and last longer.

Some of his other weird TC triggers are going into or coming down from an oozaru transformation, getting dehydrated, not eating enough, being awakened out of delta wave sleep and stimulants like caffeine.

Regardless of how a TC started, he loses several hours of memory and doesn’t get it all back. His worst seizure wiped out a month of his life and he never regained those memories.

If he just ate, he will puke as he enters the tonic phase of the seizure. This is a huge choking hazard for him. He doesn’t care if he pees or poops himself during a seizure, but vomiting is really bad. If he just ate a huge meal and feels a TC coming, he’ll stick his finger down his throat and get the puking done before the seizure hits.

He almost always wets or soils himself during the clonic phase unless he just went to the bathroom before he had it.

If he powers up as a TC starts, his power rises uncontrollably until the tonic phase progresses into the clonic phase, then he releases massive ki waves that destroy everything around him. He hits power levels he can’t reach while conscious and in control of his ki, but this is dangerous because he could power up until he explodes and there’s no way to stop it.

His instinct when he realizes a seizure is generalizing is to either finish a fight quickly or power down and go hide to have the seizure because he knows he’s vulnerable during and after.

The worst seizure of his life was caused by Captain Ginyu. He goaded Raditz into attacking without his scouter and flickered a ki ball right in his face. Raditz went down. The Ginyu Force kicked him around while he was on the ground seizing. Nappa lured them into a fight to stop the unfair beating and Vegeta dragged Raditz away to finish the seizure. It was awful because Raditz threw up and soiled himself and the Ginyu Force made sure he got covered in all of it.

Raditz doesn’t remember this and neither Vegeta nor Nappa told him what really happened.

Post-ictal Raditz will remove anything on his body that feels bad, so he often ends up naked. He won’t recognize friend or foe and isn’t going to react kindly to being crowded.

If he’s alone, he’s likely to sit staring at the ceiling or sky until he collapses into sleep.

His scouter shows him a picture of his attack ball if he’s on a mission and that’s enough incentive for him to go find it even while too confused to tell someone his own name.

After his post-seizure sleep, he wakes up kinda giddy and hyperactive as his unsettled brain chemistry tries to restore balance. He will be sore as hell, too, usually that’s how he knows he had a seizure.

Nappa and Vegeta have seen so many seizures. They take bets on whether Raditz will pee, poop or do both. Then they’ll flip him on his side and wait it out. Barring emergency retreats, they don’t let him leave an area until he can identify a scouter by name.

Yep, seizures messed up some of his slutty sexual escapades. Usually by killing whoever he was trying to fuck since the violent convulsions hurt other people and his immediate environment more than they hurt him.

And finally…

The loss of planet Vegeta isn’t something Raditz likes to talk about. He was on a scouter to scouter call with someone there when it happened and all he heard was a bunch of screaming. He still can’t handle listening to recorded audio of screaming people because it reminds him of hearing his planet die.

[honorable-wanderings]

Word of Honor - Episode 3 Part 2 - We’re getting INN to it now!

Meanwhile back with Scooby  and the Gang. B-characters realize that the Goldilocks is missing and it was only the 3 bears that were killed.

And we can hear them surprisingly well from this far away. Their voices must carry exceptionally well.

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

The spiderwebs of DEATH

Seriously though it’s been hours. How has no one either taken these wires down or run into them accidentally? You cannot tell me they have checked every bit of this place for ChengLing’s body if these are still up.

Someone has lied to you Mr. White ‘n’ Blue.

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

No you fucking did not. If you were cleaning them up roughly you’d at least get the ones on the main doorways! goddamn.

-----------

Old ppl vs the Ghosts!

COME ON DOWN FOR THE FIGHT OF YOUR LIFE THE ALL DEAD VS THE MOSTLY DEAD THIS SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY BE THERE BE THERE BE THERE.

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

The Ghost Valley is a menace! It’s high time someone went in there and eradicated them all!

Huh... never thought of that before...

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

Eh. Old people chanting the children’s rhymes doesn’t have the same tension. It’s just not the right feel. It’s a no from me.

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

Yes. This is perfectly far enough away. No one could possibly overhear us from this distance! I am a genius!

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

We are all very worried about ChengLing’s well being. Yes. That is all. Only his well being. Nothing else. No ulterior motives here. Nope. Purely just good will and worry. :DDDD

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

Ah yes! Back to my boys! :D

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

You big softie.

Seriously though. He is so considerate of not only Best Boy’s physical well being but really his emotional state and autonomy as well. He doesn’t expect ChengLing to act like a full grown adult but he doesn’t treat him like a little kid either. It’s great and I’m here for it.

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

It’s not stalking if we got here first, right? Now you’re stalking me! :D :D :D :D :D

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

Some day soon I’ll get you to admit you like me ;)

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

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

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat you’re here to? At this random river?????? OMG what are the chancesssssss?!?!?

At this point I just wanna know fuckin how????

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

A-Xiang deserves a fucking medal for putting up with this BS. For real.

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

A-Xu you make-a him sad D:

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

Zhou ZiShu! Look out! They’re stealing your boat!!

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

-Hey if the ghost valley peeps come up to wreck shit it’s gonna be our shit that gets wrecked too you know? -I don’t give a farting fly’s left ass cheek! I’m one foot in the grave already.

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

Glazed armor this glazed armor that give me a glazed donut and let’s call it a day. I don’t careeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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

Are you inn or out?

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

Sorry we’re out of space because for some reason we let ourselves rent out the entire establishment to a single person. Like I get he paid for the rooms but it’d still be bad for business?? Like no one wants to go to an inn if they won’t let you stay even though there are empty rooms. Like the fuck

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

Look elsewhere? Shit you know this is the only inn in town (apparently)!! Where we supposed to go???

Um... why don’t you try looking at I don’t give a FUCK

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

Well well well. Who could have seen this coming?

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

Zhou ZiShu is about read to add a few more nails

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

This old ragged beggar man is hot as fuck. Set him up in my room at once!

Just end my suffering. I beg you

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

ChengLing just gonna keep his mouth shut and stay out of it

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

-I gave you my own room! -My room now. Kindly GTFO -But I bought you clothes too! -Yeah no one asked you. GTFO!!

-How have my seduction techniques continued to fail??????????

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

Love me pls D:

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

If Oedipus invented a wire tap he’s gonna have to work harder to get past me!!

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

But he doesn’t look like he’s a bad person

Bad people rarely do.

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

Take the bed? I couldn’t possibly!! No! You’re taking care of me and protecting me and you’re old! You take the bed! I’ll sleep on the chair! I’m the best boy!!!

Bitch did I fucking stutter?

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

You owe me no explanations. I’m sure you have your reasons and that they’re good ones. But don’t suffer needlessly. Treat your wounds and I won’t ask any more about it.

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

MY BOY DOESN’T DESERVE THIS. ALL THIS OVER A PIECE OF FUCKIN SEA GLASS??????????

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

Ain’t nobody dope as me I’m just so fresh, so clean (So fresh and so clean clean)

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

Daaate niiiiiight

----------

So I get that you’re like persistently stalking me and all that but like Why??

Because I know you cute as fuck. Why you hiding? Show me what your true face and I’ll tell you what I want. What I really really want.

You first bitch

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

Local man tries to pry secrets out of only human in a 10 mile radius who has no ulterior motives and is confused when it doesn’t work.

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

Das gay

HDU

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

Clink Clink bitch

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

Master can you please keep it in your pants for 5 minutes? It’s all I ask. Just 5 minutes of peace! Please!

---------

Pop Quiz! Who is the second cutest person in the world?

I will settle for anyone who feeds me

Naw. Tsundere is where it’s at.

*Is unimpressed in tsundere*

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

Then who is the mostest cutest?

A tsundere with long legs, slim waist, fat ass.

Heavens strike me down now. Please end my misery. Why did I sit here? Didn’t I know better?

Anyone have any more torture nails? Anyone? Please?

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

*Insert Mii channel theme*

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

We are the unwashed masses. Let’s go fuck some shit up

---------

Hey guys. Does this look like anime style to you? Someone said it looks like anime but I don’t see it.

I think it looks great! I can’t even draw a stick figure! hahahaha

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

Sleepy boi <3

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

How the fuck did I become the third wheel?

-----------

*mii channel theme continues*

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

Your honored uncle here wouldn’t let us eat anything until you woke up even though he sat at my table. D:

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

-Stop acting like a little brat and start acting polite and demure like the other girls

-Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh gross

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

We’re doing found family and we’re doing it now!

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

Why aren’t you eating?

Yeah! We had to wait all this time for you to get here and you’re not even eating anyway!!!!!!

Well my home and my entire family died, and so did that random boat man who protected me. And also there’s a hole in my stomach. So I don’t have much of an appetite atm.

Oh My God. can you not???

But that’s how I show affection!!!!!!!! D:<

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

Shoving food in your face to hide your tears. A time honored tradition.

Also D: Best boy is sad </3

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

Oh no. More people I’m supposed to remember.

JESUS FUCK REALLY???

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HOW MANY? You cannot tell me they are all important. Please tell me I’m not supposed to remember this many people. I can’t handle this.

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG

THAT’S 11 PEOPLE AT ONCE! WHAT THE FUCK

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

Whenever this guy speaks it sounds like he’s trying really hard not to cough in front of the board meeting.

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

Okay so what I got from this is

There was a treaty between these peeps and the ghost peeps to say they’ll leave each other the fuck alone

The ghost peeps broke that promise by fucking with the mirror lake sect and so these peeps decided to retaliate

and they’re gonna retaliate by throwing a party? Like I guess they’re just gathering forces? But like it’s a weird way to do it.

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

Oh for the love of god.

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

Pffffffffffffffff welcome to the circus

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

*sigh*

Okay y’all I can remember like 6 people. 7 Max. Y’all gonna have to be picky about who’s important here.

How many of these people do I actually have to know?

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

Now what the fuck happened here and why are the twin jades here?

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

You two have a piece of the glazed ham. And even though no one is using it it’s really important that we keep it that way. No one must hold all pieces of the glazed ham. Or..... bad things?

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

Oh my. Pain o’clock already?

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

SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN THERE AND GIVE MY BOY A HUG!

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

Hey! What do you see? Is he in there? I can’t see a goddamn thing.

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

So I know that he’s like what, 15? And like grew up with a dad. But like you know they made him scream “A-Die” and then wake up to Zhou ZiShu’s comforting touch on purpose. You know that was planned.

Maybe not a father, but certainly a father figure.

(Also thanks, A-Xu for answering my request from earlier for someone to comfort the poor boy.)

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

What’s this? The sounds of a scuffle???

Whelp. Not anymore.

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

Couldn’t he have just ordered them to leave instead?

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

The Ghost Valley seems to be following me rather closely.

Oh you have no idea. ;)

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

Alcohol detected

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

Let me call you a cute pet name and I’ll let you drink from my bottle of nectar. ;)

Oh my god this shit again?

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

You know what?

Two can play at this game.

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

You wanna see what lies underneath? Rip it off yourself.

Don’t worry! I’m patient! Sleep well! Dream of me! I know I’ll be dreaming of you! ;)

[andveryginger]

Fictober Day One: “Elephant in the Room” (1/1)

Title:   “Elephant in the Room”

Prompt:   1. “I need you.”

Fandom:   Marvel Cinematic Universe/Multiverse (Clint/Tasha AU)

Rating:   Teen

Warnings/Tags:   Language!

Notes:   Real life sucks. But hey... it got done. Something of a follow-on to my MCU Ladies Fanwork Exchange piece, “By Example,” written in 2016... what seems like a century ago. In it, Tasha is wounded during exfil, following an operation that wasn’t quite as expected. The original story focusses on Maria Hill/Steve Rogers, but this snippet shifts the focus back to our favorite SHIELD spies. Decidedly AU at this point, and written with the idea that maybe the multiverse can fix it.

Posted without beta, and after months without writing fic; essays and non-fiction don’t flex quite the same muscles. Apologies if it’s a bit rough around the edges.

*****

“I need you.” Natasha Romanov heard the strained whisper, felt the familiar presence somewhere off to her right.  She felt weightless, floating in darkness, yet somehow aware of the coarse texture of the medical ward sheets beneath her fingers. To her left, her heartbeat echoed through the telemetry monitor, the steady rhythm fluttering slightly. Exhaustion, pain, and no small amount of medication weighed heavily on her, pressing her back into the thin mattress, discouraging any attempt to move, to acknowledge the whisper at her right.

