#armor is a pain to draw so give me grace

[artist-ellen]

The one, the only, Jaime Lannister

Confession time... I'm a big redemption-arc Jaime apologist. Season 8 was a betrayal on every level and I reject D&D's decisions with Jaime. In a hilarious/devestating twist season 8 episode 2 was the second episode I'd ever watched (the first was the Sand-Snake vs Greyjoy episode with my cousins, and s8ep2 I watched when it came out with my friend) and it hooked me enough to give the rest of season 8 a fighting chance (guess how that went). So... I was already a Braime stan via the books and 8x02... there's a reason I'm still raging all these years later. I was already set up for failure with my Beauty and the Beast retellings obsession... I have to stop or I'll never stop. Anyway, Jaime apologist, I've decided he and Brienne have a happy ending. Who is your problematic asoiaf fave?

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me through my link tree on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

#jaime lannister #house lannister #digital illustration #historically inspired #redesigning game of thrones #valyrian scrolls #ellenart #lnart #character design #costume design #hear me roar #fictional fashion #knights in armour #armor is a pain to draw so give me grace

[muzzleroars]

Hi, i was fighting a boss in elden ring today and my brain short-circuited to your gabriel when i saw the 2nd phase

(https://youtu.be/60F3uPIplxg?t=88 from 1:28)

The overall heavy grace and fighting style is a slight mismatch imo but i blasted my friend's ears anyway when i saw the wings and the tail :)

OMGHHFG....and when i've just started to think about how he might use his tail in battle, as well as hone his wings for short bursts (while he's able to) ;o; also it means so much to me that you'd think of him while playing elden ring because the souls games are such a major inspiration for me - i know i'm stylistically far out from them, but world and character designs are some of my absolute favorites :]

i think of gabriel as being defined by his role as a warrior, and fighting is the very core of his being as god made him – everything about him gives away that nature, from how he moves in fluid but guarded flight, how he carries his weapons with him even in heaven and is encased in armor as a matter of course, and even his gracious nature is that of a knight to the people he protects. he was made singularly for this and it is his whole purpose, he can be nothing else, and so fighting is an integral part of how he defines himself, how he identifies who he is in the host of heaven. for me, gabriel can only feel fully himself when he’s engaged, and his rapture in god is found on the battlefield. it’s one of the reasons why i picture him covered in scars, he fights not just for god but to feel the divine fire in himself, and part of that is the physical pain he experiences in war. all of it comes together to make gabriel, it creates a whole of his constituent parts – to strategize, to show the skill he’s honed for millennia, to be struck and bear wounds yet still triumph. that is who he is intrinsically.

in this gabriel is absolutely a courteous fighter, he wishes to fight fairly because then his technique is fully on display. his radiance shines here, a merciless warrior once engaged but always giving his enemies a chance to bow out before they begin, facing them fully up front and respecting his opponent outwardly (though he rarely does so in his mind) even if he is tasked with killing them, he still maintains his chivalrous manner and confronts them in the way he believes is necessary – he doesn’t do anything to warrant overkill, using only the strength and arsenal he finds appropriate for his current enemy both because he finds it distasteful otherwise and because well...something in him enjoys his own superiority, to know that he’s using only a fraction of his strength and dexterity. plus it draws out a battle, and his praises are full then, his connection to god’s love flooding into him as he performs his purpose. it’s one of the reasons gabriel gives everything he has into fighting, to feel himself and feel god in him too, how he is praised in return and how he is held in esteem for his work. he is a full vessel only then, and so he does anything asked of him with fervor.

when he falls, he initially holds fast to his decorum as it is all he knows, yet the pain in his body has intensified and he can no longer rely on his wings to carry him. sometimes frustration begins to show, the cracks in his once knightly attitude giving way to brutality because while he is still gracious, he is proud. and to not fight as he once did, to feel some stuttering movements as he relearns the steps and to have lost the divine connection that so defined him, causes a viciousness new to his fighting, a cruelty that maybe he learns in part from v1’s ruthless tactics. i think he eventually strikes a balance, knowing he goes much too far at some point in the anguish of his transformation, but never fully returning either to the righteous angelic technique he once bore. there is grace in his movements and there is lightness in his steps but they now deliver a harshness, unforgiving as the hell he now inhabits that doesn’t allow him the luxury he once had. most importantly, however, is that he recognizes how this is now fully his own – not an empty vessel but one creating his very own rapture

given how important battle is to him, gabriel can find opponents he respects, but it is much more difficult to find an equal – naturally tied to music as he is, fighting for him is like a dance and an equal would be his partner. he wants someone that moves in time with him, someone that matches him blow for blow and someone that treats battle with the reverence and near worship he does – a part of themself and foundational, inherent. that’s why v1 becomes his equal – it survives on battle, it engages it as an art form, and its entire mind and body are given over to it. and like i mentioned about v1 with the ferryman, it tailors its strategy for its opponent, it creates a custom dance just for the two of them and gabriel feels how they move together as one yet on opposing sides. and so his equal can only be someone made in the mold he is, that finds battle so core to who they are that they are not fully themselves outside of it. which is a bit odd, as i think he could face an opponent that could best him and yet still not consider them his equal (if that makes sense!!)

i’m sorry this is so long, but this truly is the central facet of gabriel’s character that i’ve wanted to fully talk about. and while wielding weapons is difficult for some time, he is eventually able to at least use the broken forms of his swords and control hell energy in a similar manner as his light constructs in gluttony. as an angel, he of course favored his swords, but i like the idea too that his favorite ranged weapon is a bow (i really do want to design one similar to his true swords). as a fallen his tastes change, wanting to keep in close to his opponents and so scrapping much use for anything long-range (which he mostly relies on hell energy for) his swords maintain their place in his heart, but i’m also interested in giving him something like gauntlets that can work with his claws rather than always having to file them down if he wants to use a weapon. that being said, gabriel knows how to wield almost any weapon and he finds charm in all of them, even highly interested in learning to use guns from v1. it’s a singular joy for him to find out what makes them effective, how he must move with them and respond to their particular forms to make them shine in battle. it’s truly a huge point of pride for him that he gives care to every weapon held in his hands.

#i hope it's ok i put these together since i already had the first drafted! #but this made me so happy thank you #also i think gabriel's attitude fighting is very different against machines #he finds them so far beneath him that he's a bit irritated he was called to fight them #plus since god is gone at that point he doesn't feel the same love as he once did #it's all just the council handing down jobs to him he hates and getting no praise in return #so he's more than a little out of sorts by the time he faces v1 #cake answers #fallen gabriel

[thunderclaw100]

[Kii belongs to @messinwitheddie ]

(I had this in my head for a while now and had to draw it out or I’d go mad if I didn’t!😅)

Tallest Miyuki was in the middle of talking with her wardrobe staff. They were showing her a few selections of silkwear and pictures of her next body armor. Miyuki is feeling picky today and had been flipping through one clothing to the next. Her mood has been sour lately and it’s because more than one thing that’s been on her mind. First: not being allowed to be with the Irken she loves. Second: loosing her sworm. Third: Only getting to eat a certain amount of food. Her waist is not getting any smaller and people have been talking about it.

“Uugh! What now?!”

Miyuki felt her pak buzzing and it can only mean one thing. A control brain his hailing her, and she knows which one. She got up from her lounge couch, dismissed her drones and then leave her chambers to reach to room where the green control brain is awaiting her arrival. Miyuki, already knows this is going to be a an discussion about another one of her foolish antics, if she can remember whatever is was.

“Greetings, material brain. You wanted to speak with me….again?” She said without a hint of annoyance. The green control brain made a robotic noise. The screen in the front static before a hologram figure appears in Irken form. Kii stands before Miyuki, with her materialize orange wardrobe and a cape to add a bit of flow to it. She looked as radiant as the day she was in her younger years.

“Tallest Miyuki, what we’re you thinking? Leading that soldier on like that, with your lovey-dovey nonsense?” Kii said. Hovering towards Miyuki. Staring her down with those green, judgmental eyes of hers.

“I don’t understand….what did I do wrong?”

“I’m talking about that little talk you had with that cadet, Red! You dult!” Kii spat.

How the heck did she find out about that? Miyuki was in her private chambers, where no telepathic link to the control brains can reach her. Surely Red did not say anything about this after their talk, right? Miyuki looked up at the material brain. The disappointment she was giving her. Or was that disgust?

“Cadet Red needed a little comfort and a nudge in the right direction he wants to be. He shared his pain with me and I did the same with him.” Miyuki told her. Feeling a little anxious with the way Kii is circling around her like a defenseless prey.

“You’re encouraging him to embrace attachments to another drone. Have you learned nothing from our discussion of Spork?”

That was a low blow to Miyuki’s chest. Why bring up something that will bring nothing but heartache? The green control brain stopped moving around and stood in front of Miyuki.

“Spork’s situation is different from cadet Reds. I don’t get why you’re so against drones falling in love? Surely you felt love once, my maternal grace.” Miyuki said. Kii turned away from her.

“Love….I had no need for such a weak emotion. I had many sires, but no male was good enough to satisfy me. I hated them all and wished for their demise. They did not give me what I want but I’ve seen what they’ve done to our females, Miyuki. Kii shutters.

“pfft but aren’t you now connected to two males?” Miyuki smirked, hand on her hip. Why would Kii say she hates males if she allowed herself to be linked with two other former bodied tallest? Did they have anything to do with why she’s so angry at the world?

“Sox and Hitz? We have history together. One I wish not to speak of. They are part of the problem but I have always have a dislike of males in general. This empire relies on pure strength and intelligent alone. There is no room for romance and petty little feelings. I did what I can to make sure OUR gender stays relevant to this day! You have no idea what these men have done to us in my time. I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too young. Kii told her. Clenching her fingers in reminder of an incident in her past. Miyuki’s eye twitch.

“Forgive me for being so blunt but you’ve completely lost your mind. I have lead this empire forward to a bright future. You’ve seen the massive, right? With it we can make our travels for conquest more efficient than ever. It shouldn’t matter what our drones do with each other as long as they contribute to our goal.”

Miyuki went on and on. Countering the mother brain’s criticism of her. But the further she speaks, the more angrier the green control brain was getting. Kii hovered over to her.

*SLAP!!*

Miyuki eyes widen in shock as she touched her left cheek. Kii is in hologram form but that sting from that slap felt all too real. Kii was fuming with anger. “NEVER HAVE I MET SUCH INSOLENCE FROM ONE OF MY OWN FEMALES! You do NOT get to speak to me as if I am a mere smeet, Miyuki.” Kii snapped.

“I’m sorry…..I didn’t realize I was venting out on you, my grace. I just didn’t think it should be a problem for me or any other female to love….”

Kii growled. She felt the urge to slap this woman again but regain herself. “I told you before, during our last conversation that I will not have you ruin the work I put into making our females worth more than what they are. You remind me of another female tallest I’ve once had measured. But even she did not talk to me with such disrespect! How dare you?!”

“But I was just trying to-“

Kii clamped her hand over Miyuki’s mouth. “Do not interrupt me! You were supposed to be the example for all Irken females. A symbol that shows WE can carry ourselves with pride and dignity. That we let NO fucking male determine what we should be and how we should live.”

Kii removed her hand and hovered back a little. Miyuki looked at her with wide eyes. “Stars….who hurt you?” She said.

“Men hurt me. Just like they will do to you if you don’t sharpen up on them. Don’t think I don’t know what you did behind my back. I may not reach you in your chambers, but I do have drones who will watch and listen to everything you do, Miyuki. You cannot hide behind my blind spot. Can’t you see I’m trying to save us? A man’s world has brought nothing but tyranny and injustice.” Kii said. She turned around to get ready to return to her own duties. Miyuki had one more thing to say.

“Material brain? All I ever wanted is to make you proud of me. Not just as a female but a leader who wants to make a difference in our world. From our own history, we’ve been through so much already. I only wished you’ve seen the better side of our accomplishments and not dwell in the bad parts that lead the Irken empire to where it is today. Hardship-“

“Do not speak to me about hardships, Miyuki. I’ve seen them. I LIVED through the ones that brought me up and broke me down! You know NOTHING about real hardship until you put yourself on the line of it. Kii’s hologram figure phases out for a few seconds. Her system still needs to be checked upon, so she needs to go.

“From now on, I don’t want you getting close to that Spork soldier. Only when he is needed for important work or used as your escort. I do not want to see any of our females taking after you and your sneaky performance with a male. Disgusting! You may go now, Miyuki. Hail the maintenance for me. I need a system repair.”