“I know we don’t…talk… about stuff like this, but…” There was the rustle of clothes, and, even in her limbo state, Tasha could almost see Clint Barton rub his hand over his face. His voice was quiet, low, reflective, barely audible over the hiss of the oxygen. “We’re the normal ones – no armor, no invulnerability, no super strength – and we just go charging in. We don’t stop, don’t think too hard about what we’re getting into; we just do. ‘Cause it needs to be done, and it’s what we’ve always done. But now…” He paused, taking a breath and forcing it out in an audible exhale. “When you climbed back into the ‘jet today, I felt that good ol’ adrenaline rush: Job well done; world saved – Hell, maybe even the galaxy! I was looking forward to beer and pizza back at base, trading fish tales with Maria and Cap and, well, whoever else. But now, Tash, I’m sitting here, watching you breathe, and I… realize there’s a lot we don’t say that maybe we should. “I need you,” he continued. “I need you in my life. Not just because you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count – though that’s a damn good side benefit – but you’re my best friend. My partner in crime. We get into so much shit, and we just… understand how it affects us.” Tasha again heard him shift, his leather jacket squeaking slightly. She imagined him wedged between the wooden arms of the too-narrow bedside chair, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His chin was down, wide eyes lifted to study her face. There was a long moment of silence, and she could almost feel his struggle with his words and his voice. He wasn’t, as he frequently pointed out, known for his eloquence.

“Fuck.” Clint snorted, gave a sarcastic laugh. “Why is this so fucking hard to say?” There was another heavy sigh, the soft brush of his hand over his hair. His voice shifted to a low rumble as he tried a different tack. “Had a talk with Cap a little while ago – you prob’ly heard him come in,” he said. “Stark told him Maria was in the medbay, and he came all barreling down here, thinking she was on her last breath.” Another dark chuckle. “Seems our favorite meat popsicle has a bit of a thing for the boss. Hearing she might not make it made him recalculate a few things and… well, let’s just say they’re going out for coffee later this week.” “The whole thing got me thinkin’ I don’t wanna wait till it’s too late, Tash,” he said. “You’re gonna be good – Doc Cho said as much. But watching you collapse, catching you before you fell…” The marksman drew a sharp breath. “…and then talking to Cap, it made me realize I don’t wanna quit running into the line of fire, but I damn sure want you to know how much I care – fuck, how much I love you – ‘cause, in the end, maybe one of us doesn’t make it home, and I don’t want there to be any question.”

Drawing a deep breath, Tasha struggled against the heavy weight of unconsciousness. She forced her fingers to move, followed by her toes and lips. Pain gripped her side, crawling across her rib cage and back as she emerged into the dimmed lighting of the room. Her heartrate fluttered in response, echoed in the high-pitched beep of the monitor. When she finally opened her eyes, she found familiar blue-green depths watching her, glassy and sparkling at the same time. His voice was soft, gentle, and warm as he greeted her. “Hey.” Still feeling the weight of the medicines, of the fatigue, of the need to sleep while her body repaired itself, Tasha blinked sluggishly, frustrated with the lack of cooperation from her eyelids as she fought to stay awake. “Hey,” she whispered in response. Relief and affection filtered into his gaze, emotions she allowed to reflect in her own. Abruptly, however, his attention dropped to his palm. Tasha frowned, confused for the instant it took to follow the shift. Then recognition settled: A small, silver arrow pendant and chain lay in the palm of his hand. Her necklace – the one he had given her. It had apparently broken in the fight and fallen off confusion of the extraction.

She licked her lips, drawing her attention up toward the mass of unruly hair atop his head. Her voice was groggy, rough as she spoke. “There’s no question, you know.”

He raised his head and looked up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a rueful smile even as a rosy tint crept over his cheeks. “So you heard everything.”

“Unconscious, not dead,” she replied. Her lips twitched. “One of the things about sharing a brain… we already know how we feel.”

“Even when we’re in denial?”

Tasha chuckled, though she immediately regretted it. “’Specially then.”

A long moment of silence followed as Clint swept his rueful and affectionate gaze over her features. Swallowing, he reached his empty hand through the railing and, pushing back the scratchy sheet and thermal blanket, clasped her own. It was warm against her chilled skin, the callouses on his palms and fingers as comforting as they were familiar. A somber tone settled over his features. “I’m done with denial,” he said. “I… can’t take it back, and, well, I don’t think I want to. Love isn’t just for kids, Tash.”

Taking a deep breath, Tasha then swallowed back the lump in her throat. She forced a smile, a teasing one, though she knew he would see through it. “That’s a heavy word, Clint.”

“I know,” he conceded. His lips thinned. “I think we both know what it really means, why we always seem to avoid it.” His gaze dropped back to the necklace. “Lots of rumors about us. Those I don’t really care about; let ‘em wonder. But… I’m in this for the long haul, Tash.”

Warmth flooded her, creeping up her neck and sweeping over her cheeks. She arched a red brow. “…’till death do us part’?” Clint nodded. Sleep tugged at her once again, and she grimaced. There was a lot more to talk about, but it seemed all else was going to have to wait. The grimace gave way to a soft, lopsided grin. Her speech was starting to slur, despite her best intentions. “If I go first, I’m haunting your ass, Barton.”

Giving a laugh, Clint pushed forward. His lips gently brushed hers, hand offering an affectionate squeeze. “Wouldn’t expect any less,” he murmured. “And you know I’d return the favor. Now… I’ll get your necklace fixed while you get some rest.”

“Not because you told me, but because I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter,” Tasha replied. She allowed the lopsided grin to widen. “Oh, hey… tell Steve thanks. Then give him Hell.”

He laughed softly, and his lips curved into his own mischievous grin. “Already on the agenda.” With one final squeeze of her hand, he dropped a kiss to her temple. He slipped from the room just as sleep reclaimed her.

[jadegrey711]

My King. My Queen.

Cardan Greenbriar x Jude Duarte

A/N: I decided to do a piece for my beloved Cardan and Jude, mainly because a friend of mine told me that there was a mighty need for a scene like this at the end of Queen of Nothing. And since it was her birthday I decided I’d fulfill her wish lmao. Happy birthday Krista!

*PICTURES ARE NOT MINE. I just made the collage*

Word Count: 2406

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake. 

Warnings: Obviously SPOILERS for Queen of Nothing and it’s a bit smutty

Inspiration Soundtrack

-NFWMB: Hozier 

-Tether Me: Galleaux

-My Love Will Never Die: AG, Claire Wyndham 

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

All through the carriage ride back to the palace Jude watched Cardan, as if he was going to up and disappear again, like she really had killed him and the Cardan sitting in front of her was a ghost. But He was there, he was real and solid and sitting in front of her that same stoic look on his face as he examined the passing scenery. Jude sighed an inward sigh of relief, it had actually worked, she had freed Cardan from his curse, and didn’t kill him in the process.

When the carriage arrived at the palace, Cardan was given a robe and graciously took it this time; as well as taking Jude’s hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze of reassurance almost as if he could read her and needed to tell her that yes, he was really here.

“Show me the throne.” Cardan immediately said as they were led into the palace and made their way towards the throne room.

Both Cardan and Jude took in the state of the throne, the smell of rotten leaves and fruit that hung in the air, the giant cavern that lay beneath the broken throne. 

Jude watched as Cardan let go of her hand and bent down to the ground; twisting his long fingers deep into the earth and watched in amazement as the broken and sole throne sewed itself anew and was spilt into two separate ones.

Jude felt the air get sucked out of her a bit but felt it rush back as Cardan took her hand again.

“Do you like it?” he asked, as he looked down at her awestruck face.

“Impressive.” She choked out, her reaction seeming to please Cardan enough.

Soon they were swept away again, this time to the royal chambers; their chambers. People surrounded Cardan as he instructed servants to draw him a bath and they all followed him into the bathing room. Cardan let go of Jude’s hand as he let the others draw him into the bathing room. Jude felt the slip of Cardan’s long fingers prominently from her hand and felt a rush of emotion hit her head on as she watched him walk from her.

All her scheming and plotting; determined to become something more in this world of the weird than just a fragile human. To become a knight of faerie, then a faithful member of the Court of Shadows, then the King’s seneschal and now Queen of Faerie. But never, in all her scheming and plotting did she ever imagine that her feelings of hatred towards Cardan would evolve into something like this. This feeling of gnawing pain that she felt in her chest as she watched Cardan leave her side, only so he could walk into the other room. Jude could still smell the blood, could still feel its warmth on her face and hands. She can see it so clearly, the beheaded snake form of Cardan, watching Cardan himself step out of the snake covered in blood; only to reach out for her and bring her into his bloody embrace.  Jude felt all of those bottled up emotions finally explode from her and before she even realized what she was doing, she was in the bathing room shouting for everyone to leave.

“Get out now!” She ordered, her amber eyes blazing as she never broke eye contact with Cardan. The members of the living court and the servants all looked from Jude to Cardan, obviously dismissing the fact that she is Queen and for a moment reigned Faerie solely on her own. 

Cardan took only a moment to take in the fire in her eyes and to show her that that fire was reciprocated in his; before he dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand. 

Jude watched with a small triumphant smile on her face as everyone flooded out of the bathing room and she closed the door behind them.

Cardan only looked amused as she strode over to his side of the bathing chamber. “What’s the cause of this outburst, my queen?”

Jude felt her heart thud in her chest and her blood turn into honey at the sound of him calling her that and she immediately wanted to hear it again.

“I just wanted you all to myself, my king.” She said in a sultry tone hoping that her words would have the same effect on Cardan as they did to her. And by the way his eyes flashed at her calling him ‘my king’, it did exactly that.

“Is that so?” he said meeting her strides until the two met in front of the steaming bathtub.

“Yes.” She said simply, feeling her heart thunder in her chest at the shear proximity to him.

“Well you have me all to yourself now. What are you planning on doing with me?” he said breathily. His long and deft fingers reached out to grab a hold of a piece of her hair, twirling it in his fingers and she felt her entire scalp erupt in shivers.

“Well first.” She said, leaning closer into his touches as his hands began to explore. Those fingers that twirled a single piece of hair, were now buried in her hair making her body hum. “I was hoping to give you a bath since you’re in dire need of one…my king.” She said it again and watched with delight as Cardan’s eyes darkened with desire but they still held that playful glint in them; always up for playing the game.

He smirked, making Jude’s heart falter as he took in the state of her. Bloody and dirt coated armor and hair. “It looks like you could join me, my love.”

Without thinking Jude bit her bottom lip and that was the last straw in Cardan’s resolve. His hand that was buried in her hair brought her the rest of the way to meet his honeyed lips.

“Jude.” He whispered against her lips. “Jude.” Then again on her jaw. “Jude.” He breathed her name on her neck and she felt like her skin was on fire from his kisses. “Jude. You horrid little monster, who has ruined anyone else for me, for all I crave day in and day out is you.” He whispered

“Jude.” He whispered her name reverently against her lips, like a prayer. Then his lips moved from hers to her jaw. “Jude.” He whispered again before he moved to her neck, kissing and sucking on his favorite spot just below her ear; earning a sweet-sounding moan from Jude. “Jude. You horrid little monster, who has ruined anyone else for me.” He whispered against her skin.

Jude pulled on his thick dark raven locks bringing his face back to hers. “As if I’d let you have anyone else but me.” she growled, bringing her lips to his neck and kissing under his jaw sucking a mark there to let him and everyone else know that he was hers.

“Nor would I let you be with anyone other than me.” his voice was raspy as he reached around for the clasps that was holding her armor together and started to undo them. “As if I’d let anyone else put their hands on you.” He whispered into her ear and watched her chest plate fall revealing the light shift she wore underneath. “As if I’d let you wrap your pretty little legs around someone else’s head.” Cardan growled before digging his fingers back into her hair and pulled her lips away from him.

He took in the sight of her; her full and thoroughly kissed lips and lust blown eyes that matched his own.

Jude watched his every movement as he grabbed her elbows and undid the clasps and straps of each one before pulling them off ever so gently. He brought those honeyed lips back to hers only for a brief moment before they began a journey down the length of her body. His hands were like hot irons against her skin as they traced down the length of her body. First down her back only to settle for a moment on her ass and give it a little squeeze. All the while his kisses traveled the same way as his hands, sending Jude into a frenzy.

Jude felt his hands traced down her legs, and while his fingers worked on the last clasps and buckles of her armor; his dark eyes never left hers.  His deft fingers worked the buttons of her soft leather britches and swiftly pulled them down and as he did Jude reached for her shift and pulled it over her head leaving her completely exposed to him.

Cardan took in the lovely sight of her as he stood to his full height. Jude smiled at him, cupping his face in her hand and watching Cardan as he placed his hand over hers, as if he took comfort in the touch.

“It’s my turn.” She smiled, reaching for the sole cloak that was draped haphazardly draped around his shoulders. She pushed the fabric back and revealed all of him to her.

He reached for her again but this time Jude pulled away, her eyes holding a mischievous glint to them as she took his hand in hers and stepped into the warm bathwater.

“Come on my king. If you don’t get in the water now it’ll get cold.”

Cardan eagerly followed her into the water, holding her close to his body as they both sank down into the bathtub. Cardan positioned Jude on his lap and she could feel how much he wanted her. He gifted her with sweet kisses as he held her in his arms, then she felt those sweet kisses become fiercer and felt his long deft fingers reach for her center.

She let out a small gasp as he felt him rub between her folds, feeling how slick she was for him.

“Cardan.” She let out a breathy whisper against his neck as she felt those deft fingers circle her clit eliciting another gasp from her, before he pushed in two fingers his thumb never ceasing those slow methodic circles on her clit.

“No more games Jude. No more sweet lies and masks. I want you to let yourself go, give in to me and crave my touch as much as I crave yours. You are my poison and I will never get enough of you.” He growled as he sucked on her neck and she felt she was going to go over the edge soon.

“Cardan.” She whispered again, feeling all sense flood out of her and being replaced by the hazy nonsensical cloud of lust.

“Let go for me Jude, my love, my queen, my heart.”

And with that Jude felt her walls clench down on his fingers and felt the wave of ecstasy wash over her. She clutched onto Cardan as he helped her ride out the rest of her orgasm with lazy circles on her clit.

Once Jude recovered, she wasted no time in reaching for him under the water and stroked up and down his hard length. Jude watched in delight as Cardan’s face went slack with the pleasure, she was causing him and that thought alone could’ve gotten Jude off again.

“Jude. You torture me now.”

She inhaled the scent of him and placed sweet kisses under his jaw. “This is not torture, my love. You have seen my ruthlessness first hand.”

“If this is not torture than end my agony.” Cardan said with a growl and before Jude could even do that, she felt his hands pull hers away from him and grab her hips pulling her to his hard length. “Please my love, quell my agony.”

Jude bit her lip and grabbed onto Cardan’s shoulders, before positioning herself above his length and slowly pushing herself down onto him, the both of them letting out loud moans as he filled her like she’s desperately craved for these long days without him by her side. Even in the human realms she craved, desired, needed his touch. She needed to feel his fingers track a trail of flames down her body, to feel his long tail wrap around her thigh again as he pounded into her. But this, this sensual moment filled with longing on both their sides will have to do for now.

Jude smiled to herself as she rode him, when she felt that same tail wrap around her thigh, like it belonged there. As she rode him letting her take whatever pleasure from him, Cardan leaned forward and brought her pert nipple into his mouth, sucking and twirling it in his mouth; only adding to the growing sensations in Jude.

“Oh Cardan.” She moaned, leaning her head forward a bit as she felt that growing wave of pleasure building inside of her.

“I love you Jude.” Cardan moaned out and Jude felt his hands wrap around her hips, increasing the tempo of their thrusts, bringing their heated climaxes on faster as he continued to speak sweet words into her skin.

“I love you Cardan.” Jude whispered back bringing his lips to hers for a passionate kiss as she felt herself fall over the edge and brought Cardan with her.

As they lay in each other’s arms, their bath water turned a slight pink and having gone a lukewarm; Jude brought her face to meet Cardan’s.

“So, have I kissed you enough my king? Have I cured you of what ails you? Are you sick of my kisses?”

Cardan burrowed his hands into Jude’s hair bringing her lips back to his for a long and lingering kiss before he pulled away again. “I will never have enough of your honeyed kisses. What I have said about you being the sickness and the cure…I’m afraid it didn’t work and I’ve grown mad from my love for you. I toil in it no matter what form I possess, you are my love, my warrior and my queen always and forever. I can only hope that you will never tire of my kisses and my love for you.”

“Oh Cardan. Never. I will never tire of your sweet kisses and I will never get bored and throw your love away as long as you do the same with mine. Because I believe we share the same madness and there is no cure for what ails me either. I love you.”

[tarasylnin-lavellan]

Justice’s Decision

"You are not the hounds that I was expecting," balefully glowing blue eyes watched the pair from the trees.

"DIRTHAMENS SHADOWY BALLS DON'T DO THAT

!" Harel was near panicked by the sudden words. Cole turned to the source an exclaimed "Your here!" Tara stepped further into the weak dawn light painting her pale face in the washed out illumination. "You've come sniffing around for me, Da'len. Unfortunately, you've trekked all this way for nothing. You should leave before the inquisition truly comes bearing down its arms. I would not want to see you bloody your hands." Tara looked worn to the end of breaking and her hands shook as she rested one against a tree. "Because they will come, they will have too, they will come with dogs and armor; and I won't have them hunt you too you must run, run any direction but mine." 

Harel looked at the woman before her, eyebrows climbing in frank astonishment is this truly what she believed that a hoard of hunters was on her trail? "Are you daft? Mad? Tara we came here to find you to stop you from running away! No one is hunting you!" Tara's head snapped toward Harel and she flinched at the sudden movement 

"Not yet they aren't, not yet, you did get here remarkably fast however. I don't know how you found me so quickly, but for your own safety you have to run." Cole’s weak but insistent voice answered Tara's confusion "We found you when you didn't want to be found, we know you're hurting and we want to help. Please! Let me help!" Tara snarled deep in her chest an animal wounded near to madness " I didn't want to be found for good reason! You knew that Dalen, I won't have you hurt because of ME!" As the turmoil in Tara grew a deep blue light coiled out from her, darker than the previous time its darkness reflecting her own. "Just go..." the words were tired and sad. 

Cole and Harel stand side by side as Tara attempts to frighten the pair off, but they're stock still, their faces unchanging even as the blue wisps lick out at them threateningly. Harel watched the display meant to panic them "we're not leaving." Cole spoke softly hearing the desperate hurt in Tara the rents in her soul. "burdens break your back till your body aches. We will help carry. We must..." Tara face goes blank as she thinks of returning the pain too much. "I cannot go back, and I cannot stop them from hunting me you can't be in the path of danger not for me. No one else is dying because I was made into a weapon No one I. will. not. allow. it."  Harel started to feel an indignant anger rising in her this damned woman "WILL YOU PUT THAT STUPID FUCKING SELFLESSNESS DOWN FOR ONE SECOND!!! her fists clenched tightly in frustration "you are not a weapon, YOURE TARA! You're so much stronger than you think, please, please don't lose yourself!

Cole could feel the choking fear the panic coiling its hateful tendrils around Tara. "I don't like this. It feels cold, like wind before the storm." Harel held her hands out to Tara in supplication "no one's going to hurt you, please, just come back. No one will get you, well make sure of it please don't run away." Cole felt it then the old memory the screaming of a child taken by Hate. "There are no templars! No voices screaming! You don't have to run, shouting mamae. You don't have to.....

Tara felt herself losing control and gripped her head in dread. " They will follow you here, I made a mistake, I am a fool. I never should have allowed a Templar to love me, just even think that I was normal, that I was even close to worthy of being normal! Just go..." The light of her bound soul swirled darker wrapping close to her. Harel called trying to break the hold of the panic "you're a lot of things but a fool isn't one. you need to calm down, you're scaring Cole. And me, just a bit. You're not going to hurt us and we're afraid but we're afraid FOR you. Please. Calm down" Tara's eyes closed and tears streamed down her face "my fault, I am too blame, I knew better" she fell to her knees "I knew better. Cole felt the hurt old and jagged wrapped in layers of walls now exposed and screaming monster, a monster I am a monster. "don't drown in yourself. The lion roars in grief not in rage. Please. Don't hurt yourself, it's hurting us, hurting him." Tara choked on the fear on the hatred she felt inside " His eyes I CANT no... No I can't I just hurt people I can't" she curled around the pain "this is my fault." Cole reached trying to tug on the pain but it was so old so omnipresent that he couldnt tug it loose. "you're a sword and a scalpel and a shield. You don't hurt because you want to, like Erimond and Samson, you hurt because you have to. You protect and pretend to step above the thing in you, to be more than just the breath and the purpose. Stop hurting yourself!" A ragged sob tore from Tara "I hurt everything I touch! I cannot go back not now not ever, I cannot bear to the see fear in his eyes.... I cannot watch him break inside."  

Cole felt it within her the desperate need to be accepted for this to be a bad dream. Tara wanted to stay but she was so afraid of it she ran away. But one person was there, a light shining in dark forest of her mind. "breathe. This isn't you. It's the fear, the forgotten one speaking. You can't let it talk over you and control everything. You're losing yourself to what you think will happen. Lions roar but they don't bite without reason, the serpent curls around his paws and he's silent." He conjured the thought of Dorian like a Talisman, trying to calm her down.

Tara latched onto the one person she knew didn't fear her with the desperate strength of a drowning person. "Dorian? What could he say? how could he" Her eyes began to lighten in color with her brothers mention. Cole reached for it pulling the threads in her "he shouts over the noise of the old songs, the trauma of the circle, the fires in Kirkwall. He screams instead of hissing, his love and his hate all so that the lion knows, knowledge dripping like sweat when you held him, shaking craving the blue song. He learned its name and now the lion has a shape on his tongue to call your eyes." Tara stares at the boy in desperate, sad, hope mute. But the light has returned to crystal blue and slowed curling around her like mist again. Cole reaches for the hurt and speaks "Put your sword down, the scales don't have to fill with blood. You fear the inevitable even when it isn't to be. It's ok to fear, to be afraid of what might happen, but it won't." Cole stares forward, ice blue eyes unmoving and unblinking as if he speaks to Tara and yet, not to her at all. As if he speaks to someone else entirely "Don't be afraid but don't be angry. You're safe, Da'len."

Tara wanted to believe, she needed to believe but everything she had ever learned told her otherwise. She whispers "How could he ever see past..." Cole watched her with sadness in his eyes "Monsters are real, he's seen them before. He needs to look again, like a mouse who's lost its tail to a trap, he needs to see, to know that it's not the same. Love is love and you'll give him back his tail." Tara knelt trying to pull the frayed pieces of her mind back together. Her mothers voice spoke in her heart, and she looked up "I cannot go back to the castle, not until I know,  I cannot trap myself there." Cole watches as she tries to accept a new path and his voice is firm for once "we'll protect you. You won't be trapped, I promise. And if you are then...." Harel stepped up next to Cole face still and stoic for once "then we'll let you leave for good and we won't follow you. We'll even keep those people off your trail. Just....trust us."  

Tara knew the path she had to take not returning and not fleeing. She had to try, she had to give him a chance, as terrifying as that was. "if he... wants answers that's his right but, he has to meet me outside of that place. My mother would kill me if I walked into a cage willingly." Cole nods feeling the old memories "Hands on my shoulder she raises her voice, but not to frighten to lecture. Don't let the shem keep you in submission. We are the People, and never again shall we submit. Eyes stern but loving, she would reprimand me if I allowed myself to be foolish." Tara nods looking at the pair decision firming in her eyes. "He can meet me, alone, in the Emerald Graves I will wait."

Harel watches as Tara breathes heavily, her purple eyes for once wide in fear instead of narrowed in disinterest. It was a shocking sight to see one so strong reduced to this mess but it was understandable. She walked this thin line, always keeping her guard up. Now that she was tired, it was only natural for her to regress. "You've chosen an interesting place, Hah'ren. May the grave of Mahariel give your conversation the strength to pull through this. Would.....would you like one of us to stay?" Tara shook her head staggering to her feet "No, no. This must be seen to alone. But thank you. I have to face him by myself."

Cole watches as he always does with his moping face drawn low, sad to leave Tara alone after such suffering. The Inquisitor could see the pain in his eyes like a wounded Halla. Tara looked at the young man "it has to be alone Cole if...if things go badly I want to.. I want it to be alone I will go there and wait This has to be done right."