“As you wish, maternal brain….” Miyuki bowed her head respectfully. Then turned away to leave the chamber the same time Kii’s hologram figure disappears. This talk has left the tallest feeling conflicted and a bit hurt. Miyuki touched her left cheek, where the green control brain has slapped her. It still feels tender, and it made her rethink her actions, and hold her tongue the next time she is summoned by the control brains. Miyuki said nothing to her drones when they saw her. Then she returned to her chambers to reflect.

#invader zim #fanart #irken #Tallest Kii #Tallest Miyuki #not my art characters

[twyam-if]

Follower Special; to the you who became my fire

My body is covered in scars. My spirit is marred with holes. My armor is covered in cuts.

My entire body continues to ache as I kneel in "reverence" to the deities above me, and I can feel my grip loosening around my weapon. The metallic taste of blood dances on my tongue, but I refrain myself from spitting it out. The last thing I want to do is draw the deities' ire and suddenly mess with their pure, white floors.

Meanwhile, that damn deity keeps talking, almost as if they don't see how damaged I am from their useless errand. A few deities' continues to examine my body in disgust as they hide behind their sleeves or fans, but I can see some of them eyeing me in concern.

Those are the good ones. The ones that would try to give me reprieve, the ones that properly mourned for me. Unfortunately, their is only a small amount of them, and their voices are small compared to the ones who like to hear themselves talk.

"Congratulations, reigning champion. You have succeeded in the eradication of killing the populace that would threaten the world."

"Please, can we get this mutt out of here? He looks as if he could keel over, and I'd rather not see a dead mutt in front of me. Imagine the damage on our pure, pure floor."

"Sister, please. He is injured. He needs rest, not criticism."

"An injured champion is a failure of a champion. I say we kill him now, and find us a newer, better champion."

"If you kill him, we will kill you. Do it. We dare you. We would enjoy having an excuse to kill you."

"Now, now brother! This mutt has served us fine, he should retire in his grave!"

"Can you not hear yourselves?!"

I close my eyes, listening to the arguing deities as they continue to determine my life. I can almost feel myself succumbing to my injuries, but I quickly bite my lower lip with my canine. The pain jolts me awake, and a small curse escapes my lips.

I'm not dying here. This would serve as a really shitty grave.

I have to find them, like what Mother Ana had found in her visions. A flame that burns the brightest against all of these deities, a flame that can light a fire in the hearts of those that had fallen from grace.

A flame that can heal what surrounds this world.

So until then, I'll keep fighting.

Even if the deities' demand for my sacrifice.

#twyam #twyam if #ro: hanami hex #twyam follower special

[carolap53]

June 22, 2022

The Beauty of Broken Jars SUSANNA KOH FROM MALAYSIA

Lee en español

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NIV)

Editor’s Note: In Malaysia, Christians ministering to the local community are often targets of the government and extremist groups because the act of leaving the local religion to follow Jesus is illegal. Susanna Koh and her family, as well as thousands of other Malay believers, know this persecution firsthand.

In so many ways, I identify with Ruth from the Bible. Like Ruth with her Boaz, I also have a Kinsman-Redeemer. In the absence of my husband, it is God who has done everything for me.

I can honestly say God alone is the restorer of my life and soul. And just like He did for Ruth, He continues to show me He has a future and plan for my life — even in the midst of my fears and brokenness.

For the last 5 1/2 years, I haven’t seen or heard from my husband, Raymond. On February 13, 2017, in broad daylight, he was abducted with military-like precision. It took only 40 seconds. Raymond was a pastor, and when he disappeared, he and our family were leading a ministry to the unreached community. The investigation into his disappearance has now revealed that the police were involved in his abduction.

I could never have imagined a nightmare like this. Often, people ask me how I can continue on with no answers or glimmer of hope about Raymond. I’ve thought a lot about that, and I’ve come to realize the impact of being intentional to connect with Jesus every day. Fear is real and can be extremely powerful. It is a daily battle, and each day I have to put on the armor of God. (Ephesians 6) We all do.

Each morning, I spend a few hours in prayer, worship and Scripture. I pray God will give me songs and scriptures throughout the day to remind me He’s sovereign over this situation and I can rest in Him. I pray for contentment — to be grateful for what God is doing in my life right now and what He will do. Gratitude centers me and reveals what’s important. So does worship. During worship, I can feel the presence of Jesus, and His presence strengthens me.

Psalm 22:3 says God dwells in the praises of His people. In our praise, God pushes back our fear and draws nearer to us. Even when things seem hopeless, praising Him through worship brings me assurance that God is present with me in my pain and fears. And He is also present with Raymond.

Still, choosing to pray and worship can be hard. It has been so long without Raymond. Sometimes I just don't know how to pray; we have prayed so many ways, so many words. In those dark moments when fear and weariness seem to be winning, God has taught me to call out to Him for His mercy. I’ve learned He is not disappointed in me when I’m afraid. He knew we would face fear. That’s why so many of His words for us address it.

Over the last 5 1/2 years, being in God’s presence and Word have given me the strength I need to push back the darkness and continue to fight for justice. God has empowered me and emboldened my faith. Before Raymond was kidnapped, I did no public speaking and was actually quite shy. Now, I speak publicly, advocating for the return of Raymond and several others who disappeared in similar ways.

Praise God that He continues to show me there’s beauty in the brokenness. 2 Corinthians 4:7 offers the imagery of us as jars of clay: “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” It’s only when the jar of clay is crushed that the fragrance — Christ Himself — pours out. And it’s only when we’re broken that we can more clearly see the grace of God in our lives. I’m so thankful that He uses my brokenness to bring glory to Himself and draw me nearer to His heart.

Jesus, thank You for being present with me in my fear. Would You help me to choose You every day and to intentionally sit at Your feet? Please continue to comfort and strengthen Susanna and her family as they live without Raymond. Give them and our global family both courage to live for Your glory and peace to walk in every trial they may face for following You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

[abimess]

Blurb Collection: Red (Taylor’s Version) #01 - State Of Grace

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/n talk about their feelings

Pronouns: not used || Warnings: none

Hi, guys! I've been thinking about writing something for Red (Taylor's Version) and so I decided to make a Blurb Collection (inspired by the Blurb Collection my talented friend @randomshyperson is starting, you should definitely check it out) and this will be the first one. I hope you enjoy it!

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any platforms (even with credit)

Masterlist | Library Blog (Read on: Wattpad)

───── ⋅ ✮ ⋅ ─────

Today is a quiet day. One of the days when you and Wanda have some free time to yourselves, away from the other Avengers and the chaos that the job brings.

You both lie on your bed in silence, basking in each other's presence, your hand entwined with hers between your bodies. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Wanda's gaze fixed on the ceiling, barely blinking.

"What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" You ask as you turn sideways to look at her, your index finger meeting the frowning space between her eyebrows and she lets out a low chuckle. Wanda shakes her head then.

"Life is so strange." The brunette says after a while, her eyes still fixed on the wall. "Everything happens so fast, hectic. Busy streets, busy lives... Next thing you know, a year has passed and a million things have happened." She rambles on and you remain silent, giving her the freedom to air her thoughts.

"I've had my heart broken so many times. So many times that I promised I wouldn't let anyone else in, for fear of getting hurt again." She speaks ruefully, her face contorting in sadness, and takes a deep breath, remembering all the things she has been through. You just wish you could ease her pain somehow.

Wanda turns over in bed as well, facing you, and you offer her a small reassuring smile. She smiles back. "But then you come around and the armor falls." She continues, her hand coming up to caress your cheek. "I never saw you coming and now you're my Achilles heel."

"Yeah, I get what you mean." You agree, your heart warm inside your chest at the sincere words and the caress on your skin. "Life has never been easy, for either of us." You continue, and Wanda nods, also knowing all the traumas your past brings you.

"But we learn to live with the pain," you say hopefully "mosaic broken hearts." You add humorously and Wanda lets out a soft chuckle, nodding afterwards. You bring your hand to the brunette's waist, drawing gentle circles there.

"I'm just glad you came into my life. You've changed me completely, for the better." You confess, and seeing Wanda's cheeks take on an intense shade of pink makes your heart beat even harder for her. "I never saw you coming and I'll never be the same."

A wide smile makes its way to Wanda's lips at the confidence and the brunette leans forward, capturing your lips on hers. You sigh against the kiss, your body immediately relaxing.

"I love you, Y/n." She whispers as the kiss ends, her forehead resting against yours, and you smile. It's not possible that happiness like this exists, a true state of grace.

"I love you too, Wanda."

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And that's it for today! I hope you enjoyed it, thoughts and comments are always welcome ツ

Blurb Collection || #02 - Red

Taglist: @yuhloversxx @madamevirgo @an-evergreen-rose @helloalycia @wandas1mp @cantcontroltheirfear @diaryoflife @cristin-rjd @ensorcellme @aimezvousbrahms @natasha-danvers @purplemeetsblue @randomshyperson @peggycarter-steverogers @b0mbdotc0m @ethereal-pxradise @stephanieromanoff @tomy5girls @gingerbreadcookieforlife @imapotatao @musicinourlips @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @allfiguredout @olsensnpm @magicallymaximoff @nothing-isimpossible @mionemymind @itsmionet @xastrydx @sxfwap @nicole-rayleigh-hot @wellsayhelloaagin @midnight-lestrange @1-800-depressedlesbian @b-5by5 @blackwow34 @nervoustrack @somewhatgreatexpectations @yeetus-thyself @chelleztjs18 @franfineashell @mrromanoff (if you wanna be tagged check the form on my BIO)

#wanda maximoff x reader #Blurb Collection #Red (Taylor’s Version) #Spotify

[sethrine-writes]

If Not For My Affection

Fandom:  Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing:  Zenos yae Galvus x Reader/WOL

Words:  600

Warnings:  Suggestive Themes, Tension

A/N:  My first foray into FFXIV stuff...all thanks to my lovely friends who continue to show me pictures and give me snippets of things out of context and vex me with the characters they present. Namely, this interesting asshole, Zenos. So, here we go!

Enjoy! ------ His eyes, ever so pale blue, even in the dimmest light, always held an edge of mirth to them nowadays. The laughter there was manic and intense, frightening to those that did not understand his character, as most could only see such emotion as that of unhinged and dangerous, an omen if ever such a look was cast upon them.

They were not wrong, per say.

That smile of his was the same, a combination of soft amusement and intrigued smirk that was frustrating to see grace his visage as much as it was endearing. When faced with a true challenge, it showed itself, a crown to his enjoyment and his intrigue of which he had not known much of until meeting you.

He knew of your hatred for that smile; he knew of your love for it, moreso.

“Enough, Zenos,” you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath from the sparring you had promised him.

Sparring was putting such battle lightly, as he was oft to put his all into every swing of his sword. That day was no exception, his swings full of force and his jabs meant to maim. Had you not known how he fought even in practice, you would surely end up with many more injuries than you had already garnered.

There was something about the sparring this time, however, something that drove him to push harder than usual that had you equal parts worried and curious. Even now, with your blade sheathed and breaths still haggard, he approached with intent, sword still drawn and that damnable look in his eyes that drove you mad in more ways than one.

“I said enough!”

His smile only seemed to grow more prominent as he approached, eyes squinting with the uncanny joy he was sharing only with you.

Startling, intimidating, scarily endearing.

Without warning, Zenos made a mad dash in your direction, a growl of excitement leaving him with the effort as his armor, light as it was, clicked and clanked with his swift movement. You had no time to draw your sword again, barely any time to dodge. It said something of your trust in him that you remained where you were, standing your ground even as your eyes closed and awaited the inevitable.

The contact was harsh, as you expected, as you found yourself pushed back into the nearest wall. There was the loud clanging of metal dropping to the ground, followed by the rough touch of Zenos’ hand grasping at your chin.

“If not for my affections,” he began, words drawled as he, too, caught his breath, “my blade would have tasted your blood more profoundly long ago. In fact, I’m certain it has.”

“F-flatterer,” you managed, gazing up into intense pale blue, still amused, still unhinged…still endeared by you.

“So you jest,” he mused, leaning ever closer until your noses touched and his breath mingled with your own. The atmosphere changed almost immediately with the motion, a different sort of tension making itself known.

Suddenly, you began to understand what it was that had him acting so much more volatile than normal.

Zenos was…restless.

“I have grown weary of this…farce we call sparring,” he murmured, lips feathering over your own with the barest touch, a tingle of sensation that overcame the pain of hours of fighting, of the rough grip against your skin that was driven by nothing but affection and need.

“Will you not entertain me longer?”

Who were you to deny such a request, with his words so sweet, his eyes filled with a different type of hunger, and his smile gentling to something only meant for you?