Cole nods, his hat dipping down in a short stroke and never once turning upwards. Harel comforts the boy with a hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him back from his sadness of leaving the Inquisitor alone. "We're here" it is all he says before he shimmers a light green, disappearing into the darkness to find his way towards Skyhold.

Harel shakes her head, an eyebrow raised as she mutters, "Love how he expects me to keep up with his invisible ass." Its the last thing Harel says that barely draws a smirk from Tara. Just barely. The trees gather around the storm mage as she bids her companions goodbye, setting off with the same heavy heart but so much less apprehension. She makes her winding way to the heart of the vast forest feet silent on the ground. She is a phantom in this place, her path undecided. As night falls around her the shadows dull the sharpened edges of reality. she sets up camp on a high rock bluff in the great trees the song of the branches soothing and sad. Let this be the place she thinks if I have to go with Falon'din let it be here.

Cole and Harel return to skyhold quickly leading the disgruntled Hart with them. Dorian bustled through the crowd his face drawn and afraid. "please PLEASE tell me that you didn't lose her."

Harel folds her arms, appraising the worried Tevinter before speaking "She's fine and safe and super fucking rattled. But safe. She wants to meet Cullen in the Emerald Graves; her territory instead of here since you know....its kind of uninhabitable to her at the moment. Dorian lets a whoosh of held breath at the words of the half breed. "She is alive, and she is thinking at least." Cole interrupts the thought though pushing past Harel the Qunari-elf is confused at the sudden movement before he starts speaking as well. His voice is tinged with emotion as he mimics Harel's voice "I'll kill that curly haired bastard Ill shock his shit for what he's done the fucking templar!" Dorian lunged forward covering the boys mouth with his hand. Leveling a glare that could've frozen the sun at Harel he hissed "stop thinking in such vulgar terms!" Cole subsided and Dorian stood thinking "Now.....She wants to meet him in the Graves? Oh Isa'ma'lan, you make everything so planned, don't you. I've tried doing as much damage control as I can from here but...I suppose we'll have to trust what Tara will do next is the right thing. Kaffas, she worries me so."

Dorian strode alone heading for the Commanders Tower, better from him after all. Pushing open the door he sees Cullen standing behind his desk hands braced on its surface his face drawn and haggard. At the mages approach Cullen's head snaps up a worried flash in his eyes. "Is there word?!" Dorian held up a manicured hand "Pack you essentials, if you want to speak to Tara, she wants you, and you alone, in the Emerald Graves. I don't have to say do not try anything after that little talk we had, now do I?" Cullen blinks his brow furrowing "why didn't she come back here?" Dorian rolled his eyes in exasperation "The tactician that you are should know the reason. Come here, where you are? After your terrible reaction? She probably thinks you'll try to kill her and we both know how much that will hurt the both of you. At least out there, there's control in the place she feels strongest.

All right my lovelies one more chapter to this whenever I can bully my sad tired artists brain into making more ✨words✨

after that I will put all of them together into one continuous story line 

as always all the love and thanks in the whole world to @w-h-4-t for the dialog help Ir lath ma Da’len 

[mattzerella-sticks]

Desperation, Baby! (coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, Dean & Lucifer, Dean/Cas, 2.3k, T)

ao3 link

Death took her sweet time parsing through Chuck's book, meaning Lucifer spent longer than he'd like surrounded by his former vessel, his brother, his son, and a man whose obvious longing made him want to vomit. Instead of returning with his prize, Chuck welcoming him back, he must waste his valuable time playing 'nice; with those he can't stand.

Not that it matters. They don't trust him, each member of this ragtag group of survivors watching Lucifer in shifts. Never leaving him alone.

It's Dean's turn now, and he's driving Lucifer up a wall by doing nothing at all save for broadcasting a never-ending supply of feeling. Can he cut the signal without showing his hand, or put Dean's heart to good use?

           It’s pathetic, truly. Lucifer huffs, deflating, sinking further into his seat. Weighed down by obscene amounts of longing that poured freely off Dean like a broken hydrant. Funneled into his awareness because its usual drain was cordoned forever. It flooded these now silent angelic air waves, Lucifer growing more annoyed with each, excruciating second. Until, finally, “Holy hell, can you please quit it?”

           Dean startles from where he stood, jaw tensing. Mouth flattening in a thin line as he glares, “What?”

           “Quit. It. Quitit!” He hisses, leaning forward. Stretches his arms across the table, reaching for Dean. Fingers twitching, Lucifer imagines Dean’s neck between them. “Seriously, you’re giving me a migraine with all your feelings.”

           “Good.” Dean surprises Lucifer with his response. No attempted denial, nor misdirection. His gaze unflinchingly pierced through Lucifer’s vessel, pride bolstering its blow. Lucifer cannot detect any shame that usually clings to his soul, none of that smell lingering. He’s grown since they’ve last seen each other. Stunning character development. “Deserve it, after that dick move you pulled earlier.”

           “You still upset about that?” Scoffing, Lucifer rises. Meanders across the room towards Dean, gaze never straying. Easy since it’s only them. “I thought my gift would have more than made up for that.” He grins, rocking on his heels. A breadth of space separates them now. “How else was I supposed to get in, anyway?” he continues, “Not like if I called as myself you’d’ve rolled out the welcome mat.”

           “But… Cas?” Lucifer savors the taste of his brother’s name, drenched in sadness. Ripped from Dean’s heart in a barely controlled sob.

           “Nasty habit,” he giggles, “Though the results speak for themselves. I mean – you know how easy it was smooth-talking little Sammy when I looked like his ol’ flame, Jess?” Dean doesn’t laugh, snarled lip suffocating Lucifer’s airy mirth. “You’re no fun.”

           “Sorry,” Dean growls, “why don’t you try later when the world’s not ending.”

           “It’s always ending. In one way or another.” Lucifer waves his hand and a chair drags itself over. He straddles it, gazing up at Dean. “If we waited for peace to enjoy life, there’d be no time. Better to… say what’s in your heart, even if it kills you.” He frowns, mockingly, “Or in Castiel’s case… did kill him.”

           Dean slams his fist against the wall. “You have no right –“

           “Timeout there,” Lucifer smirks, eyes glowing red. Reflection of Dean’s entire face, blood rapidly swelling his cheeks. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret…” He holds Dean there, frozen, waits until the other man seems calm. Dips his head, tries catching Dean’s gaze. “If I let you go, will you behave?” Dean remains silent, yet Lucifer hears him. Tunes into his frequency, actively sifting through his frenzied emotions. “Seriously,” he lets Dean go, hunter falling on his ass, “how are we supposed to work as a team if you’re not willing to cooperate?”

           “This… isn’t a team,” Dean spits, “you’re working… with the Empty.”

           “And the Empty’s trying to take Chuck out!” he argues, “So, enemy of my enemy is my friend or all that nonsense –“

           “Go to hell.”

           “I wish I could, but I’m kinda on a short leash.” Bored with Dean’s resistance, Lucifer threads his next few words with seriousness. “Listen, once Betty’s done with the book I’ll flit on out of here and one, two, three – humanity is saved from dear, ol’ dad! We can make this all painless if you’d just trust me, or we can keep doing what we’re doing. I, personally, am tired of this bullshit. Rather be napping back in the Empty, but no…”

           “You should be.”

           “Beg pardon?”

           Dean bares his teeth, roiling hatred knocking Lucifer back a few inches. “You should still be sleeping, back there,” he says, “if anyone were supposed to come back, it’d be Cas. Not… you…”

           “Ah, Castiel, yes…” Lucifer sighs, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course, he lacks my raw power and charm, but… yes, you’d trust anything that he said.” Hand on his throat, he affects his vocal cords. Mimicking the other angel’s gravelly tone again, “Dean, please go along with Lucifer’s wishes and help him –“

           “Enough!” Dean kicks at a chair leg, interrupting Lucifer. Tears threaten to pour, dangling from his lashes like morning dew. “If you really wanna play nice, you’d stop doing that.”

           “This is nice, buddy.” Lucifer pokes at Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Why don’t you grow some thick skin, huh? Where’s the real Dean Winchester? That tough guy with endless bravado instead of this sad, sorry piece of shit that’s pining after some dead guy?”

           Dean turns, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That isn’t me. I… he never was.” An intimate confession whispered into ancient brickwork. Meaningful for a different crowd. Except Lucifer shows little care, sarcastic clapping shattering Dean’s moment.

           “Wow, Dean… really fantastic. Amazing!” He climbs off the chair, crouching closer. Tongue dragged over his lips, smile wide. “Your verbose diction astounds me… did you whip that together after my brother got dragged into super hell? Are you still workshopping it – okay if I give you a few notes?” Lucifer pinches Dean’s cheek, poking this rabid grizzly. “At least you’ve got that face. Clearly Cas didn’t fall for your emotional maturity, your observational prowess or timing…”

           He weakly bats Lucifer off him, “You don’t know anything…”

           “I think I know quite a lot,” Lucifer challenges him, “Between the both of us, only I managed to slip inside my tight-ass little brother. Probably why I knew all his little… perversions, although it was clear as day how he felt about you to everyone – well… almost everyone.” His hand settles on Dean’s chest, atop his heart. “Do you know amazing it was, when I slipped my blade through him? You were a buffet that night… fear, relief, hope… despair. I could’ve ended him in that other dimension, but I waited until he crossed back. Knew how much more painful it’d be.”

           “Monster,” Dean says, “Fucking psychopath.”

           “The old me, maybe.” Lucifer teleports, sitting on a nearby table. Legs absentmindedly pedaling, stirring confusion within Dean. “But I’ve been reborn on the right side, Dean. Nobler. I’ve got purpose.”

           “You’ve got a load of shit,” he accuses, standing on shaky legs, “that you’re trying to sell me. Us.”

           “Come on!” Lucifer groans, hands flying skyward, “Isn’t this supposed to be your eleventh hour? How can you be so stubborn? Here I come, with a Hail Mary, and you’re turning your nose up at me like some snob. Like you have better options waiting. All because you won’t work with the Empty –“

           “It’s not just that,” Dean corrects him, “I also don’t want to work with you.”

           He crosses his arms, pouting. “You’re gonna have to suck that up. So the Empty wouldn’t send your boytoy, do you blame them? For a broken, little thing he sure is popular. Who’s to say Cas’d come back once this all wraps up? At least the Empty trusts me.”

           “I guess something has to.”

           “You can, too, if you want.” Lucifer casts his reel wide, waiting. Eyebrows waggling like baited worms. “It’d be a hell lot easier than what you’re doing now. Come on…” he needles, “why is it so hard to believe in miracles?”

           “Please…” Dean says, hiding his face behind his knees. Arms circled around his legs, curled into a ball. “Stop talking.”

           He relents for the time being. Proud of what cracks in Dean’s armor he made. When Chuck sent him, he asked Lucifer to ruffle a few feathers. Mess with their heads, ensure this ragtag group of losers would stay down. Accept their fate, end this miserable experiment called humanity in sadness. “Don’t provoke them too much, though,” Chuck warned, fists curled along his jacket’s lapels, “Betrayals only work when the other side doesn’t expect them. Plot’s stretched thin as it is, bringing you back doesn’t really make sense –“

           “I love you too, dad.”

           “That’s why you need to lay it on thick,” he said, “steer them away from why, keep the action moving.”

           Lucifer stared down at his father, frowning. “Anything else you need?”

           “No,” Chuck clapped Lucifer’s shoulder, nodding. “Just be yourself.”

           Except none of them wanted him. Especially Dean. He wanted… Castiel.

           It’s a little off-script, but Lucifer bets Chuck will enjoy what he plans. Even if it’ll involve his least favorite character. Lucifer hops off the table, grace burning across his body. Razing this vessel’s form, stealing its characteristics and distinguishability. A tall mound of clay left that he molds into a new body. Darker hair, sturdier frame, and bluer eyes. “Dean,” he says, swallowing his laughter. “Dean…” He tries again, sounding exactly like him.

           Like Castiel.

           Dean tenses, “Cas?” Barely audible, Lucifer strained to hear his prayer. That hope, sweetness quickly bittering as Dean digests the scene. “No…” he sighs, mumbling into his legs. “Lucifer, thought I told you to quit it.”

           “Lucifer is gone, Dean,” he lies, kneeling. “I’m here… please, Dean, look at me.” Lucifer grabs at Dean’s head, thankful the other man lets him. Green finds masked-blue, their ‘reunion’ drawing a pained breath.