#FFXIV #ffxiv wol #ffxiv zenos #zenos yae galvus #zenos x reader #reader #reader-insert

[love-archon]

Shoulder Angel

Summary: Genshin boys as your guardian angel and demon ^^ 

Zhongli and Childe

• Morax is literally the name of a demon.

• He appears before you on the eve of your contract, sharply dressed in elegant (and form-fitting) clothes, and calmly states his name and titles: a president of hell, overseer of thirty demonic legions, and provider of knowledge of astrology and stone. 

• There's a long silence after he's done, as though he's waiting for something... or someone. Then Morax awkwardly clears his throat, and that's when the angel comes crashing in. 

• "Be not afraid!" he announces, picking himself up from the floor. You aren't yet sure why you should be afraid of a skinny white boy with orange hair, but you suppose it's just something all angels say. 

• You didn't get the angel's name, but when your friends come over and see the two very attractive men in your house that previously weren't there before, he's quick to spin a lie about him being a family friend of yours, Ajax, who's staying with you for an indefinite amount of time. 

• Morax is less accustomed to lying on the spot, latching onto Ajax's story and introducing himself as Zhongli... another family friend. Who also coincidentally happens to be staying with you, yes. 

• To be honest, Zhongli is nicer to hang out with than Ajax. He is knowledgeable about many things, and recounts grand historical events as though they happened yesterday. His deep, velvety-smooth voice has you unconsciously hanging on to his every word.

• But no matter how civil and friendly he is, take care not to forget what he's really here for. Morax takes contracts seriously, and although he refuses to outright lie, he still wants you to sign the second contract- one that gives him the legal right to claim your soul when you die. 

• (Your saving grace is that even though he's not willing to play dirty, the angel certainly is).

• Meanwhile, you're pretty sure that if you make one wrong step when you're out with Ajax, he'll be fired for not protecting you properly. He's always itching for a fight or chasing the thrilling high that comes with danger some other way. But if anyone dares threaten you, he’s immediately at your side, ready to defend you if they come any closer.

• Sometimes, when his focus slips, you see his true form underneath the human glamor- hulking, plated with armor, and a pearlescent wheel for an eye- and suddenly his "be not afraid" line makes much more sense, and terrifyingly so.

• It's never visible for more than a second before Ajax is back, with his lean build and countable freckles and two eyes as blue as the deepest sea, smiling at you reassuringly and pretending nothing happened.  

• He trusts you enough to not intervene when you're around Zhongli, because as far as he's concerned, your soul might as well be in Ajax’s palm. But he still delights in tormenting the lesser demons that appear near you, drawn by Morax's power- summoning blades of holy water to easily tear them to shreds. 

• What? Just because he's a guardian angel doesn't mean he has to be nice.

Scaramouche and Kazuha

• In the window of time when summer turns to fall, and maple leaves change from green to shades of red, Kazuha comes to you. 

• Kazuha is the perfect angel. 

• He knows the hidden language of nature, guiding you away from treacherous storms and lightning strikes. Traveling with him means you can sleep safely under the stars without a care, and he's always there with a wise saying or elegant poem that reminds you to do the right thing. 

• Although he sounds a little old-fashioned when he speaks, his soft voice and gentle, kind eyes persuade you to listen anyway. 

• He's sweet and calm, but always ready to faithfully defend you from evil with his heavenly sword.

• Which is why it vexes him when there's one ancient evil, reeking of ozone, that he just can't seem to exorcise.

• You can't get a real name out of him- he's too spiteful and cunning to ever reveal it to you. It's either Balladeer, or Skirmisher, 散兵, or Scaramouche, which sounds the most like a name instead of a title. So Scaramouche is what you call him... for now. 

• He doesn't bother trying to tempt you into anything, and seems determined to hang around you only to be a nuisance. It deeply irritates Kazuha, which only encourages Scaramouche more. 

• Then one day he realizes that making you flustered isn't just fun, but also drives the angel up the walls. 

• Like a new favorite toy, he quickly figures out what gets the best reactions out of you, but is smart enough to know when to stop before he goes too far. He always does it when Kazuha does something particularly cute or nice to you, dragging your attention away from him.

• Even so, your guardian angel has faith that in the end, you'll do the right thing. 

• "I know you'll make the correct choice," Kazuha says to you, smiling gently. The fading light of the sun softens his features even more, making them shine like gold. 

• "I know you'll make the correct choice," Scaramouche mockingly drawls, and the air suddenly grows chilly and hums with static. His icy finger draws a line down your arm, making you flinch from the cold. "After all, I'm much better than that angel, right?"

Venti and Xiao

• You're thrown off at first by the angelic wings and snarling mask, respectively. But make no mistake- 

• No matter how cute he may be, Barbatos is a duke of hell, who delights in speaking in riddles and encourages you to laze around and procrastinate when you really shouldn't. He jokingly invites you to share a drink with him, and is only stopped by a firm "no" or Xiao appearing behind him with glowing green eyes and a warning growl. 

• And despite Xiao sighing in exasperation whenever he has to get you out of trouble, he always appears by your side to defend you wherever you're in danger- you only need speak his name. 

• It’s no secret that beneath his distant exterior, Xiao has a soft spot for you, and cares for your wellbeing even if the things humans do mystify him at times. 

• Surprisingly, the two of them get along with each other, when Barbatos isn't trying to pull you into one of his schemes ("Barbatos sounds so mean," he whined once, after being scolded by the both of you. "You should call me Venti instead!")

• Xiao had a different name, once, when he was forced to serve a false and evil god. He refuses to speak of it with you, so don't try, but sometimes, late at night, the illusions over his skin come undone, and you’re sad to see just how much damage has been done in his years of servitude. 

• You only know that one day, someone came along and freed him, giving him his new name. He refuses to talk about that person either, although it sounds like they're not with him anymore. 

• But being granted freedom didn’t remove the agony inflicted on him, and it was Venti’s song that saved him from being consumed by pain. He secretly dreams of being able to dance to that music again, unburdened by his debts. And although he may never admit it, being with you gives him the same lightness in his heart.

• Venti doesn't care about trying to get the upper hand on Xiao or anything. He believes that humans should always have the freedom to choose without outside influence, anyway.  

• But sometimes, just to mess with him, he transforms into what must be his real form: a tiny, fairy-like creature dressed in white. He floats around you like a ball of dandelion fluff in a spring breeze, and cutely nuzzles your cheek to make you laugh. 

• Then he throws Xiao a smug look when you're not looking, and the guardian's shaky grip on his polearm nearly makes it crack. 

#genshin imagines #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #genshin scenarios #my writing

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

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

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren’t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

“I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

#disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #jango fett #jaster mereel #time travel #mandalore #tatooine #de aging #babies #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

[marvelwritings]

A piece of me has disappeared

Summary: By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. 

or: Peter get's abducted and Tony goes to rescue his son 

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet and …. The repeats stops working once Peter’s stomach gnaws again, the hunger he’s so gravely experiencing has switched to a whole new level. No longer the petty grumbles of an empty stomach, instead it’s replaced by the need to eat anything, despite Peter’s rationality telling him he can’t. He’s been locked up for at least seven days, but he’s still to sceptic to eat anything his captors offer him. He’s very close to breaking.

He tries to hold on by imagining that he’s at home, but he’s so tired, yet so fitful he won’t close his eyes for more then 10 seconds, and the constant torture is so jarring it hurts worse to imagine home, then be woken up in reality, than to just to be present. Peter wonders if Tony is every going to find him.

The first day, he had no question about it. Tony is scarily determined and protective to anyone who dares come after the people he considers family, Peter got a first row demonstration when some journalist tried to bad mouth Spiderman and he got clocked in the jaw, so Peter knows it’s just a matter of time.

By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. So much so that they keep him sedated at all times, just enough sedative to keep him conscious, but not too little that he can tap in his superstrength. Peter will never be able to escape on his own.

Maybe if the avengers got called in they were close, but Peter’s not sure Tony would call in people he hasn’t spoken to in a few months, purely to find him. He can hold out hope though.

The third day is also the day his captures, he hasn’t seen any faces so far and the sedative contorts their voices too much to match them to somebody he knows, start with the emotional manipulation. So far, they had stuck to electrocution by tazers and punches applied to any sensitive area of his body, but Peter must not have been broken fast enough for them.

‘You know, you remind me of the stereotypical bad guys in movies, like in kids movies? Do you like kid movies? My favorite is Frozen’, Peter had once babbled in between punches through bitten teeth, trying to keep up his high spirits.

They didn’t like that one bit.

They claim all sort of ridiculous things, like that the Starks paid money for them to have kidnapped him, that Tony never started searching for him, that he might as well give up because no one was coming to fetch him. Peter laughs in their face, witty even in the face of extreme danger. It was still funny to him then. Now, on the evening of the seventh day, he stares unblinking at a wall, only moving when the physical pain becomes too much and he needs an outlet to scream.

‘Please’, he pleads sobbing. If he wasn’t so starved as he was, so mentally vulnerable, he would have been embarrassed. As it stands, Peter’s just so incapable of resisting, he simply gives in.

‘Please stop,’ Peter whimpers. If he had anything to give he’d bargain, but money is tight for May and him, and he has no knowledge of anything avengers related that could be of interest to these people. Mister Stark told him it was for his own safety, so it wouldn’t be used as leverage against him, but in Peter’s warped mind it further adds proof Tony never trusted him.

‘Ahn’, a captor coos, ‘he’s begging already, how cute.’ The voice is distinctly that of a woman’s, but it hold nothing of the warm timbre both aunt May and Pepper possess. He misses them.

The woman slides a hand up in Peter’s hair, and for one confusing moment Peter thinks she’s going to start stroking it, like Tony does, but then she balls her hands into fists and pulls his head aside. The next tazer gets placed in his neck.

‘This wouldn’t be happening if your so beloved mentor would just give up the plans for the new shield initiative, but alas, as long as he doesn’t you’ll be stuck here. The tazzer buzzes to life and Peter seizes up. It’s the so many’th time today, that Peter gives up on holding back, his scream ricochets in the room.

‘Then again, maybe we went after the wrong kid. Maybe we should have taken Tony Starks real kid? The one he actually cares about?’

Tears stumbles down his cheeks and he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness, but of course life is not that kind. No, he begs inside his head, to warm out to speak. Not Morgan, never Morgan. He’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

‘What do you think soldier,’ she addresses the second captor in the room, ‘perhaps a phone call would speed Stark along? A sign of life and how close to it being snuffed out the child is? What do you want Peter?’ She asks sickly sweet, as if it’s a regular question and not a taunt.

Still, Peter can’t help but reach out. He longs for one phone call so wholeheartedly. Maybe, maybe he can convince Mister Stark to get him out of this mess. He could promise to do every task Mister Stark ask of him, he could even offer to work for Stark industries until he could pay back the money he’d pay Peter’s kidnappers, anything to get out of here. Peter will do anything.

‘I think he’s agreeing.’ The woman grins, pulling out a burner phone out of her back pocket. She types for several excruciating moments, in which Peter begs to every god listening that Mister Stark will pick up. That he’ll hear Peter out.

‘Hello,’ the woman greets the phone, her smirk so evil Peter’s spider senses warm him to run, fighting through the drugs. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you Stark.’

She lowers the phone to a few inches from Peter’s ear, because Peter is too tied up to hold it on his own. ‘Speak loudly kid.’

The use of the nickname causes shudders to run down Peter’s back. Why can’t he go home?

‘Mister Stark, please help me, I don’t know where I am, but- I want to go home, please mister Stark I-. I’ll do anything you want, just please.’ Peter’s whines gain pitch, until he is nothing but a sobbing mess, barely worth the name Peter Parker, let alone Spiderman.

The phone clicks shut.

‘Whoops, looks like he hung up’, The woman snickers, patting Peter’s cheek with fake compassion. Peter bellows, heaving so severely the nonexistent food he ate threatens to come back up.

He’d never find out the phone was never connected in the first place.

---

By the grace of Peter doesn’t know what, he drops unconscious after the failed phone call to Mister Stark. The sleep is fitful at best, but at least it helps restock his powers. When Peter comes too, there are loud sounds just outside of the room he’s captivated in. He thinks there’s screaming and pleading, but he’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to care. His hands drop uselessly by his side, his head turned away from the door as he squeezes his eyes shuts.

Why can’t this be over yet?

The door busts of his hinges, the door falls inwards. Immediately, the yellow and red armor, belonging to the iron man suit, rushes in, with the faceplate down. Now that the door is open, or gone more like, It’s clear that all the sounds Peter had been hearing where the scream of his captures. There are many of them, but they’re being taken down one by one.

Peeking aside the Iron man armor, Peter sees a flash of red and blue, and captain America’s shield knocking someone out cold.

‘Kid, kid’, Mister Stark draws his attention in a panic. The faceplate is still down, which means that Mister Stark is either not here, like he wasn’t when the vulture first dropped him into a lake, or he’s assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to lower his defenses.

‘You’re okay underoos, we’re getting you out of here.’ With very little effort, Mister Stark snaps restraints on Peter’s wrist and ancles, all the while murmuring under his breath. He’s trying to reassure Peter, but it’s not having any type of effect.

Instead, the comfort causes Peter to burst into tears once more, his body begging for food and pain medication that will make everything stop hurting. He doesn’t care that Mister Stark is doing this out of rightfulness, or maybe out of debt out of some kind that he’s trying to even out, Peter just wants to go home.

Once the restraints are all loose, and Peter is free of them, Mister Stark waits for a tense second, maybe expecting Peter to hob off the table and join the fight or something. That doesn’t happen. Peter lays motionless on the table, looking intensely at the glowing eyes of the iron man suit, maybe trying to convey a message that Mister Stark can’t decipher.

‘Come on Pete, we have to get out of here before they bring backup. I can only hold them off for so long.’

‘Back up?’ Peter ask nonsensical, his spider senses blaring danger at him.

‘Yeah, they’re big fans of the avengers, they’ll all be swarming in here for autographs soon, but we’re kinda busy so we really have to go now.’ Mister Stark turns frantic, his hands carefully, oh so cautiously, gripping at his shoulders.

Peter allows his muscles to turn limp, pliant under strange hands. They belong to his mentor, to one of the only touches he has ever felt that don’t originate from people who are trying to hurt him, but he’s so very terrified, it doesn’t register. Peter holds still, submissive to whatever is about to happen because the pain always seems to end faster when he doesn’t struggle.

‘Peter’, Mister Stark anguished voice insists, his faceplates lifts up, and the dull eyes of who Peter has come to think of as a father gaze upon him with despair. Mister Starks hair is greasy, his mouth is pulled down in a grimace, and his eyes are, for a lack of better word grief stricken. He’s so much older then he was before Peter was taken. ‘Please buddy, we have to go.’

Mister Stark’s calloused finger strokes Peter cheek with the utmost care, barely even pressing firm enough for Peter to feel it. He does though, and traps the touch between his check and his shoulder.  The dam breaks, and the barrier of terror that clouded Peter’s judgment lifts with it. He gasps, coming up for a breath of fresh air, and the moment between mentor and son brings at least a sliver of clarity, before he sinks back under the enormity of his panic.  

‘I can’t walk’, Peter rasps, his throat torn from all the screams. He refuses to let that stop him, he’s so close to safety, he needs to push on further just a tad longer. ‘Please Mister Stark, I can’t walk.’

‘It’s okay Pete’, Tony soothes, pressing an unyielding kiss to his forehead, and if at all possible, Peter see the rage harden his face even more. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.’

Before Peter can begin to process that statement, Mister Stark puts the weight on his knees, the iron man suit helping to lift Peter as if it’s no trouble at all.  Tony is no liar, Peter finds, as his body begs to be placed back on the uncomfortable bed. Even places that had been relatively unharmed ache, and Peter feels like a broken doll.

‘It’s okay Kiddo we’re almost there, just a minute longer.’ Peter clings to Mister Stark, using every ounce of strength to hang on, despite the fact that Tony has a tight grip on him as well. Iron man isn’t fighting alone, as the avengers are here to back him, them, up. In any other situation, Peter would be gushing. Not only is he seeing his heroes in action, but they’re in action for him, to help him, but now, Peter only turns his head to burrow it into Mister Starks chest plate.

‘Please, please’, Peter whispers the entire way to the jet, not even realizing he’s begging for something.

‘I got you Pete’, Tony assures, one hand briefly leaving Peter’s back to shoot at a capture that’s standing in the way of the jet. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere with the fight one time, but he must itch too. Peter hears him bark orders at captain America, telling him to take some of them alive.

‘Please don’t leave me here, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.’

The Jet is nice and warm, something Peter relishes in, but when Tony tries to lower Peter on a medbed, that’s objectively much more comfortable then the bed he was on before, Peter screams. No words are spoken, but the scream startles Mister Stark just the same.

‘Stark, the base is cleared, get him strapped in, Banner is coming’, Natasha ushers, ignoring Peter’s cries and running to the cockpit. Stark has him, she argues, and it does the kid no good to have more prying eyes on him.

‘What is it, are you in pain?’ Tony asks franticly, without responding to Nat, hands hovering over Peter’s body to check for injuries, the light dims when he spots just how badly he was treated in captivity.

Peter screams again when Mister Stark pulls away too far for his liking, latching onto the suit so rigorous it creaks in protests.

‘Please, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please. I- I know… I’m sorry, Morgan- I’, Peter can’t talk with how much he’s weeping, there are so many things to say and all of them are fighting one another to be said first. Eventually, after everyone has already touched base, the jet leaves and Doctor Banner urgers Tony to place him on the bed, Peter settles for; ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘Peter’, Tony spits, so harsh that Peter snaps to attention, letting go of the armor and limply following where mister Stark wants him. He gently grips Peter’s chin, mindful of the bruises, and with glistening eyes, he conveys; ‘I’m never leaving you here, do you understand. I don’t care what else you have in your head, but right now, all I need you to know is that I’m not leaving you. Ever.’

He waits for the conforming nod, which Peter only gives when Mister Stark clasps his hand into his. ‘Beside, May would kill me if I came back without her nephew, and I don’t want to be the one to receive her wrath.’ Tony laughs faintly.

He wants to cry at that, good or bad he’s not sure, but instead he allows himself to be lowered, giving in only because Tony is crouching down with him, shielding Peter’s body with his own. It’s unsensical, there in the jet and there’s no danger, but if Peter feels protected Tony will do it, no questions asked.

As soon as he’s in a horizontal positions, Doctor Banner injects him with pain medication, and within seconds, Peter has floated away, dreaming of the lake house with Morgan, Pepper and tony and May at the end of the hallway.

---

Peter knows he’s in the medbay before his body has even fully awoken. He’s been here before, perhaps one to many times for it too be so familiar, and he can recognize the atmosphere from anywhere. The smell of disinfectant lingers around the room heavily, but so does the smell of motor oil, coming from Mister Stark’s lab the floor below the medbay. Usually he’s not alone when he wakes up either, accompanied by Mister Stark or May, maybe even both, and so despite the room having a different connotation, it holds security for Peter.

When all his senses click into place, with an almost audible snap after being out of commission for a week, the burning anguish joins it. It’s almost worse than during the torture itself, because it’s hitting him all at once now, and after stewing for a day his body is one big bruise, but it’s also better, because no more hurt can be added.

Blinking his eyes open, Peter glances around the room and notices that he’s by himself. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether that’s a good or bad thing. Despite being alone, Peter very nearly cries out for the pain medication he’s sure Tony has at hand. His metabolism runs through painkillers faster than a normal body, but Mister Stark has experience in that department thanks to captain America, which is why Peter never wakes up in the medbay feeling sore.

He’s hoping to snatch some of the good stuff before he can sink away in sleep again, until a dark thought pops up in his head. What if Mister Stark purposefully didn’t give him enough medication so he wouldn’t stay asleep? What if Peter is expected to pay of his debt starting this very moment? It would make sense. Mister Stark is a man that likes to get a move on things, and this is probably no exception.

He bites back a loud whine. He’s so tired and sore, and if he could be anywhere in the world right now he’d choose the lakehouse and rest on the back porch, while looking over Morgan and ensuring she’s safe.

Still, it’s heaps better then what was waiting for him before, so Peter sucks in a deep breath and lifts himself up. He’s dresses in a hospital gown with socks on his feet, the only reprieve of the cold of the tiles that he has. His body fights in protest against the jolting movements, and Peter sinks back into bed three times before finally managing to stay upright. He swallows back bile, and blinks away the disorientation woozing its way through his head.

‘Friday’? He whispers, voice cracking on every syllable.

‘Yes, mister Parker, the AI replies easily, as chipper as a computer can possibly be. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she adds, when Peter takes too long to reply. It’s not out of rudeness, but the words take a while to be processed in Peter’s hazy mind.

‘Can you tell me what Mister Stark wants me to do?’ Peter finally asks after coughing to clear his throat. Pride flows through his bloodstream when he manages to sound fine.

‘Mister Stark has not given me any directions, but by the distress and elevated heartbeat he experienced whilst at your bedside last, I hypothesize that he would like you to rest Peter.’  

Confusion laces Peter’s next move. Rest? But if that was the case why wasn’t the man here, ensuring that he does like all the other times he’s been in this position?  Deciding not to ask the AI anymore questions, while simultaneously ignoring her advice, Peter focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. If he can’t get a direct answer out of Friday, he’ll just get started on cleaning up in the lab.

The last few times Tony and Peter worked in there, Mister Stark had jokingly grumbled that the lace was getting to disorganized even for his taste, which definitely means something. Peter limps his way to the door, already breathing more heavily and deciding to take a rest against the still closed door. His foot throbs, so Peter switches to put the most weight on the side of his foot, instead of on the balm.

The small trek has left him bone tried, and the lab still seems so far away. Peter tries to calculate how far the lab still is, and agrees with himself to divide the length into smaller stretches. His next stop is at the elevator, so Peter shuffled along the floor, ignoring the black spots that dance before his eyes and threaten to have him collapse.

The extortion reminds him of the time that Toomes dropped a building on him, which is just plain ridiculous, this shouldn’t be half as tough. Peter scolds himself to man up when about halfway to the elevator he bumps into a cart and whimpers.

After finally finding support on the elevator beams, Peter allows himself a twenty second break to cry. At this point, the exact reason for crying is unbeknownst to him. All that he does know is that he feels like a mess, like someone took all the spiderman away from him and left him as a pile of uselessness. He shouldn’t have the right to complain however. Mister Stark rescued him from a fate much worse, the least he could do is help him out.

‘Friday’, Peter pauses to gulp in more air, and to force his tears back. ‘Open the elevator.’

‘Mister Parker I would advise-‘

‘Please’, he begs, voice barely louder then a whisper. The AI complies without further disagreement. The elevator begins to move the floor bellow it, soundlessly passing Peter along. The theme song, a little joke that Tony had installed after they made a song about spiderman, which plays during every elevator ride when Peter is present, stays off. The doors open, and Peter stumbles out, cheering up a dash when the mess doesn’t look as bad as he had imagined it. The clean up should be doable within two hours, even in Peter’s injured state. Most of the mess comes from scattered papers and documents that Tony tosses aside and never bothered to do anything with, and of mechanical parts that are ready to be thrown out.

All in all, not a lot of weight that Peter has to pick up. He has barely started on five pages when the elevator behind him opens again. Peter hadn’t noticed it going to a different floor in the first place.

Lister Stark burst out of the room like the devil himself is after him. He pauses for one second to observe what Peter’s doing -he’s in the middle of bending down at a very lateral pace- and then he’s off again, cursing under his breath.

‘Jesus Christ Peter what are you doing?’

He pulls out a rolling chair from behind his work bench and rushes it to Peter side. ‘Come on, sit.’ He says already clenching a hand around Peter’s bicep to guide him down. In his confusion, Peter follows his instruction.

‘Mister Stark?’ He questions, eyes tracking his mentors movement as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and punishment will follow.

There is none, all that Tony does, is fall down on his knees in front of Peter, so they’re making direct eye contact. Peter gulps at the sight. He’s sure those jeans cost more than half of what May ears a month, and if Peter is expected to repay those too, he’ll never be able to pay of his debt.

‘Kiddo, what are you doing?’ Mister Stark asks incredulous, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm. His eyes sweep over Peter’s form, noticing the ailments that he aggravated by walking all the way down here. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get started already.’ Peter admits shyly. He can’t understand why he’s being treated with such kindness all of a sudden.

‘Started on what Pete? I don’t understand.’ Mister Stark shuffles closer, one hand coming up to cup Peter’s chin, sweeping gentle circles that are meant to calm himself down as much as Peter.

‘Paying of my debt.’ Peter replies confused, wrapping his arms around his stomach area and bending downwards in an order to self sooth. He needs to get up soon, are Peter’ not sure he will be able to. Now that he’s granting his body some rest, the pain he forced to the back of his mind is rushing back in.

‘What debt kid, you need rest and you need it right now. Stay here, I’m going to go get you a gurney so you don’t require any more walking.’