           “What?” Dean asks, a single tear slipping free. Trails along his cheek until it falls off his chin. “How – how is this happening?”

           “Because of you, Dean.” Lucifer’s hands shift, a thumb smearing that tearstain while he runs fingers through Dean’s hair. “You refused Lucifer’s help, even though what he said was true. The Empty saw and decided, if we were to truly end Chuck, the risk of sending me will be worth it.” Expression darkening, Lucifer leans into dramatics. Lips quivering as he recites his next line, “Though not without conditions, Dean – I… you know I can’t stay, right?”

           “You will,” he says, “Cas – we will… if this book really can end Chuck, and we take him out, what can the Empty do –“

           “Take you,” Lucifer cuts him off. “Take you… Sam, and Jack. I step even an inch out of line and we all get sucked into their being, with no hope of actually defeating my father.” He nearly breaks character, watching how the light in Dean’s eyes flickered before being snuffed. Lucifer regains composure, growling his next words. “You understand this, then? What it means?”

           Dean nods, snaking his hands across Lucifer’s wrists. “Means we don’t have long,” he barks, squeezing tight. “I have to set it right, right now.”

           “Dean –“

           “No, Cas,” Dean talks over him, guiding Lucifer’s hands off where they rested. Silences the disguised archangel by chaining him, making Lucifer a helpless victim. Awe real as he waits for Dean, cowed by longing powerful than his earlier annoyance. “I… I need to get through this because – well, the last time you didn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I, there was a lot left unsaid that I don’t want to stay that way. If we can’t have a future, then at least… at least we have here.” He laughs, choking on it. More tears dance their way down.

           “When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t believe it,” Dean confesses, “and then, when you told me why I – I was… I believed that less. I mean, you… you’ve listened to your heart more than I have. Even if a few of those times it was wrong, everything you did was for love. Knowing you was – that was my happiness. Having you, in whatever way you’d let me. Because there you were, this shining beacon, and for some reason you kept on letting me bask in your glow. I felt I… I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve you.”

           Dean brings Lucifer’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss along a patch of skin. The gesture disgusts him. “And you were right about how – I thought of myself so… so poorly, it kept me from saying and – and doing things I wish I’d done sooner. All my life I thought there were things I couldn’t have, rules I had to live by, and I never questioned them until you saved me from hell. Literal and figurative. Because of you, I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to be good. But I never believed I could. Then you tell me you loved me… because I was good. I already was the kind of person I thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t believe it. What’s stranger… I didn’t have to believe it, to know it’s true.” Dean smiles at him, Lucifer mirroring his gesture though it pained him. “I’m the person I always wished I could be, and even when you’re gone I’ll still be that person. I’ll miss you, Cas. Always. I’ll miss you, and I’ll love you. I’ll love you always.”

           It happens before Lucifer realizes. Distracted, nauseated by Dean’s powerful emotions, he missed how a hand snuck its way towards his neck. Pinched there, startling him. In that second, Dean forces Lucifer into an embrace. Lips crashing together, Lucifer stays frozen while Dean attacks his mouth. Mewling, whimpering.

           Disgusting.

           He pulls the curtains back, reverting to his previous form. Delights in how Dean senses the change, peeking with one eye as Castiel’s face vanishes. The other man violently hurls himself to the side, gaping at him. “Why Dean,” Lucifer grins, awkwardness heavy in his tone, “if I had known that’s how you felt about me…”

           Dean sobs, wiping at his lips. “How… what the –“

           “You really thought I was Cas, didn’t you?” Laughing, Lucifer towers over him. “I figured you’d catch on but… I underestimated you. And for that I’m sorry.” He devours these new emotions radiating from Dean, eagerly lapping them up. “I’m also sorry that you’ve convinced you deserve a happy ending,” he twists the knife further. Dean flinches, turning. Fleeing. Lucifer shouts at his retreating figure. “That’s not your story, Dean! Don’t ask for more, be happy with what you have!”

           Then, as he waits for his next babysitter, Lucifer’s eyes glow red. “Because soon enough… you won’t even have that.”

[geirskogull]

Moments of Calm - Part 2

+ Notes: 5.5 Spoilers Present in This Fic, Warrior of Light Danica Voss takes a moment to herself to perfect that strong silent type look by letting her brain get the better of her.

Archive Link

Warnings: This is DIRECTLY The Mega Horny Part so uh NSFW But Beyond that, warning for praise kink i guess? I need to relearn how to tag things

Word Count: 6.5k

 He had almost forgotten about how fast she walked. Like wind almost. Moving with a grace and speed she lacked while dancing but made her one of the most formidable combatants he had ever had the luck to spare with. Maybe that was where his softness originated. The times she kicked his ass. The thought made him chuckle and painted confusion on her own face.

 “Something Funny ‘Stinien?” She asked her voice low now not out of sadness, but concern for those already sleeping. Though she had to guess the workaholics that were Riol and Thancred were already up.

 “No, no, just reflecting.” The look she gave him in turn was one filled with doubt. But she didn’t raise the question again. He was a bit thankful for that. Instead focusing on opening the heavy wooden door of her large room with only moderate creaking.

 Her room was some kind of strangely organized mess. Like A dragon’s horde in a way, really, if he was to go about and make poetic comparisons. Though he imagined a Dragon’s Horde was less plush stuffed animals scattered about and more golden coins and rare magical arms and armor, but if there was such a thing as a Danica Dragon well this would be a wonderful horde to suit them just fine.

 Danica wove her way through the hazardous maze of assorted fluffy friends towards her bed. Her Movements he could only describe as sluggish and exhausted. He followed behind, though unsure of any particular reason why. Perhaps to make sure she actually lay in her bed and rest? Perhaps because her hands still held one of his captive? Either way, he found himself uniquely aware of when she stopped and turned towards the large window that overlooked the now stirring streets of the town.

 "Hells, and here I was hoping to get a reasonable amount of sleep for once." She whispered, probably more to herself than to him. A weak chuckle shaking her form all the while. He felt some sort of relief knowing that it was a real one and she did actually seem to be doing better.

 "You're turning into me, Voss." He added in his own whisper, causing her to look from the window to him in surprise. She hadn't forgotten he was there, no, but perhaps she let herself get too lost among thoughts again. This time she was swiftly dragged back to consciousness though, the fragile little smile that sat upon his face proved thus.

 "Oh what a crime, I'll be too handsome" She joked in turn, scrunching up her nose in mock disgust. Yes she would be ok. Even if more of these bouts of melancholy and deep fear hit her, she would still be ok. Good. He would raise blades against the star itself if otherwise, for what else caused her such pains. He reached out for the hand he didn't yet hold, which she gladly gave to his grasp.

 "Oh stop it you." He huffed, a look of total exasperation taking his face. None of it true of course. He pulled at their joined hands, pulling her closer towards him, his smile losing any hint of exhaustion as her form ran into his chest.

 "Fine, fine." She laughed in turn, looking up at him with sleepy eyes filled with such gentle fondness it caused him to pause. Perhaps someday he’d get use to that look. A potential someday where they would get their rest and perhaps in that someday he’d get to wake up to such it in her eyes every morning.

 "I can tell them to leave you be if you want, let you sleep in." He offered, his voice a gentle whisper as he let go of her hands only to wrap his newly freed ones around her tight. She shook her head no vigorously.  

 "You need your rest too. I've kept you up all night." Ah, there was her normal gentle chastising he knew her for. The amount of times even early into their travels together that she sent such worried mother henning towards Alphinaud, himself, and others was countless. It was a static familiar thing and it felt like home.

 "Believe me, Dee, I don't mind." The nickname so omnipresent upon lips that felt uniquely intimate between them. Something he never called her in front of others. It was always Voss. Or Danica if he was feeling particularly testy. But never Dee, never in front of others. He couldn’t tell you why.

 "Then would you mind...staying?" Her request was simple and honestly should have been expected. He’d been gone for some time and he couldn’t imagine how much longer it felt when she was worlds away. Sure she wasn’t there for years like the others but - He shook his head and the look in her eyes told him she took that as a no and that was far from his answer.  

 “I don’t see why not.” He whispered, holding her tight so she wouldn’t step back in some sort of miscommunicated hurt. “Get comfortable, I’ll join you soon. It’s not like they’ve got a room ready for me yet anyway.” The smile on her face was one filled with relief and she nodded. Slipping from his arms with that same ferocious grace she was known for and dipping behind a screen to finally relieve herself of the days grime, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 “I love you...” He whispered to empty air, like he had back in Azys Lla what felt like years ago now. And like all those years ago, his hands closed around empty air and he felt...lonely. Even if she was only a washroom away.

 But he couldn’t sit there wallowing in strange loneliness. Not while she was off doing whatever she needed to do to sleep and he was still there in thankfully cleaner than they had been traveling clothes. He couldn’t say the same for his armor. The ancient artifact he’d yet to have a chance to service since Ul’dah. He had doffed it and went to find her almost immediately, given she had disappeared so readily after the scions split ways in the main hall and it had concerned him. Not that he’d say that to any of the others. The looks some of them, especially her cousin, gave him told him they probably well enough knew why.

 He pulled at his top, yanking it roughly above his head and throwing it in some distance corner. Knocking over a strange cat-like plushie that once toppled over seemed to judge him with large beady eyes, its tiny golden crown slightly off kilter.

 “What something to say?” He hissed at the inanimate object, like somehow its plastic eyes were judging him. It, of course, did not respond. And could not be judging him. He sighed loudly, kicking off boot after boot towards the same corner, knocking over the doll and covering the judgemental plastic.

 “Oh gods, I’m losing my damn mind.” He shook his head meandering towards the mountain of blankets and pillows Voss called a bed and almost throwing himself upon it. Good, she still had a love for very soft things. He’d fall asleep in no time.

 “And still dressed. Here I was thinking I was taking too long.” Her voice from a distant doorway drew his eye, and to her form in but a large shirt that he was about 90% sure was his own. Seemingly lost long ago but actually just owned by a new soul. Not that he minded. It look good on her, slipping gently off her left shoulder as she navigated the wasteland of stuffed animals. He chuckled.

 “Got distracted by all the prying eyes.” He motioned wide with one of his hands while untying the offending garment with the other. She scoffed, taking a seat next to him upon the bed and drawing her legs up to her chest. Almost like she was nesting among the fabric.

 “Oh please.” She chimed, throwing her legs over his lap as soon as he was undressed and bed ready. “They’re just stuffed animals after all.” Laughter lit her voice and he found himself once more enchanted by his fellow Dragoon, much the same as he was when they first met. When she looked at him, staff in hand, with mostly confusion and probably a bit offense on her face, given that his first words to her were something akin to threats.

  Gingerly he reached out for her waist, to shift their position and pull her upon his lap.She did not resist, nor pull him down upon the bed to actually rest like was the goal but smiled at him. Wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace that brought a smile to his dour face once more. She had this unique skill really, to get him to smile so easily.

 “Well, perhaps they are to you. But to me they are terribly judgy little eyes that I want no part of.” In a burst of confidence, he continued. “ At the moment the only eyes I want on me are yours.” He hummed, watching and enjoying the gentle flush that took to her cheeks moments after. She yawned, a loud over dramatic thing that had her removing her arms from him in some cruel bit of acting. She was relatively good at acting, all things considered.

 “And they are, though they want to be closed.” Recovering from the yawn, she tapped his nose gently, all the while scrunching up her own and before hiding another yawn he wasn’t sure was true or not. Either way she was beautiful, present and most importantly in his arms.  

 “Hm... I find myself not too sleepy anymore.” He whispered, his voice lowering to that place between a growl and a purr that he knew would draw her attention and wake her right up. The smirk that took her face told him it was successful. Her hands dropped from his face to cradle first the sides of his face, and then down to rest upon his open chest.

 “Oh really?” She asked, raising a brow. It was her turn to be exasperated.  “I thought after how long I’ve kept you up and how busy a day we’ve had you’d be dead exhausted.” Though her words said otherwise, the gentle swirling patterns she now drew upon her chest said she didn’t mind staying up a bit longer if it meant this closeness.  

 “Aye, tis’ not every day one can say they’ve a Warrior of Light in their lap.” Almost on queue she adjusted herself there, so she was looking directly at him without having to turn her head. So she was straddling his lap with a growing cheshire grin upon her face. He smiled, his own hands taken to cradling her rear, pulling her closer. Their chests sat plastered against each other now, and this was a closeness he had missed.