Right as Mister Stark gets of his knees, Peter’s hand shoots out, gripping the older man’s wrist.  The action was pure habitual, but now that he’s initiated contact he doesn’t know what to do.

‘When will I have to start working then? I’d rather get started as soon as possible, to thank you for everything Mister Stark.’ Peter’s voice pitches even lower, letting his head hang down in shame. He really doesn’t want to offer his suit back, Spiderman is what gives him purpose, but the sooner he no longer has a debt, the sooner he can start working to provide May with an extra income as well. He has no choice.

‘I can give you the suit back if you’ll accept it.’

Tony regards him with perturbation for several long lasting moment. Then, he gasps, finally clicking in his head what Peter is going on about.

‘Oh kiddo, that’s the concussion speaking. Listen to me,’ he sinks back down in front Peter, taking his hand in his. ‘You have done so much for me. If anything it’s me that should be in debt to you.’ Peter pens his mouth to argue, but Tony hushes him softly.

‘You’re not thinking straight buddy, that why spider baby’s need their rest. But truly Peter, you don’t owe me anything. Well except maybe you owe it to  be safe, I think I’ve earned that much.’

‘Really?’ Peter asks optimistically, his whole body filling up with a feeling he can’t name, but it chokes him up until he’s bursting with the urge to give a hug to his mentor.

‘Yeah Peter of course. All I want is my kids to be safe.’

Kids. Tony sees Peter as his kid, as equal to Morgan. A person to love unconditionally without needing any favors, without having any debt. Of course Mister Stark won’t ask that of him, despite his front, the man has a heart that’s made of gold. Mister Stark, his mentor, and his father figure.

‘Dad,’ Peter sobs, almost falling out of the chair in his rush to get to Tony. The man immediately returns the hug, holding Peter up in a way that he hopes will be the least painful for him.

‘You’re okay Peter you’re okay.’

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking’, Peter confesses, deeply ashamed of how low he thought of his dad.

‘It’s okay Kiddo, like I said it’s the concussion. Of course you were scared, I can’t blame you. I promise that I tried so hard to find you bud. I’m sorry it took me so long.’

Peter says nothing, he’s had enough encounters with Tony now to sense that the man wouldn’t believe him if Peter told him it’s okay. Instead he just nuzzles closer, accepting all the love and affection radiating from Tony, and giving back what he hopes is just as much.

‘Can we go back to the lakehouse?’ Peter asks softly, burring his head in Tony’s neck. It might be a weird question coming from him. He liked the beach house enough, but he has never actively asked to go there when they could stay at the tower as well. But now, Peter won’t feel safe unless his down there, in the cabin hidden behind threes, where the environment is quiet that he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, and can confirm that everyone is safe.

‘Sure kid.’ Tony responds, a tad bewildered, but happy to provide anyway. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you get check out okay. I want to make sure you didn’t rip anything.’

‘Okay’, Peter mumbles, a bone deep tiredness washing over him, and letting him sink down into Tony. ‘Thanks dad.’

If Peter were more awake, he would have noticed the silent tears of happiness streaming down Mister Starks cheek at the name. As it stands, Peter just hums contently when a kiss is pressed at the top of his head, and Tony strikes a hand through his hair.

‘Anything for my son.’

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #hurt peter parker #hurt/comfort #tony stark imagine #tony stark #protective tony stark #fluff #angst #Peter gets kidnapped #and tortured #but not in detail #Tony is affectionate #Peter's apprehensive #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine #spider son #irondad #irondad imagine

[dr3amofagame]

Hello, idk if you’ll see this, nor do you have to take this request. But I’ve been thinking, and thought up: Dream joined the egg, but not because it offered him world domination or a happy family or any of that; no it offered to treat him kindly, to be affectionate, to be a friend, basically offering him human decency. (With an add on of everyone believing it was for some big reason, but the actual reason gets revealed somehow) if that made any sense. (Idk if this counts as an au or not)

[ask: if dream showed up to the red banquet, that would be very sexy of the writers to make him join the eggpire instead of the pro-omlette]

hehe egg!dream has so much potential ,, this is a ficlet i’ve been working on for a while (writer’s block my detested) but i finally finished it up !! it’s a bit unpolished but oh well - they cant all be winners lmao 

tw: body horror, blood, injuries, implied torture/abuse, starvation, possession, dark/disturbing imagery, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc 

Dream gets corrupted by the Egg, because of course he does.

Sapnap trudges through the vine-filled hallway, his face bundled firmly with a holy-water soaked bandana to keep out the worst of the spores. It’s a shoddy defense, but he doesn’t plan to stay long; he’s only been sent on reconnaissance, to see what public enemy number one is planning and get out as quickly as he can. As much as the entire server wants Dream dead, trying to defeat the man the first time was enough of a feat, never mind with the power of a giant demon egg on his side - to try and fight him now would be practically impossible.

The floor squishes underneath his boots, and his lips curl in disgust; the vines are thick and moist and feel ugly and rotten to the core. He can’t imagine anyone being anything but repulsed by the things, but he guesses it makes sense for Dream to be drawn here - corruption attracts corruption, it seems. It only figures that Dream would be desperate enough for power to let himself get possessed by the living - if you could really call it living - embodiment of decay and deterioration itself. The feeling of the floor giving way underneath his footsteps has another wave of revulsion crawling up his throat, though he’s not sure if it’s directed towards the Egg or his former friend or both.

He reaches the end of the hallway, an itching, pulsing feeling of wrong filling the air in the room just beyond the haphazard archway carved into the stone. With careful hands, Sapnap draws the bandana further up his face, making sure that it is tied securely behind his head - just beyond this wall lies the belly of the beast, the heart of the rot slowly but surely spreading its influence over the entire server. Something hums in the air; whispering, otherworldly sounds pierce through his armor and settle beneath his skin; he pushes on. He knows better than to listen, to try and make sense of the words within the noise - from what he’s heard, by the time you understand what it is saying, it’s too late.

He steps inside; the room feels, for the lack of a better word, red. He’s better suited for the place than most, being a Netherborn and therefore more used to the oppressive heat and heaviness of the air, but there’s something undeniably wrong about how this place feels, something entirely Other having made its home in the room. Every inch of the place feels hostile, angry, hungry, recognizing him as someone foreign and wanting nothing more than his destruction. Unlike the Red Forests, which teemed with life - piglins and hoglins and giant fungus - this room is little more than a twisted mimicry, sucking the air dry, leaving little more than husks behind.

His hand immediately goes to his sword, drawing it with a dull, metallic scrape. The room is eerily silent save for the Egg’s hissing whispers, and he frowns; he’d expected an attack, but the room is still, quiet; a mockery of peace that only makes the uneasy feeling in his gut grow further. He trudges forward, watching against the puddles of lava and smoking magma scattered over the floor, but nothing stirs.

There’s a growing pressure against his skull with each step into the room, and his hand tightens on his communicator; they’d set up a stasis chamber, just in case things went south, his way out of this place only a few button presses away. Still, nothing moves; no Bad or Ant popping out of nowhere, weapons in hand, no Dream driving an axe between his shoulder blades as he’s done so many times before in their spars. There’s only the sound of his footsteps against the rotting growths on the floor and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and the Egg’s warbling voice, beneath it all - beckoning, almost kind.

He swallows, throat dry, and moves forward.

His feet carry him to the back corner of the room, to the rotting, pulsing core of the wrongness plaguing the entire server. Even through his bandana, the air feels foreign, nearly choking him, and he strains his eyes against the glare of the lava to look up at the vines’ rancid heart, the Egg. Up close, it’s almost underwhelming, only about three times his height, hardly coming halfway up to the ceiling of the room. What it doesn’t have in size, however, it makes up in sheer presence; the hissing whispers in his head grow louder, crawling under his skin and between his bones, and he curses under his breath as he prepares to call for his way back. Dream isn’t here; the mission is a bust.

“Sapnap?”

He freezes.

It takes a moment to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head, as raspy and unsettling as it was, and his eyes traced the edges of the Egg to a dull colored shape at its side, completely overlooked in his initial sweep of the room. He watches, a dull horror rising in his chest, as the shape moves, twists around on itself in an entirely unnatural way like a marionette pulled by its strings. A pale dot rises from where it had been hidden against the bright red of the Egg; it’s a face, Dream’s face, covered in clawing vines, stark against the bone-white of his sun-starved skin, vomit racing up his throat at the sight of the vines having made their homes in jagged wounds all over his face and neck and disappearing into the torn scraps of his prison uniform, each one spilling crimson in the form of writhing vines and thorns instead of blood.

“Sapnap,” Dream says again, his mouth moving with the words but something entirely other having made its home in the air of his lungs, a shivering rasp to his voice that lifts and falls with the same desperate hunger that saturates every tainted inch of the room. His neck tips to the side, shifted over by a twisting vine tangled within his hair and wrapping a crown of blood-red thorns over his forehead, tendrils drooping over his face and framing the gaunt edges. “You came.”

“Dream-” the anger comes back, familiar, at the other’s words - the same red-hot rage that had boiled within him in that first and only prison visit (you took so long) but it dissipates as fast as it comes. Dream - if this remnant, this shade, this corrupted, mangled half that seems more corruption than human can even be called the name of one he had once considered his best friend, his brother - stumbles closer, held up by the vines that twist over his shaking legs, one having the pale, ragged edge of a bone clearly having ripped through skin - and Sapnap does throw up, this time, dragging the bandana from his face and heaving bile all over the floor.

“What happened-” he cries, flames licking up his arms in defense when his friend-turned-monster-turned-this steps closer on a wreck of a leg that should not be able to bear weight, stumbles back to a roaring in his ears-

He is mine he came broken came shattered and I gave him everything I gave him his heart’s desire I am his savior his grace he asked for warmth and he asked for comfort and he asked for nothing but for someone to take his pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine

He freezes, hand tightening over his communicator; Dream stares at him with the one dull-green eye not covered by the vines splayed over his too-pale face, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The roaring, angry sound in Sapnap’s ears grows louder, follows the shape of Dream’s lips come join your friend come with me I will give him to you you have failed him once but not again not again he is mine but you can be mine also and you will be together together together

“-pnap! Sapnap!” Puffy’s words crackle over the communicator, harsh and loud and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Pull the switch, Sam! No, he’s not responding- pull the switch-”

The world dips, and he heaves in a shattered breath, lungs finally full as he breathes in clear air for the first time in what feels like an eternity, hacking coughs pulled from his throat as he tears the bandana off in one sputtering gasp for breath.

“Sap- Sapnap,” Sam pitches his voice low, comforting, a hand rubbing up and down his back, but all Sapnap can see is the skeleton of a man held together by red thread, the life leached from his skin and leaving nothing left, he asked for nothing but for someone to take the pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine-

“Sapnap,” Puffy’s voice is tinny with concern, “What happened? You stopped responding and the time passed so we pulled the switch on the stasis chamber- are you alright? Did he attack you?”

“I-” -you have failed him once but not again not again you will be together- “I need a moment.”

He scrambles away, feet carrying him away from Church Prime, away from the Holy Land, away away away until he’s standing on the Community House roof, staring at his hands at this home, destroyed, this home, rebuilt, this home, empty and wrong and a shadow of house for a shadow of a man, a shadow of a friend found, a friend lost- and sobs.

What had he done?

#tw body horror #tw blood #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #tw possession #tw dark imagery #tw disturbing imagery #tw dark content #prison arc #pandora's vault #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you ( Falling from grace) Jungkook x OC

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5

Chapter 6

“Are you sure you want to head back to work today, Areum? Hoseok told me that he would give you the rest of the week off if you like... That bruise on your face is looking pretty nasty.” My sister commented mildly, her eyes worried as she watched me dab concealer on the mottled purpling skin on my jaw.

“I need to finish a couple of reports by the weekend. And Namjoon oppa told me he wanted me to be there when we viewed the CCTV footage later today. It’s going to help getting that bastard fired.” I flinched at how bad this side of my face looked. 

The bastard. 

“He’s not fired yet?” My sister made a noise of outrage.

“Of course he is. There’s a restraining order against him. But formally he needs to be terminated and Namjoon wants to do it in a way that it goes on his record permanently. Especially considering he’s already out on bond.” I wrinkled my nose. 

There wasn’t much chance of Junho going to prison over this but I definitely did not want him within fifty feet of me, ever again. 

“Jungkook’s busy with his practice is it? I haven’t heard from him...” My sister prompted and I nodded.

“His big match is coming up on Sunday. That's like four days away ...he’s probably cooped up in that gym of his.” 

“I know... Seokjin works out there too... its a great place...how come you’re never there?”

I frowned .

“He actually has me blacklisted. I’m not allowed inside the establishment. ” I muttered. 

My sister’s eyes widened.

“What? Why?”

I shrugged. The memory was a good one and worth reliving. In fact i relived it quite often when I was particularly horny with only my own hands for relief. 

“I seduced him against his favorite punching bag once and he had to get rid of it because the cum stains wouldn’t come off. He’s a petty jerk.” I grinned at my sister enjoying the way her eyes went wide as saucers. .

She stared at me slack jawed. And then she shook her head in disbelief. 

“You talk about him this way but you always look like you're half way in love with him. I don’t know what is going on in your head when it comes to Jungkook.”

I laughed.

“I love him. Of course I do.... I’m pretty sure he cares about me too, “ I remembered how warm and content I’d felt when he’d held me, how the police officer had immediately concluded he was my boyfriend, simply from the concern radiating off him, “  But, I’m not going to push for anything. I like how we are ...now.”

“Friends with benefits.?”

“I prefer the term enemies who fuck” I winked and she groaned. 

“Whatever you say. But remember, you’re going to have to DTR at some point and I hope you don’t get a shock if he isn’t on the same page. “ 

“Unlikely. Now go distract mom so I can slip out of the back door.” 

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

“That looks pretty fucking bad.” Hoseok winced when he saw me and I groaned.

“Don’t remind me. I ran into Namjoon on the way up and he swelled like a bullfrog. Is Jungkook in today?” I asked him brightly.

Hoseok frowned.

“you guys are awfully chummy these days ....Need I remind you about the clause on interpersonal relationships in the office?” 

I flushed.

“We’re...not....I mean. We’re friends. “

“I thought the term was enemies who fuck.” Hoseok said thoughtfully and I jumped.

“What-?”

“Jungkook told me, you little brat. I asked him why he went over to the police station and broke Junho’s fucking jaw and he spilled...”

My own jaw came unhinged.

“ He what?!”

 “He posted the bond money for the bastard himself to get him out and then apparently punched him hard enough to land him in the hospital.”

“Oh my God...is he in trouble?” 

Hoseok sighed.

“Of course not... Mr. Jeon had it taken care off at once but I knew something was up . He’s too old to play knight in shining armor , unless there was something between you guys...” 

I sighed.

“We’re in a purely physical relationship yes with of course a splattering of affection for each other. But nothing that deserves a label or close scrutiny from the HR dept. Please Hobi oppa, just let me be. “ I fluttered my lashes and he rolled his eyes. 

“Just as long as you know that Jeon Jungkook is a chaebol. He’s not going to make a honest woman out of you.” Hoseok gave me a pointed look and I wondered if I really did wear my heart on my sleeve. 

Apparently, everyone could sense that my feelings for Jungkook ran deeper than just lust and I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. 

“Anyway, yo answer you question, yes. He’s in his office right now.”

I made to turn away but Hoseok grabbed my wrist.

“You have thirty five memos to answer and seventeen appointments to schedule. Your desk is this way, I suggest you head in that direction.” His eyes glinted in a way that told me he was incredibly serious. 

I pouted.

Fine... I’d wait for lunch to go meet Jungkook.

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

Jungkook had a secretary of his own , the smitten Miss Lee and she gave me an angelic smile, telling me that Jungkook was out to meet someone in the marketing department. If there was anything important, I could leave it with her.

Declining the offer and thanking her, I made my way to the fireescape and the back stairwell. One of the doors opened to the emergency exit in Jungkook’s office and it took me a little bit of running around but I managed to locate it easily enough. 

Jungkook had left the door open and less than ten minutes later , I was in his office, staring around in mild awe. 

Weirdly enough, I’d never been here. before, mostly because Jungkook himself wasn’t in here all that much. But there was no mistaking that he actually did take his work seriously . I peered around the expensive drawing Tablet and the three or so monitor screens , the stylus tossed about. 

It was probably a huge breach of his privacy but I couldn’t help but click on the mouse, watching his monitor come alive. 

I blinked in disbelief when I realized what I was staring at. 

“Oh my  fuck...”  I

I felt my face flood with heat as I stared at the screen. 

It was a drawing of me. 

I was completely naked , reclining against what looked like a thick white fur rug , with countless plush cushions scattered all around me. The snow white fur set off the golden glow of my skin and I noticed the attention to detail, the tiny mole in the corner of my hip, the small half moon scar on the edge of my collar bone and of course an impressive collection of hickeys on my neck and my inner thighs. 

I looked the way I usually did when I was mouthing off at him, a little angry and rebellious, my eyes blazing with a challenge and my lips parted in annoyance . I had one hand resting right between my legs, two fingers pressed against the labia while the other two disappeared into me. The other hand lay on my breast, fingers tweaking one hard nipple . 

I turned away quickly, breathing harshly as I realized that Jungkook had literally drawn an incredibly accurate drawing of me masturbating , purely from memory.

Not entirely sure if i should be angry at this or not, I tried to clear the hazy cloud of arousal that was beginning to settle all over me. I wasn’t angry. 

I was just ridiculously turned on. 

And incredibly curious if he had other pics of me. 

I whirled back around to the computer and then nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that Jungkook was leaning against the doorway, watching me with an amused smile on his face. 

“Oh, fuck...” I clutched at my heart which felt like it was going to give out. 

“Pretty sure your desk isn’t here, Areum. Are you lost?” He drawled, stepping away from the door and stalking over to me. 

I stepped back quickly, the action purely instinctive. 

“Did you punch Junho?” I asked sharply.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“That is a very mild way to put it yes. He’s gonna be eating through a straw for a couple of months , yes.”

I glared at him. 

“What if you got arrested.” I folded my arms.

He laughed.

“Baby, come on. fucker had it coming. Anyway enough about that loser. Why are you hovering near my desk. Corporate espionage is generally frowned upon baby... Am i gonna have to spank you, you naughty girl?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

I rolled my eyes before walking up to his desk and turning the screen around to show the lewd artwork . 

“how long have you been drawing me like that?” I pointed at the screen and Jungkook looked surprised. 

Surprised but not particularly bothered. 

“Ah... i love that one... Did you see the way I only drew four of your fingers between your legs baby, your thumb is supposed to be rubbing on your clit.... I was working on it when I got called away earlier....” He looked apologetic. 

I felt like I had turned the exact shade of the marron carpet under my foot. 

“Jungkook how long have you been drawing me naked...” I snapped. 

“ Oh... probably the first time you let me see you naked.” He said nodding lightly and I stared at him.

“How come I’ve never heard of this?” I hissed and he gave me a grin. 

“Because it’s for my own personal...use.” He grinned. 

I glared at him.

“How many....?” I demanded.

Jungkook shrugged.

“50...? 60? Definitely at least fifty.” He said casually. 

I stared at him.

“I wanna see them.” I said sharply. Jungkook sighed, like I was being a pain , which was so unfair it made me want to scream. 

“Areum, I-” 

“Jungkook?” A soft voice called from the outer office and I frowned when Jungkook startled. 

“Oh, hey... Sana..... Come in.” His voice had shifted into something mild and pleasant and I felt my hackles rise. 

“Oh..hello... Areum ssi...” The girl gave me a confused smile and I resisted the urge to fold my hands and demand what she was doing there. Instead , I moved away from behind Jungkook’s desk, grabbing a file. 

“Good afternoon Sana ssi.” I smiled.

“I’m sorry, I missed lunch, Sana.... I wanted to give you this. “ Jungkook pulled out a small envelope from his jacket, smiling an absolutely angelic smile at her. 

Sana looked suitably enthralled, her eyes trained greedily on his perfect face as she took the envelope.

“Oh.. are these--?”

“Tickets to my match on Sunday yes...” He smiled. “ I’m hoping you’ll be there.” 

I felt my lungs expand as I took a deep breath to calm myself down. The urge to screech like a banshee was increasing by the second. 

“Oh, I’ll be there for sure. I’ll be cheering you on from the front row, Jungkook !!” She all but bounced on her feet, looking positively giddy with excitement as she bowed to both of us and literally floated away. 

I waited till she was fully gone before turning on him. 

“There better be another envelope in there with my name on it.” I gritted out. 

Jungkook grinned wide at that, eyes dancing with mirth. 

“In my jacket? Not really. But there’s something much better in my pants with your name on it. Want me to whip it out for you baby?? “

He grabbed the edge of his belt buckle, tugging the leather out of the hoops and I glared at him. 

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to be okay with you letting everyone watch you fight but  me. That is just unfair and uncalled for.” I snapped. 

Jungkook was still tugging on his belt, but he paused to give me a look.

“What’s in it for me?” He said softly. 

I frowned.

“What?”

“I’m not going to enter a deal without an equitable pay off....Its obvious that you’re really turned on by the thought of watching me fight . So unless you give me something I’m thirsty for.... I’m not going to indulge you,” He said casually. 

I laughed in disbelief. 

“There is literally nothing I’ve denied you in bed , you're crazy to even suggest -”

“I haven’t fucked your ass yet.” He said casually. 

I could feel myself turning red.

“No.” I hissed. “ Absolutely not.”

“Why the hell not?” He frowned.

“Because it fucking hurts. I’m not going through that again.” I snapped. 

Jungkook groaned like he was in actual pain. 

“Baby, its hardly my fault you’ve never slept with a real man before me, is it? Why should I deprived the pleasure of fucking your ass just because those buffoons didn’t know how to do it right?” Jungkook’s voice was dangerously close to a whine and I resisted the urge to throw something at him. 

“I don’t fucking care...its a no. So drop it. ” 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine. I’ll drop it. For now.” He muttered and then made a big show of thinking, “ alright fine. How about you let me tie you up.”

I stared at him.

“You literally do that every time we have sex.” I pointed out. 

“And I get to use my toy box.” 

I blinked.

“Your toy box.” I said , confused. He grinned mischievously. 

“You know the one...Big mahogany box  underneath my bed. The first time I showed you, you kind of screamed and called me a monster?” He grinned wide.

i had a brief flashback of an assortment of whips, floggers and gags. 

I shuddered. 

Nope. 

This wasn’t working. 

“How about this.... Either you get me those tickets or you don’t get to fuck me. At all.” I smirked.

Jungkook hummed.

“Why would you punish yourself like that love?” He drawled. “ You can’t live without my dick, the sooner you accept that the easier life is going to get for you.” 

The audacity of this bitch. 

I walked right past him , ready to stalk out,  but his hand shot out, gripping my elbow and pulling me into his embrace.

I struggled against his hold, but he brought both arms around my waist, flexing his muscles so I could feel just how futile it would be to try and break free. 

“Come on baby, walking out in the middle of negotiations...that’s just really poor etiquette. Think of the poor hostage....” He pouted , doe eyes wide and I nearly caved. He had no fucking business being sexy  and  cute. 

I laughed in disbelief.

“Hostage??....are you talking about your fucking ego....?” I stared right up at him , tilting my face when he moved to kiss me. His lips latched on to my jaw instead, tongue licking the skin there gently as he hummed . 

“No...I’m talking about my dick.” He grabbed both my elbows, swinging me around like I weighed nothing, one arm holding me in place as he pressed up against my back, hips rolling so I could feel the hardness of his dick right against the swell of my ass. “ Dude’’s feeling pretty darn trapped right now. Poor thing just wants to get inside you and ruin you baby, why you making it so hard for him...?” 

I elbowed him sharply, vindicated when the sharp edge of it caught something hard and fleshy. Jungkook grunted in discomfort but didn’t let go of me. 

“My little hellcat. “ He bit down on the juncture between my neck and shoulder, “You know why my dick is hard?”

“To match your cold unfeeling heart?” I snapped and he moaned in mock hurt. 

“Not fair baby...I have the kindest heart... Soft heart, hard dick....That’s literally my entire persona.” Jungkook nuzzled my neck .  

I fought the urge to laugh . 

“So why then? Because I’m within ten feet of you? Isn’t that all it takes usually?” I muttered, wincing a bit when his teeth sank in a little deeper.

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle.

“Normally I’d agree but today... I’m so fucking hard because you looked like you wanted to claw Sana’s face off when I gave her those tickets....” 

I flushed.

“Well, I just don’t think I should be the only one not allowed to see you fight.” 

“Or maybe you just hate the idea of any one else getting to touch my dick...because like I said...it’s got your name on it right baby?” Jungkook laughed against my ear and I blushed . 

“I still think its rude that you don’t let me come to your matches.” I grumbled. 

“And why do you think that is, baby? Why do you think I’m so adamant about you not being anywhere near me when I have something important to do...”