 “Yes but you can say you’ve got a Danica Voss in yours whenever you want.” she chimed in, her smile losing its edge only to have it replaced with warmth she showed very few others. In response he brought up a single hand to her face and brushed some of the errant strands of her hair behind the slight point of her ear.

 “Well then, I would very much like her to stay there a while at least.” He leaned forward, making the already small gap between the two infinitesimally smaller, their lips but breaths away from one anothers.

 “She’ll -” A laugh shook her form, here she was talking like she was some other person recalling vague information about herself. “I’ll be sure to try,” It was her turn to brush unruly strands of white from his face, fingers lingering longer than they need be upon his cheek.

 “You say that like you’ve a choice,      my lady.”    And gone was the purr, leaving but the growl. His hands dug in hard to where he held her, and he couldn’t help himself but enjoy the faint near imperceivable gasp that escaped her lips. It morphed quickly into a chuckle that tickled his cheeks.

 “Oh, are you going to try to stop me, Wyrmblood?” She whispered in turn, ever so slightly tilting her head, and stopping those idle little circles upon his exposed chest. Punctuating really, her words with but one final poke square where his heart was.

 “Not unless you want me to.” He warned, and asked, in equal measure, as scarred hands moved up her back and lost themselves among her hair to keep her eyes locked on his.

 “I’d love to see you try.” Affirmation that opened a thousand flood gates, bursting at the seams with months of distance, closed finally with those words and a lean to both their heads. Lips interlocking with a ferocity behind them, and not a gentleness. A desperation that spoke of their time on the road.

 Her lips were chapped, and coarse, bit by the sandy winds they had experienced that day. His own were not much better, but yet neither seemed to truly mind. His mouth opened faintly against hers as air grew thin, though he felt no need to part yet. His tongue ran across the rough flesh, and when she would not grant him entrance he brought his teeth to bear.

 Teeth biting down hard enough to draw blood to the surface, but not spill it. Swelling her lips under affectionate abuse and causing her to gasp just enough through gritted teeth that his tongue could slip in. A grumbling laugh echoed in his chest, it was like the Churning Mists all over again. At least this time they had walls about them.

       Before air forced them apart, and allowed her to make any little snips about his manhandling, he pulled her close and flipped upon the bed. Dropping her with an unceremonious Ooph upon the mound of blankets. A giggle shook her form, as she looked up at him with wide mismatched eyes and smiled very much like a cat that had gotten into some cream.

       She opened her mouth to tease. He did not give her such a chance, slamming his lips roughly against hers again to silence her fiery tongue. Her spine curved up at the touch, hungering for yet more of his rough manhandling, she was notoriously impatient. He wasn’t surprised once more, given their months apart that must have felt so much longer for her. But he would have his fun, and her impatience wouldn’t stop his teasing.

       Payback for many a time before.

       His hands wandered up her form, catching on the stolen oversized shirt with ease and slipping beneath its ragged body. His scarred palms chartered familiar terrain, divots where blades fell, rivers of ink, the rise and fall of her hips and chest like a sailor looking over a beloved map.

       She whined against his lips, twisted beneath his touch, like a storm raging on open seas, and he once more the sailor gripping hard to his beloved ship with rough bruising hands. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips in turn, trying to drag him under. But he wouldn’t give up so easily. No matter how part of him wished to drown.

       Air once more drove them apart, but not very far as his lips crashed like lazy waves against her face, drawing back further and further till he dropped down to her neck. Eyes warry in watching the impetuous storm of a woman he called a lover as she twisted under his touch. When it looked like she might open her mouth to complain that he was taking too long, he’d allow his kisses to grow less gentle upon their slow trek down her form. Teeth once more would join the equation, first dragging down the flesh and then biting hard when she grew bold. Hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to draw blood, metallic in his mouth.

       Her gasps were music to his ears. As were the growing sharp pains in his back, as her nails dug into his bare flesh. Digging deep pathways into his flesh that would rise red in her absence. Marks he’d gladly bear, of course. They urged him on, really, like her heels digging into his ass in turn and though he was sure she’d love if he gave heed to the growing inferno around his heart that demanded he rip and tear and take her as his own, he wanted to savor this.

       And he did so by dragging his lips further down her chest, slowly undoing the string upon his former shirt and pulling it over her head to make that beloved swath of skin he had mapped so well visible in the residual darkness of the waning hours of night. Something akin to a purr echoed out of his chest, but was cut short the moment he felt her hands bunch around his undergarments.

       “Oh no you don’t.” He growled, hands snapping from her hips and grabbing her wrists roughly. Her desire to move things along he had to admit was understandable. They’d been apart for quite some time, but this was to be savored and he was going to take his time. She’d challenge him there, but for once he would not bow to her precious whims. If he could maintain the strength. She squirmed, trying to wring her hands free but to no avail. He held them fast.

       She pouted, the kind of wide overdramatic pout that she did when she’d didn’t get her way that would pluck at his heart strings and had won her many a stuffed animal or other little gift she so desired. Though he held the command here...she held command over his heart. Either way, they wouldn’t win her a victory here today.

 Slowly he forced her arms up above her head, before collecting both wrists in one hand and holding them there. Restraining her, and painting a proud smirk on his face. “Patience, Dee, Patience.” He chastised, using his free hand to gently touch her face, enjoying the draw of her eyes when she could not match it with a caress of her own.

 “I don’t want to be patient, ‘Stinien.” She whined, once more trying to free herself from his grasp. He could do naught but chuckle at the act, truely. If he was a cruel man he’d sit there and just watch her try time and again to take what she so well wanted, only to steal it away from her with this simple little grasp upon her wrists. But he wasn’t, and she would get her reward in time but first -

 “You don’t have to be patient long,” He purred, leaning down right near the slight point of her left ear. “Just keep your arms right there, allow me to taste what I missed and then you’ll be rewarded, Dee.” He leaned back a bit, tilting his head and raising a brow. “Can you do that for me?”

 He smiled when  her eyes zeroed in on him and his words with laser like precision as she felt her heart pound in her chest. A war seemed be raging behind her eyes, knowing what words waited on the tip of his tongue but were not said. Words she wanted to hear just so badly. Her pride lost, and he waited till she gave the faintest nod of her head before releasing her hands which remained held above her towards the head of the bed of her own volition.

 “      Good Girl.”  

 She froze, stock still, barely breathing now as he returned to his languid teasing pace. Dragging his lips back down his minefield of marks upon her gently, reminding them with faint little nips that they were there to stay a while. In case they were apart again for any extended period of time.

 When his lips dragged over her breasts, and his languid tongue traced circles over her raised nipple she made her first sound since he released her arms. A sharp intake of breath as the cold bitter night air was replaced by the warmth of his mouth. His eyes flicked up, and a smile grew upon his face when he saw the palm of one of her hands digging into the others. A self inflicted point of pain to keep her focused on where they must remain.

 He’d have to test her resolve.

 When he removed his lips from one raised mound, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. He was being cruel, she had decided, cruel and mean and making her wait as he was torturing her by taking his sweet time, and not just bending her over upon the bed and having her preferred way. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stopped digging her nails into the palm of her hand as he stalled, oh so tyrannous, only to regret it immediately as he took the other in his mouth and grabbed the first between two strong fingers and pinched.

 “Ah- AAH” A gasp into the air that was much louder than intended. Poor Thancred next door, she prayed he was a really REALLY early riser and not currently in his room. Though... perhaps this would be pay back for all the times in the Waking Sands.

 Yet, she did not move. Nails once more digging hard into her palm, leaving deep gashes upon the flesh that would bruise on the morrow. She held her breath now, as he bit down and pinched in equal measure, just enough to hurt and just enough for her nerves to feel on edge and alive.

 When he raised his head, eyes lidded with some amount of pride, and released his hold upon her chest he let out a low chuckle. “Hm, seems you’ve passed the first test.” He gave the raised nubs one final flick before dropping his head below them, slowly continuing his brutally languid and sharp toothed descent.

 “I didn’t sign up for Exams Estinien.” She whined, twisting under his touch as if trying to actively avoid it but still not moving her hands. He leaned down towards her head once more, and left a lingering kiss on her swollen lips and smiled when he looked into her eyes once again and saw them red and cloudy.

 “Are you afraid to lose Voss?” He purred into her ear, before once more descending, tongue now tracing lazy circles down her toned stomach, enjoying the faint twitch of her every movement.

 “We both know I can out last you.” False bravado rang through her tone as each word was a struggle against her desires and her pride and he knew this well. It’s like he knew exactly where to poke holes to make her deflate into something manageable. The purr in his next words confirmed it.

 “So sure, so proud.” His free hand wandered and walked spider like up her torso and across her chest towards her chin, gripping it tight and forcing it up. “Very good. Now don’t distract me Dee, I’ve work to do. So look away.” He didn’t need to apply much force to get her to look at the ceiling and away from him. Damn him to all the hells.

 She took to biting at her lip to maintain some focus, to draw the nervous feeling away from the slow angel light touch of his lips upon her hips. He was being gentle. It was a heartless cold gentleness that had her parched for more violent and vibrant touch. It was calculated, as was his slow descent from the outside of her tattooed form towards the core of pulsing need that sat soaking the top most layer of her mound of blankets she called a bed.

 And she hoped to save laundry for another day.

 And he planned on making sure it had to be done tomorrow. Or whenever the two of them roused from bed, the world could deal without it’s heroes for a bit.

 As his lips danced around the edge of her old and frayed undergarments he stopped, fingers hooking around its hemline and pulling hard, but not off. His grey eyes lingered and examined the growing wet stain upon its dull fabric and found pride once more welling in his chest. She hungered and it was his fault. Good.

 "Gorgeous...” He whispered, and her resolve faltered at the sound of his words,drawing her eyes just barely to him without moving her head. “Look at you, so ready and I’ve only just begun.”  She whined, drawing his ire and attention in equal measure as her small movement no longer went unnoticed.

 “Hm, what did I say?” She stuck her tongue out in one vain hopeful act of defiance that she immediately regretted as the touch upon her jaw grew harsh, dragging her face back to look into his cool grey eyes.

 “Look.” He growled his voice dropping at least an octave.   “Away.” She could not stop her eyes from widened, nor how instantaneously she looked out the window, noting the sky growing light and the sound of souls milling the streets setting up their stalls. She hoped they couldn’t hear either of them.

 “F-Fine.” She would not beg. She would NOT beg. She was too proud to ever beg but she could hunger like a primal summoned off the lifesblood of it’s followers and he the sickly sweet aether that would keep her material.

 “Patience, patience.” A virtue neither had, as illustrated when he removed his hands from her form and returned them to the pathetic fabric that dared separate the two of them. She had plenty, and could mend whatever he broke. Right?

 He didn’t voice the question so he didn’t get an answer, forgoing his fingers to dig his hungry teeth into the fabric and yank his head back, animalistic joy welling in his chest and mixing with that pride at the loud screeching sound of ripping fabric.

 Air stung her sopping core and she gasped, the slips of fabric that survived his onslaught did not to help save tickle her skin. The gashes in her hand grew deeper as she tried to restrain herself yet that resolve to follow his command, to be that so called      good girl    that deserved the reward that had been kept from them both for months now remained.

 He chuckled darkly, seeing the pink glow to her battered form. All the way from her cheeks to his prize. A smirk to his lips as he considered his options. Torment her more, or claim their prize?

 He decided he would do both.

 He lowered his head once more, kissing along where fabric had once hid. Slowly but surely driving inward towards the pleasant sopping mess that was her core. She squirmed, the sensation too much even with the sharp bites of pain to anchor her. A short whine escaped her lips as the fraying strings of her resolve began to break into splintered ends.

 The entire rope shattered the moment he reached his goal, a loud moan punctuating it’s brutal end the moment his lips first pressed upon his prize. The taste of her viscous fluids coating his tongue instantly, sweet as a honey made just for him.  

 "That feels good doesn't it?" He asked, raising his head after his first assault, “but you want more” He paused, a wild grin taking his face as he considered very carefully whether it was worth the fun she’d poke at him later for his next words. “But you want to ride the Dragon.”

 If she poked fun at him, he could always shoot back that her nod of yes was near instant.

 “Just a bit longer then.” He cooed, before laughing at her whimper of frustration, using the act to hide his second attack. He rubbed a hand down the length of her slit, fingers growing slick with the same essence that now dripped from his face, her spin arched at the pressure and once more one of those magnificent melodic screeches of pleasure hit his ears. He smirked then, not giving her a second to recover before sliding a single one of those coated digits into her fiery core.

 Her legs grew taunt and her back remained arched off the blankets surface like she was a living breathing cathedral. He didn’t hold enough fervor in his ishgardian body to be above sacking it though. And soon the plunder would be his.

 His finger was immediately greeted by the warm tightening embrace of her insides that only pulsed faster with a fiery life as he curled it at the knuckle. She gasped, throwing her head back at the sensation, snapping her final bits of pride into broken little shards of self.

 “P-please!” Her voice was an echoy ghost of what it normally was, weakened by the dryness at the back of her throat, and the thirst that rested within. He answered her with a knowing smirk and the addition of another of his thin fingers to her core. She nearly threw herself upward off the bed, the dragoons' well trained legs a danger here.

 “Please what?”  He whispered, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles around the bundle of nerves that would drive her mad. She bit at her lip until she feared it might start to bleed. The corpse of pride still trying to save itself like some vain dying god.

 “P-p-lease.” She whispered this time, shaking faintly, using the last of her resolve to still yet comply with his demands. Yet how she wanted to look him in the eyes and plead with their mismatched colors, saving what little pride she had left by silencing her words.

 “Please.” He paused his movements, stilling the constant pulsing action of his fingers. “What?” He asked again, leaning forward and watching now how her entire body twisted against the stillness now. Starved with twitching euphoria just out of reach. His free hand rested upon her hips now, to prevent her from actually manging to reach that, from actually managing to fuck herself upon his hand.

 Though admittedly he would have been impressed, it was he who was growing impatient now. The ever growing strain against his undergarments was a pointed reminder of that. He could see her tremble slightly, bite her lip and fight against her will still. Part of him was proud, that will power of hers was legendary in      all    things it seemed but -

 He released his grip upon her hip and grasped her chin firmly again, drawing their eyes together. Leaving nothing in the air save the loud beating of her heart and the shallow breaths they both mustered.

 “Please...” She whispered again, he met her words with the faint trace of his fingers down her parched lips. “Please, I’m yours just -” The words were almost there, perhaps it he just flexed his hand slightly they would -

 “Stop! Stop Teasing me!” She squirmed, the inside of her growing tight around his two fingers. “Just Please!” She exhaled, her words more a strangled gasp than a proper moan. Tears now edged at the rim of her eyes now, and his smirk faltered. No matter what she managed to stutter out, she was at her limits and he would not push her beyond them.      

 “Take me, Estinien! I-i can stand this no longer!” And this time, she’d admit it too. Good, good. He had been worried for a spell, that she was too proud to admit when something was too much but then again, she hadn’t been earlier under different circumstances.

 He removed his fingers, tips dripping with her essence staining the top covers a deeper color then they started. She exhaled, and then whined for the absence and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 “Do you want my spear or not?” He raised a brow, she responded with nothing but heavy eyed silence as her body relaxed from the precipice it had been upon. The cliff she had been so close to crossing. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out but a gasp for air.

 He took a step back, unhooking her feet from around him to shimmy out of the one remaining bit of clothing stopping her reward. That which she so nicely asked for, that which they both hungered for in equal measure now as he was sprung free.

 “Are you ready?” He returned to her form, gently running his hands down her warm body as he wrapped her legs back around him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t helping, but her attention was elsewhere now, eyes lingering upon what pressed hard into her thigh, mouth slightly agape in expectation.

 He’d never get tired of that look. Nor of the one he knew awaited them both at the end of this brutal joining.

 She nodded faintly, though, to answer his question as words now were beyond her hazy eyes. He voiced the question again, raising a hand to move some of the hair from her face, and then unwind her hands from above her head. Placing each palm gently upon his shoulder, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way they relaxed at his touch. Melted upon his skin till they almost became as one.

 She exhaled a shuddering breath as her eyes cleared and but one tear escaped them, one he quickly wiped away. Cradling her cheek in his hand with a reverence he did not even afford the divine. Leaning down, their lips met once again but it lacked any of the ferocity their earlier joinings held. Only pure gentleness, a reassurance to both their souls that they knew their bonds and boundaries.

 And then, still with his lips just hovering above hers, he closed that final gap and connected them. The sign of their joining the arch of her back into his chest and the low groan that left his own lips. Why had he kept her waiting all this? Why had he kept either of them waiting?

 Perhaps it was the sweetness of this exact moment, the jolt of electric sensation through both their bodies that was made more wondrous by the wait. But he could philosophise about this meeting later, when he wasn’t so focused on the shock of his starting pace.

 Slow, but increasing at a speed that could only be described as breakneck. Or perhaps, he would chuckle later, spine shattering. The resounding slap of their bodies together and the creak of the rickety frame holding up the mountain of blankets muffled the thought however, and the low frantic gasps of his name drowned it outright.

 Her fingers lost their way among the tangles of his white hair, grasping at anything to ground herself from the onslaught she had dreamed of. Wrapped in the knots, she inadvertently pulled, snapping his head back and issuing a deep growl from his lips that set her already sensitive nerves alight.

 “Again.” His voice was all rough edges, a husky depth with no end, but she wasn’t about to leave a request like that unanswered. She wrapped a strand around a set of fingers when she could and gave it a firm tug, once more drawing a sharp inhale from her lover and a noticeable increase to his speed. And to think she thought he had reached his peak, she gasped, near yelped in surprise, but she would not complain.

 If anything she’d keep her hands wound right where they were, tugging upon his white wisps he called hair every time he pulled from her even slightly. He grinned, teeth barred in rabid devotion,  though she could not see it, as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. It was his turn to beg.

 “Harder.” He urged her, lips pleading against his pathways along her neck. She gladly complied, grasping a full handful and tugging his head from its hidden perch, eyes heavy and hazy with a new found feral lust that had been hidden for but moments too long.

 What passed through his lips then wasn't the common tongue, of this Voss was sure, but even more sure was she of the meaning behind the strange moaned guttural sounds.

     "Good girl,"  

 Those sounds alone would have left her mewling, but in addition to the punishing pace he had set, one she kept egging on with ever faint tug it set her dangerously close to an edge she knew she'd quickly topple over. Red hot coils building into blinding infernos in her gut, breaths becoming ragged and short and constant, the outline of him, her fellow dragoon nothing but stars. She knew the snap would come soon and she'd be nothing but faintly twitching putty in his hands, at his mercy.

 "Mine. My Girl."  

 Sounds she hadn't expected to be the final push beyond electric oblivion. Panted words of ownership punctuated by frantic thrusts and growls, as he himself was not too far behind. She couldn't tell how far, of course, as her eyes grew blinded by the stars of euphoric absolution that took her senses far and told the world through one final moan of but a single conformation.

 "Yes!"  

 Her mind was alive in sensations, too many for her to comprehend. The press of his body, the erratic pulsing of her core, the blooming bruises upon her skin, the stuttering irregularity of his brutal pace that stalled and near stopped with a low wheeze and whispered echoing of her name as well as a plastering of her inner walls with a material reminder of the joining and its cataclysmic end.

 Perception spun out of control, and as she felt his form near collapse on top of her in one final wheezing flurry of friction, the only sound remaining in the cool room their ragged breaths frantically trying to catch up, and the pounding of their hearts in their ears. Before he crushed her, he rolled across the bed eyes focusing finally upon the crisscrossing beams that made up the ceiling. He didn’t doubt that she could realistically hold the weight of one adult elezen man, but that felt somewhat rude and at least here, he actually cared about that.

 Long moments passed in silence, words and language long beyond either of them. The sky grew brighter as night slowly passed into day. Slowly, as sentience returned to them both, and a dull ache across all of their bodies, Voss crawled close to him. Slinging a leg over his own and nuzzling her face into his side with lazy exhaustion.

 “Love you...” She whispered, shivering faintly as the thin layer of sweat the two of them had acquired during their act cooled them in the Mor Dhona morning chill. He reached far, pulling one of the hundreds of blankets she kept there over the two of them, fighting off the worst of it.

 “I love you too, Dee.” He whispered back, noting that even now her eyes fluttered shut. Soon, he yawned, his would follow and then.

 Well, they could face their morning later.

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: General Fine Ass

Today’s been my worst pain day in a while, but I did manage to develop and idea and come up with a couple of new ones!

So, have the beginning of General Fine Ass:

Since meeting the General, Gascon had gone to extensive lengths to never once refer to him by his real name. Partially because ‘Count Reynard Odo’ was such a pretentious name, but when he said that aloud, his Strays all laughed at him. Which was bullshit. Gascon Brossard wasn’t pretentious. It was awesome.

Anyway, he mostly avoided using the General’s name because it really ticked him off. Like, seriously off. It was hilarious and Gascon delighted in poking at him constantly until all that protected him from certain death was Queen Meve’s tolerance. Once Queenie started to get pissed, then it was time to back off.

Except for today.

Gascon did actually make an effort to keep his nicknames relatively appropriate. Irreverent and annoying, yes, but not sexual. Not flirtatious.

Not because he didn’t have the ideas, mind you. It was just that his continued well being on the not-getting-skewered-or-strangled front was dependent on Meve’s good humor, and he’d always heard that she had a very low tolerance for that kind of thing.

So Gascon was appropriate. Mostly.

Until today. Today, he was pretty sure Meve had just given him permission.

It started rather simply. Her Most Esteemed Majesty required both of them to attend morning and evening strategy meetings, to ensure that they were all aligned. Which like, fine, whatever. Gascon could see the sense in it, even if he was currently too tired to focus his full attention on the debate. It was just a repeat of their argument this morning, anyway.

Gascon wanted to elevate their diet to include some spice and variety. General Kiss Ass complained to Queenie that they didn’t have to funds for that. Gascon responded that if they’d let him go off with a squad of Strays for a few hours, they could.

Then General Stick Up the Ass got all huffy over theft, as if he was morally superior for wanting to eat fucking cardboard MREs for every meal.

That was about the time Gascon tuned him out. There were more interesting things to focus on, after all.

See, the General had a habit of pacing when he got worked up. And Gascon excelled at working him up.

Which meant that Gascon could say something to get him irritated and then just sit back and watch his ass moved as he stomped around the tent. Which usually didn’t mean much, because the General was as proper as the stick up his ass, so he was always wearing armor.

Except today, his armor had been damaged in battle. Fortunately, the Strays had a great smith who could do decent repairs, but it meant that for once, the uptight General Odo was dressed down. And wearing only a tunic and tight trousers, his rather pronounced ass was on display for Gascon’s greedy eyes.

Not just Gascon’s, either. Which he realized when Reynard snapped at him to respond and Meve startled out of her daze a half-second after Gascon had.

So it was on auto-pilot that he answered, “yeah, yeah, I heard you, General Tight Ass. And once again, I’ll remind you that we can get the food!”

Reynard inhaled sharply, no doubt about to be all superior about not stealing shit.

Queenie seemed to think so too, because she coughed, drawing their attention to her. Then, looking Gascon in the eye, Meve cocked an eyebrow. “General Tight Ass? More like General Fine Ass.”

Gascon’s eyes went wide and the belated realization of exactly what he’d said hit him, followed by the meaning of Meve’s words.

While Reynard flushed bright red and choked and stammered, Gascard bit his lip to dampen his grin. After all, there was no need to warn Reynard what was coming.

Because Meve had just given Gascon tacit permission to flirt with Reynard.

This was gonna be fun.

Sounds like the start to some good crack, right? Well... not wrong, per say, but uh... there be angst ahead. With a happy ending, though, of course!

[imagines-fr-days]

Abandoned (Obi-wan Kenobi x Sith!reader)

A/N!!!! I have no idea what the fuck happened but my original post deleted itself when I was making edits and honestly im peeved about it. luckily I had it saved to my phone. so I’m reposting this.

I’ve been on a Star Wars kick recently and I had to do something for the first love of my nerdy ass life, Obi-Wan Kenobi. something angsty because I love making people be sad and suffer before the redemption. 😈 I already started writing a Part 2 so lemme know if you guys want it cuz its a twisty doozy.

I don’t think there’s any warnings I should announce. just Angst because lets be real, if you aren’t angsty are you even a Sith?? Obi-wan being too good for this universe but also a badass.

“Darth Wraithous, I have a task for you. A true test of your abilities.”