I didn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut when he suckled on the skin near my neck. 

“Its because I’ll probably lose..” He growled into my ear, “ Don’t wanna get knocked out in the first round because I was too busy staring at your pretty, pretty face and delicious fucking body... My only distraction, my  favorite  distraction.”

  I felt myself melt like an ice cream cone in the fucking sun. 

“Oh, fuck you....you honey-tongued son of a bitch...” I choked out, unable to fight the wide grin that was taking over my face. 

Jungkook chuckled in victory, hugging me tighter.

“So tell me.... Can I tie you up tonight? Get some of my favorite toys...Want to play in your sandbox....” He leered and I laughed despite myself. How could this man make the most innocent of phrases sound so fucking sexy.... 

“Only if you let me pick the toys.”

Jungkook let go of me and gently turned me around. He was frowning deeply. 

“Babe you don’t even know what their called.” He complained.

“But I can gauge how much damage they’ll do and that’s more important to me.” I pointed out. 

Jungkook gave me a thoughtful smile.

“Hmm....fine... But I get to offer the choices. “ He said softly. 

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Okay, in that case you need to let me see every single drawing you’ve made of me... right now.” I smiled.

Jungkook grinned, already grabbing my wrist and tugging me back to his desk.

“Deal...but I’m gonna need you to sit on my cock and keep it warm while I show them to you..... okay?” 

I glared at him but he was already moving to the wide , comfortable chair behind the desk. He sat on the chair, manspreading and unbuckling himself before wriggling the slacks down past his waist and tugging his boxers down. 

I watched him reach in to pull out his hard cock ,  pumping the hard length of it a couple of times before smiling at me expectantly. 

“Horny bastard.” I muttered under my breath, before letting him maneuver me into his lap, fingers slipping up my skirt and tugging my panties aside , before lining himself up against my center. 

“Ready baby?” He kissed my cheeks fondly and I nodded lowly. He pressed a couple of fingers against my slit, dipping in just enough to make sure I was wet enough. I wasn’t dry per se, but it still stung a bit when he drove himself in with one swift stroke. 

“Oh, fuck...” I groaned when he entered me , the rock hard length of him cleaving my insides and making my tongue go dry. I clenched down on him, thighs beginning to tremble already. I gripped the edge of the table in front of me. 

“Maybe I should call Sana in now.? Huh baby...that’ll show her who this dick belongs to, right , angel?” He whispered against my ear and I moaned, a gush of arousal staining my thighs at his words., Jungkook laughed knowingly, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me still before rolling his hips gently and settling inside me. 

“So baby, which ones do we start with.... Solo shots? ones with me....? There’s one of me fucking your pretty pink hole, maybe that’ll change your mind about letting me take you in the back...”

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

Author’s Note : I’m stopping here because the next chapter is just like 5k of porn and I wanted it to be a standalone chapter. 

Comments are love , Feedback is really appreciated. Send me your thoughts, ideas or even just scream about how hot Jungkook is....anything works. 

taglist : @veronawrites @aamxxrii  @brooky95

@apollukee

@ladyartemesia

@yoongisdragon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ if you guys wanna be on the taglist just lemme know...

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook au #bts au #bts enemies to lovers #jungkook fics #jungkook reactions #bts smut #bts fics

[wyn-n-tonic]

Oceans in the Desert

Word Count: 1,176 Warning: This is a couple dealing with the loss of a child, that is the theme. It is softness wrapped in grief. I am including an author's note at the end because what I have to say can also be triggering and I don't want to put that just out here and potentially harm or isolate somebody. Anyway, if you're reading this I love you and if you continue on, I love you. But if this subject matter is too triggering? Guess what! I love you.

Gif by: @aomine-dajki​.

He’s…changed.

Since losing the baby, he’s changed.

It shouldn’t be shocking, there are two people feeling this sudden absence and it is a fire consuming the tangled branches of their lives. But she is, at first. The hard exterior he usually sported had begun to soften. It always was around her. But everybody else? He was no longer the strong Din. And in her arms? He was completely shattered.

She’s changed too. Resolute in the belief that a loving and full family wasn’t where her role was meant to be played. She expected his face to change when looking at her. Imagined him twisting away from her. But if it changed at all, it was only with the gentle understanding of shared sadness.

Their grief came in unspoken shifts. Hers flowing freely in the light, an open book adding new chapters to the pages he knew so well. His came softly in the night, the darkness veiling him in the same safety of his uniform, allowing him to become free.

Life pattered on in a four-four beat and so, too, did their graceful dance. Families are torn apart every day and the world doesn’t stop. The world won’t stop for them either, it can’t. To process is to work. To tinker. To lead, not to lean. It’s always been like that, the orphan and the runaway. But where they used to hold themselves, they now hold each other.

He became reckless, helmet tossed to the side. He traded the armor for vulnerability, seeking a different kind of anonymity in the eyes of the world.

“I think I’m done with this,” he whispered, “Ana, I can’t do this anymore.”

Her breath caught behind the ever-present lump in her throat, forcing her upward in shock. She looked towards the rough outline of him at the edge of the bed, heart leaping forward as the gunshot signaling the start of the race rang heavy in her ears.

This is it.

“Din, I—“ What does she say? She never was a beggar but this is different. She wasn’t losing him too. “I didn’t mean for it to all fall apart like this. I didn’t mean t—“

“What?” He turns suddenly and cradles her tear stained cheek in his hand, his heartbeat radiating through his palms. “Stars, did you thin—“

But she’s already nodding into his hand, holding his wrist in a vice grip refusing to lose his touch. He’s a space heater and that warmth’s not lost in the gentle laugh that escapes him now. It’s the sweetest sound the living quarters have heard in weeks.

“No.” He’s pressing that soft pout to her forehead. “Never.” The tip of her nose. “My sweet girl.” Her lips.

Water wells heavy in relief on her lids but, still, she says, “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I—“ he pulls her to his chest and swallows hard, unable to keep looking into those big eyes still wild with the fear of fresh loss. “We are fragile. I should’ve chosen my words with care, I’m sorry. What I meant was that I can’t keep bowing out and acting like everything is normal.”

He stops, a ragged breath drawn into tired lungs.

“I don’t understand, Din.”

The quaking starts from somewhere deep within him, somewhere far below his sternum. Hollow where his soul should be, as if reaching in and seeking it out would produce nothing but empty air. The same vacancy has carved through her.

His tears fall like stars in the galaxy of her hair.

He waits five beats of his exhausted heart to steady himself before he speaks again, somehow softer, “I can’t continue to run and hunt and hide like this. I cannot keep living in transience and call that healing from my trauma and I won’t let you either.”

“You want a different life? With me?”

“I want a normal life. With you.”

“Din,” she’s pulling back, hands finding his face in the dim light, “What about the Creed? The Guild?”

He pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ears and when he speaks again, he is completely calm. Firm. Resolved.

“I will no longer be bound by rules I did not create.”

Her eyes are searching his, looking for a shred of doubt but there’s none to be found. His mind’s made up but, “Din, you’ve spent thirty-something yea—“

“Fuck the Creed, Ana. The only good thing they ever brought me was my family,” a ragged breath draws through him once more, “but they’re the reason we lost our son. I will not do this anymore. I will not do this to you anymore. We both deserve stability after what we’ve been through.”

The pad of her thumb runs across the curve of his cheek, the constant tears doing in weeks what usually takes years. Her man, her mountain of a man, has been reshaped in front of her. "Where will we go?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere green. I think he liked green.”

He nods, sadder still. “I think so too. I wish I could’ve asked him.”

“I wish for so many things, Din. I would’ve waited centuries just to hear his little voice. What do you think his first word would’ve been?”

He laughs again and it fills the emptiness of the room, of them. “Well, he spent all his time with us so my credits would be on, ‘Fuck.’”

Her laughter bubbles up, lilting in time with his as they imagine their sweet boy, beaming up at them with his little teeth and wide eyes.

“And the thing is, Ana,” he’s settling down, chest rising and falling at a normal pace now, “I wouldn’t even have admonished him. I wouldn’t have denied that boy a goddamn thing.”

“No,” she brushes his overgrown curls to the side, “neither would I. He had us wrapped around his finger the moment he came into our orbit.”

His heart visibly sinks, “Laughing makes me feel guilty.”

“Yeah,” she bites her lip and pulls him into her, allowing gravity to take them both to bed, “it makes me feel guilty too."

“I keep wondering if this pain will ever end and then, in fleeting moments, I forget there was ever pain to begin with. Then it hits me all over again because I don’t want to forget him.”

“No, my love, I don’t want to either. They say forgetting is the ultimate loss. I won’t let you do that.” She takes a deep breath as her fingers tangle into the wilds that have claimed his crown. “Promise me that you won’t let him slip away from me either.”

He pulls her closer, wringing out what little space is left between their bodies. Lips finding hers in the gentlest kiss as salt water mixes in the shared space of home, he whispers, “I promise you.”

One day, the pain may subside into a dull ache. One day, it may even go away altogether. But for now?

The sobs that shook their bodies could’ve filled oceans in the desert.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This was one of the hardest, most cathartic things I've ever written. I lost a child when I was twenty-two and I did it all by myself while surrounded by people who said they loved me. I wrote this the way that I did because it's how I wanted my ex partner to behave, I wanted him to care and cry with me and he didn't. His reaction made me believe that nobody else would care or cry with me either. I stayed silent in my grief for years. I used to feel like losing that pregnancy made me a failure but when I finally opened up about it the amount of love and support I received was everything that I had been craving. If you are suffering through this grief alone, I promise you that you're not and I hope that the people you are surrounded by give you the love and the care that you deserve. I hope that the people around you cry with you. You're not a failure, you never have been.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #grogu #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #sir i am crying because i will never be grogu's mother #pedro pascal #loss #ofc #original female character #baby yoda

[mandospace]

Allure (Boba Fett x Reader)

Request:  Hi! I love your writing! 🖤 May I request something with jealous Boba? 🙏🏻✨

Requested By: @kat-r-in​

Word Count: 4,224

Warnings: Strong language, jealousy

A/N: Sorry if this kind of sucks :( But maybe you don’t think it sucks, so enjoy, anyways! **gif not mine, credit to the creator!**

MASTERLIST

“If we come in from the side, he won’t suspect a thing.”

“No, that’s too obvious- he’d spot us from a mile away.”

The constant bickering between the two Mandalorians was becoming old, and fast. They were surrounding a table that had maps scattered over it, gloved fingers pointing at different areas. A single puck sat between them, hologram shining the face of the quarry that the two hunters were after. The three of you had tracked the quarry to Canto Bight- one of the richer and more frivolous cities the three of you had ever been. You were positive that he was hiding somewhere in one of the many bars and casinos- the question was which one.

After some light scouting done by the two hunters, the pair determined that the quarry was hiding out in the largest casino that Canto Bight had to offer. Go figure.

The three of you- more accurately the two bounty hunters- were trying to come up with a plan to capture the quarry effectively and as quietly as possible. Drawing attention in a city this big was never good, and the two Mandalorians already stuck out like a sore thumb in their beskar armor. 

“Well we can’t just walk up to the guy,” Boba huffed, thick arms crossing over his chest in exasperation. The bickering was giving you a headache. You tried to tune them out as best as you could but their deep voices seemed to echo in the hull of Slave One. Rubbing your temples for some form of relief, Din spoke up.

“Why not?”

Boba gave Din an annoyed glance through his black visor. His irritation radiated from him in waves. “I don’t really have to explain why that is a stupid idea to you, do I?”

“No,” Din shook his head. “Not us. Her.” He swung his arm out in your general direction, casting the Mandalorians’ gaze on you. You squirmed in your seat at the attention.

“Me?” 

“No.” Boba spoke at the same time you did, voices overlapping. Embarrassment at being called out soon turned to frustration at Boba’s quick dismissal of you. You could feel your metaphorical hackles raise in defense.

“Why not?” Din cut in before you could argue for yourself. “She’s perfect. Put her in a pretty dress and she’d blend in with the wealthiest of the crowd. She could saunter right up to the quarry and seduce him like that.” Din punctuated his sentence with a snap of his fingers. You could feel the blush rising to your cheeks at his suggestion of you seducing someone- you couldn’t do that. “She tempts him out the back door where we will be waiting to get him. It’d be over in an hour.”

Din’s words hung in the air as Boba contemplated the plan before answering with a resounding ‘no.’ Anger flashed hot in your veins.

“I can do it,” you shot a glare at the green helmet before turning to Din’s silver one. “When do we start?”