   So that is what lead you here, leading a droid army, waiting for a Jedi. Sidious wanted to test your loyalty and you abilities. facing a Jedi. what was so different about this Jedi you didnt know. you’d killed one before and fought many others.

“Ma’am, we have republic tanks on our scanners coming in from the west.” The commander droid alerted you.

“Let them come. I have a score to settle with the Jedi.” You sighed. 

“Roger roger.” The droid left.

“First squadron, fan out to flank them, do not engage until given my order.” You could begin to see the tops of the tanks through the alien trees.

“We’re in position, Ma’am.” the droid came through the communicator, “should we open fire?”

“Wait.” You growled through the comms, “wait.”

You could see the first line of clones clearly, the Jedi not far behind for sure.

“Open fire.” You smirked, you jumped from the command ship, wielding your red saber as you ran towards the clones, deflecting each blaster shot fired towards you with ease. The feeling of severing limbs from bodies released a wave of pride over your nerves.

“General Kenobi! Sith!” A clone shouted. Kenobi? No. You thought as anger spread through your body. Sidious wanted you to kill Obi-wan. He knows, Panic set into your chest.

“Leave him to me, commander!” The voice that was over the recorder was so familiar but so different. The distant sounds of a saber drew closer, you swung towards more clones, jumping up onto a tank, the blade of your saber severing the canon.

You jumped from the tank and deflected shots from clones.The hum of a saber appeared behind you, “Hello there.” The voice caused chills to go up your spine. 

You deactivated your saber and force pushed back the clones, and the Jedi, around you, taking off into the wooded area across the path. Your ship not far away so you ran for it, jumping through the thick vines and trunks of trees. Sliding down slopes, Jumping over a ridge you spotted the black machine in the distant clearing. You took a deep breath and made the walk towards the ship.

You heard a thud behind you. You paused. 

“There is only one person I’ve ever seen move the way you just did….” The familiar warm voice echoed in your ears, “So the stories are true. You turned to the dark side…”

You stood with your back to the Jedi, unable to turn and look into his face for the first time in years.

“Please tell me it’s not true, (y/n).” 

The anger boiled within you instantly, “(Y/n) was weak. She’s dead.” You growled at the mention of your old name.

“And you killed her?” You felt his presence draw closer.

“I’m still killing her.” You snapped, finally turning face to face with the love of your life, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A gasp escaped his lips at the sight of your once welcoming (e/c) irises replaced with a soul piercing red and gold. His eyes were sad but he’d aged wonderfully, looking more handsome than you remember, he’d grown a beard. Small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. the same beige tunic but incased in armor baring the symbol of the Jedi order, the same attitude-filled stance. The blueness of his eyes hadn’t changed in nearly 10 years. The sight of Master Kenobi finally in front of you did nothing to lessen the pain in your chest.

“This isn’t you.. we’ve known each other since we were younglings.” Obiwan frowned, shaking his head.

“You don’t know me anymore, Kenobi.” You could feel the tears brewing; after years of being held back, the appearance of the man who sent you down this dark path made them impossible to contain.

“You know that’s not true. I know you better than you know yourself. You don’t want this.” Obi-wan pressed, “Please.. Come back with me.” he reached his hand towards you. You’d never wanted to grasp something so badly in your whole life. but you couldn’t, not yet. you shook the thoughts from your head as quickly as they appeared, anger refilling the space.

“You don’t know what I want! Did you forget what happened when I left the order?” You growled, gripping your saber that was holstered at your side. Obi-wan quickly retrieved his own from his belt.

“Of course I haven’t! It was the worse day of my life.” Obi-wan winced.

——————————————————————————————-

“Leave the order with me, Obi.” You held your hand out. Deep down you wanted Obi-wan to take your hand and leave with you but you knew he wouldn’t.

Obi-wan looked down at your hand and back to meet your eyes, slowly shaking his head, “I can’t. We gave an oath to the Jedi!” 

“Can’t you see they’re tyrants! They’re forcing you to suppress your feelings for me. I feel them in you.” You could feel the sadness overwhelming Obi-wan, your hand grasping onto his only to have Obi-wan quickly pull back. Your heart shattering, “We could be together, Obi-wan. We wouldn’t have to hide. You loved me once…”

“We were young and foolish.” He frowned, turning away. The ache in your chest became overwhelming, with tears in your eyes and your lips trembling against each other, you drew your saber and ignited the green blade, “You give me no other choice…”

“Please don’t.” Obi-wan whimpered. 

You ignored his plea and pounced. After years of practicing with each other you knew every move of his, every secret. And he knew yours. With every attack and block of the sabers, every ear scratching screech of ever collision, your heart broke more. Tears cascading down your cheeks, Obi-wan’s face held no emotion other than his furrowed brows.

Obi-wan caught you by surprise when he noticed your attention falter from the duel, a burning sensation overtook your face. You gripped the left side of your cheek in pain, stumbling back… too far back. You felt a drop but something grabbed your arm. You looked up to see Obi-wan clenching to your wrist.

“Give me your other hand, (y/n)!” His voice cracked over the roar of speeders passing under you, “please!” He reached down. 

You simply shook your head, “let me go.”

“Please don’t. Don’t leave me!” A single tear cascaded down his cheek.

You looked at him, mesmerizing his features, you knew it would be a long time until you could see him again. The dimple in his chin, the crease between his eyebrows that appeared when he narrowed his brows, the curve of his jawline, his soft and welcoming eyes.

You pressed your foot against the wall of the temple, “I love you, Obi.” You forced a smile before pushing off the wall, your hand slipping through Obi-wan’s grasp.

The last thing you heard was Obi-wan’s scream as you fell.

——————————————————————————————-

You blinked away the memory, shaking your head. You looked back up to the Jedi, more angry now than ever.

“Please… don’t make me do this.” Obi-wan regretfully activated his saber.

“You won’t have the chance.” You force gripped Obi-wan by the neck, hoisting him into the air. He dropped his saber to claw at his empty neck. “I loved you, Obi-wan! I loved you more than anything! You were the love of my life and you abandoned me!” You squeezed as hard as you could. Obi-wan was gasping for breath. Terrified eyes met your own.

“Please, (y/n).” It was barely above a whisper but his words pierced into your chest and straight to your broken heart. 

You released a thunderous growl as you hurled Obi-wan backwards, releasing the hold on his throat. As he coughed you pulled his lightsaber towards you with the force, using your own saber to slice the hilt of Obiwan’s into pieces. 

The love you once felt for him replaced with hatred and anger. Obi-wan’s eyes, that you once loved more than any part of him, only fueled the hatred for him.

You took a deep breath and glared down at the Jedi, “I may have loved you, Obi-wan. But the next time I see you. I will kill you. Make no mistake of that.”

You turned your back to Obi-wan, the blue glow of his Kyber Crystal catching your attention. You bent down, pulling it from the burnt metal and clenched It in your palm. You other hand grazing the scar, staring from your forehead, just above the left eyebrow and drawing your finger down it’s path to your jaw. 

You stepped on your ship, turning back to see obi-wan standing as the door closed

[ohblackdiamond]

in-progress stuff

i’ve been on tumblr in some capacity for around 10, 11 years and honestly, i feel as if in that time period i’ve slowly aged out of the platform; it’s very hard for me to relate. just too freaking old, as the bellamy brothers would say!

my primary interest here is, as always, just in posting semi-informative or semi-funny kiss stuff, along with whatever fanfics/fanart i manage. my posts will probably continue to be somewhat sporadic/spotty.

i do have a list of fics with excerpts in the works (also, requests i haven’t forgotten, but haven’t yet started)--

paul and peter reconciliation, 2021 tentatively titled “little talks,” although the very pretentious “walking back to waterloo” is also still in the running. i’ve been picking at this one off and on for months, but i sort of have the paranoid fear that reality is going to break my heart on this (also, not knowing what’s going to happen re: covid isn’t helpful, either). excerpt: “There’s no… glamor anymore. There’s no magic.” Paul rubs at his neck, index finger touching the edge of his chin. “There’s no good time I could show anyone. Everyone’s got the whole world right in their pocket.” “Yeah, and you see what they do with it. Waste their whole goddamn lives in front of a screen and think they’re doing something big.” Paul looks like he’s trying to smile. His head dips down for a brief moment as Peter clears his throat. “Why don’t you talk about anything that makes any sense, Paul? Why don’t you talk about anything that matters?” “Pete, I--” “Talk about the band, talk about me and you, but for fuck’s sake, don’t go on about--” “I don’t wanna talk about the band anymore.” “Then what are you still here for? That’s the only thing left we’ve got in common.”

gene/vanity (mentions of gene/paul, nikki/vanity), 1986 this has been on the backburner for a very very long time. i really wanted to do something very gene-focused (where it wasn’t, uh, paul slobbering all over him), with interplay between him and a non-bandmate. i think he’s fun for conversations. excerpt: “Let’s go out, Gene.” She says it casually, five minutes or so after they’ve wrapped for the evening. His eyes light up. He’s still in most of the Velvet garb, minus the gigantic headpiece and pink boas. A sparkle-encrusted, flesh-colored bodystocking, with studded leather cupping his breasts and outlining his whole body. Weird armor-like protrusions at the shoulders. And the crotch--shit, Gene’s got to be tucked within an inch of his life. Pure fetishwear. Then again, Gene’s definitely used to that. “Where?” He’s still got on most of the makeup from the shoot, too. Layers of pink and purple eyeshadow, sharp cheek contour, and matching lipstick. It gives an interesting cast to his broad, heavy features, manages to create some androgyny in a face that’s so decidedly masculine. The colors aren’t bad on his swarthy, tanned skin, either. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve lived here a couple years, yeah? I bet you know some great places.” Vanity smiles. “Don’t worry. Promise I’m a cheap date.” “I don’t think a girl that goes by Vanity could ever be a cheap date.” He’s grinning right back. “How’s your Italian?” “Worse than my Japanese.” “Perfect.” An hour later, stripped of the makeup and costume, wearing a pair of black leather pants and a casual-enough button-down, he surprises her when he has his driver pull in to an ice-cream parlor rather than a restaurant. “This place serves some of the best gelato you can get on the West Coast,” he says, ushering her inside. “Sorbets aren’t too bad, either.” “Don’t tell me you’re watching your figure, Gene.” “That corset’s a pain in the ass,” he says lightly. “I saw someone come to your trailer last night. Who was it?” He doesn’t hesitate. In fact, he smiles. “Paul Stanley.”  “Really? Are you together?” It’s hard to picture. Or maybe not so hard at all. Paul’s pretty femme. It’d make a certain amount of sense, aesthetically and otherwise. Keeping it in the band would stymie any concerns about either one of them popping off to the press. “No.” A pause. “There’s no commitment.” “Just an itch, then?” “An understanding.” Gene reaches for his water. “Does it bother you?” He sounds like he doesn’t give a shit whether it bothers her or not. She can respect that. “No. It’s just interesting. I thought you were only into women.”   “Would you like to meet him?” he says, ever so nonchalant. Something about his tone makes even that question sound like a come-on. “I’ve met him already.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. My kid sister had his poster on her wall all through junior high.”

peter/lydia/paul, hawaii vacation, 1976 tentatively titled “your fingers out to me,” but that seems so soppy. i love lydia, and the early to mid seventies is my favorite time to write the band in general, because they were all pretty close. brief, sloppy excerpts: “You’re not bringing anybody?” “Got nobody to bring.” “Nobody? Shit, Paul. Hey, maybe you’ll pick a couple chicks up on the way, yeah?” “Maybe.” It’s halfhearted. Paul’s got this problem; he knows he does, but he just feels like Peter ought to be able to parse the lines in between what he’s saying. The conversation keeps on for at least another half an hour. They’re always like this. Peter’s so open. -- “I know what you’re doing with my husband.” It’s not exactly an accusation, but Paul can feel himself flush and draw back. Lydia, beautiful, intense, bright. Paul never had met a girl like Lydia before. She wasn’t one of the pretenders he’d gone to school with. She was one of those real bohemian types, not by birth but by design, so cool in her wild clothes and sharp makeup. When he’d met her four years ago, he’d almost been in awe that this was Peter’s wife. He’d expected someone brash and sullen, someone right at Peter’s age, and instead, Lydia was closer to his own. Lydia was warm. Lydia’s warmer right now, her fingertips teasing the back of his hand. “What’re you talking about, Lyd--” he starts, and she laughs.