“I said no.” Boba’s tone was dangerous- the threat very clear. Before Din could argue for you again, you hopped off your crate and stormed up to the older hunter. 

“You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t do,” you jabbed a finger into the green cuirass. Pain radiated through your finger, you forgot just how hard beskar was.

“It’s too dangerous,” Boba grabbed your wrist to push away your hand. Hurt flashed through your eyes at his motion. “You could get hurt.”

“Then one of us will protect her,” Din interjected, disrupting the tense glaring match you and Boba were having. “Follow her from a distance, watch out for any problems. And if she needs us, we’ll be there.”

“I’ll be fine, Boba,” you switched tactics, trying to appeal to his more gentler side. If he even had one. You reached your hand out and rested it on the green beskar covering his chest. This time he didn’t push you away. “Din will step in if anything-”

“I’m going to watch you.” Boba cut you off and settled his gaze on your face. You couldn’t be sure, but you were certain that he was looking you in the eye. “Din will wait out back to catch him. If anything goes wrong, I will step in and protect you, even if it means the quarry gets away. Understand?”

Din spoke his understanding, nodding along to the plan. You were frozen to the floor of the ship, trapped under Boba’s gaze. While his words were meant for Din, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. He was willing to give up the bounty for you? He was willing to give up the job that would keep them comfortable for a month for you?

“I still don’t like this,” Boba grumbled, breaking your gaze to look at Din. He took a step back from the tense bubble the two of you created before turning to walk to the cockpit. “Get ready. We’re doing this tonight.”

Boba left the two of you in a flurry before the doors leading to the cockpit slammed shut. Din laid a tentative hand on your shoulder and you jumped in surprise. “Don’t worry, you’ll do great. Boba is just being dramatic.”

You were still frozen to your spot on the floor, staring at the sealed doors of the cockpit. “There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t own a dress.”

———

After storming off, Boba passed the time in the cockpit, silently fuming by himself. The anger was like a raging sea in his chest, waves battering against his ribs. Logically, Boba knew that the plan was good and that it would work. The quarry would get one look at you and would fall at your feet in adoration, maybe even cuff himself if you asked in just the right way, just the right context. He knew that you could handle yourself and that you would be okay, and if not, he’d be there.

Realistically, though, the idea of some sleazy guy putting his hands on you made his stomach turn. Just the idea of another man touching you- no, even looking at you- made Boba see red. The anger and hatred for this quarry and his imagined slights against you rose up in his throat, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His grip on one of the dashboard’s levers tightened before the lever snapped from the pressure. Boba looked at the metal object in his hand, disgusted.

“Great,” Boba grumbled to himself before tossing the broken lever to the corner. “Now I’ve got to fix that.”

Boba knew he shouldn’t feel this way about you. Feel this insanely possessive feeling that gripped his heart every time you walked into a room or smiled at him. You weren’t his, you didn’t belong to him, and you never would. Even if you had wanted him too, Boba reasoned with himself that he would turn you away for your own safety. You were too gentle, too kind, too pure to get wrapped up in his bloody life. He wouldn’t make you go through that, even if he desperately wanted you by his side every step of the way.

The watch on his vambrace beeped, signaling that it was time to leave. Boba stood up with a sigh, strapping his blaster to his hip. The sooner he left for this mission, the sooner he could get back to sulking by himself. He met Din in the hull of the ship who was waiting, ready for the mission. Din leaned against the wall, fingers messing with the whistling birds on his vambrace. Boba had always wanted some of those.

“Is she ready?” Boba asked while settling in next to Din. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh.

“Almost,” Din responded. “She had to run out earlier, so she is a little behind.”

“Run out?” The words left Boba’s mouth in confusion. What did he mean, you ‘ran out?’

Before Din could answer, the soft sound of clicks against the floor made the two Mandalorians look up in interest. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Boba’s heart almost burst through the hard beskar strapped to his chest at the sight of you.

You were absolutely breathtaking. Boba was glad for the helmet that hid his face, or else you and Din would’ve seen his gaping mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off you- each glance sent a trickle of heat running south, pooling low in his stomach. The silvery-white fabric draped over your curves deliciously. A slit ran up the side of the skirt, showing your leg with each step. Boba couldn’t help but stare at the skin revealed before his eyes. You were ethereal, reminding him of the angels that lived on the moons of Iego.

“Wow...” Din let out a shaky breath. Boba’s gaze immediately snapped to Din who was currently drinking in your form. Anger and jealousy flared inside of Boba. “You look...”

“Beautiful,” Boba finished Din’s sentence, drawing your gaze to him. He hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but they did, and his face was red under the helmet. The way you looked at him, a nervous smile gracing your features as you tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear made Boba want to reach out and touch you. Before he could do something he’d regret, Boba turned around and opened the ship’s ramp. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the casino was long, the three of you trying to make your way through Canto Bight’s bustling crowds. Din walked beside you, making light conversation while Boba trailed behind to watch out for any trouble. His mind wasn’t focused on scanning the crowd for dangerous people though, instead it was focused on the dip of your back where Din’s hand rested. Boba knew that it probably wasn’t anything other than friendly- the logical part of him told him this- but that still didn’t stop the animalistic urge growing inside him to snatch you away from Din’s grip with a snarl. Your dress draped low on your back, revealing even more skin that Boba longed to touch. You looked so soft, he was sure your skin would feel like the silk you were wearing. Din’s thumb continued tracing lazy circles into the exposed skin on the small of your back. With each brush, Boba’s vision tinted redder with ire.

“We’re here,” Din’s voice snapped Boba out of his thoughts, red haze fading when you turned and looked at him. Just one look from you and he could practically feel the anger melting off of him. “I’ll be waiting out back for the quarry. If you need me,” Din tapped the side of his helmet twice, a silent way of saying ‘call me,’ before he turned with a swirl of his cape. He vanished into the crowd, and Boba was left alone with you.

“Here,” he grabbed your wrist, bringing it closer to him and having your palm face up. He placed a small piece of technology in your open hand. “This is your communicator. Put it in your ear. It lets me hear what’s going on around you, and lets you talk to me if you need me for any reason.”

You looked at the small piece in your hand before putting it in your ear. It was slightly irritating, the little communicator. Boba pressed a button on his vambrace and a small little beep sounded in your ear.

“There,” Boba’s voice was much deeper through the earpiece. Even though he was only a few feet in front of you, it felt like he was right beside your head, whispering in your ear. “Now I can hear everything.”

“Everything?” Your mind drifted to what was about to happen. You knew you had to seduce the quarry, and that was already embarrassing as is, but now Boba gets to hear it too? “Even...”

“Yes,” Boba nodded. He already didn’t like the plan. Any plan that put you in harm’s way was a bad plan to him, but he still knew this would work. Didn’t mean that he had to like it. 

“What if I...” you trailed off, heat flooding your cheeks in embarrassment. Maker, you were so bad at this. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Boba prompted, stepping closer to you so he could avoid the moving crowd.

“No, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Sweet girl,” Boba sighed at the look of nervousness on your face. You had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, and he desperately wanted to free it with a brush of his thumb. “If you don’t want to do this, we’ll just turn around and head back. Din and I-”

“No,” you cut him off. You could do this, no matter how inexperienced you were in the art of seduction. “I can do this. I may just... need help.”

“I’ll be watching you and will jump in if anything goes wrong-”

“No, not that,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. Kriff, why was this so awkward to tell him? “I’ve just... never seduced anyone before. What if he doesn’t even follow me out back, and this whole mission is a bust?”

For the second time that night, Boba was thankful that his helmet blocked his features from you. He was dumbstruck at your words- you had never seduced anyone before? Stars, Boba thought, you seduce him with just a smile. 

“Boba,” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized that he was silent. He was too busy fantasizing about you actually trying to seduce him- you were already incredibly sexy to him every day. You weren’t even trying to make him feel all hot and bothered every time you looked at him. You were just that effortlessly alluring.

“If you really need me,” Boba tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Kriff, if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn you were trying to seduce him right now with that innocent look in your eyes, just begging for him to- “I’ll give you some pointers,” he cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you’ll need my help.”

You exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Boba,” you rested your hand on his green cuirass, right over his heart. Maker, you were going to make him come in his pants if you kept looking at him like that. You had barely touched him, barely said anything to him and he was already wanting to push you up against a wall and have his way with you. He could imagine it vividly with how close you were to him right now, your sweet scent filling his head. It would be so easy, Boba thought, to just grab your hips and pin you to the wall. To hitch your leg up and around his waist- leg bare from the slit in the silvery fabric of your dress- as he pressed his hard length against you and buried his face in your neck. So easy- “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“Of course,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to adjust himself discreetly. “Anything for you, sweet girl.” The tracking fob clipped to his belt started beeping, noting the hunter that the quarry was close. He silenced it with a push of a button. Boba turned back to you. “It’s time.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. Boba desperately tried not to stare at your chest when you did that. “Wish me luck.” You turned with a swirl of your dress, silvery fabric billowing out behind you as you made your way into the casino. Boba just stood there, transfixed on your fleeting image. He hated to see you walk away, but he loved to watch you leave.

___

The casino was bright and loud- people surrounding various tables and shouting with glee over winning or yelling in fury at losing their entire fortune. Machines flashed blinking lights, tempting the patrons to waste their money at a chance to win. You tried to push the noise to the back of your head whilst your eyes scanned the crowd for the quarry. There were so many people, you weren’t sure if you were ever going to find the quarry until your eyes found him at the bar. He was leaning against the counter, talking to some pretty Twi’lek who did not seem that interested. You drew in a shaky breath before making your way to the bar. 

“Spotchka, please.” You settled in against the counter right next to the quarry, raising your hand to catch the bartender’s attention. You could feel the quarry’s eyes on you when you gave the bartender a dazzling smile. His gaze sent shivers down your spine- but not the good kind. It wasn’t the delicious shivers that raked over your body whenever Boba looked at you or brushed his hand against your skin. This gaze made you feel uncomfortable.

 “Any luck tonight?” The quarry sidled up next to you, forgetting the pretty Twi’lek. You forced yourself to give him a smile and turn towards him like you were even remotely interested.

“Unfortunately, no, not yet,” you brought the blue drink up to your lips and took a slow sip. Your eyes drifted over his form, acting like you were actually checking him out. “But I have a feeling my luck is about to change.”

The man smiled at you and his eyes settled on your cleavage. Fighting back the disgusted feeling you felt, you pushed out your breasts ever so subtly, trying to entice him even more.

“I think you’re right, gorgeous.”

___

Boba hated this. He hated sitting in some corner of the casino, watching you flirt with this scum. His hand was constantly clenched in a fist, other twitching to feel the smooth metal of his blaster. Boba desperately wanted to shoot the quarry down where he stood as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. You laughed at something he must’ve said, head tilting back with laughter displaying your neck and more of your chest. Even from this far away, Boba could see that the quarry brazenly looked at your breasts and licked his lips in hunger. What was even worse was watching this man touch you and hear your words that were egging the quarry on.

“So,” you had trailed your hand down the man’s chest. Boba couldn’t help the hate and jealousy for the quarry that rose up in his throat like acid as he watched you. Boba wished it was him that you were trailing your hands over, wished it was him that you were looking at beneath your eyelashes. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Not at all.” The quarry dragged his hand lazily up and down your arm, seemingly trying to entice you. You had flushed at the man’s touches. Boba hoped that it was just a fluke- that you weren’t actually attracted to and turned on by this garbage. He could feel his finger twitch towards his blaster again. “What about you, gorgeous?”

Boba watched you pull your bottom lip between your teeth like you did earlier that night as you looked the man up and down. He almost launched himself from his seat when the quarry brushed his thumb over your lip, releasing the pillowy flesh. Boba should be the one doing that, not him. 

“Well,” you looked shyly up at the man, hand trailing down his chest. “I was hoping you could do something for me.”

“Yeah? What’s that, angel?” The quarry had wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. Boba’s chest was heaving as he tried to calm himself down. You didn’t actually want the quarry, Boba had to remind himself. You were only doing this to help him and Din.

You had leaned in closer to him, mouth moving to whisper something in the quarry’s ear. Boba was able to hear what you said because of the earpiece. 

“Me,” you whispered seductively before pulling back slightly to crash your lips against the quarry’s. 

Red was all Boba saw. A growl ripped through his chest at the sight of you kissing that trash, that garbage, that scum. He launched from his seat and was making his way towards you so he could tear you from the man’s greedy grip.

“Boba, don’t.” Din’s voice cut through his earpiece. “Let her lead him outside first.” Boba stopped in his tracks at Din’s words. “You’re going to tip off the quarry if you mow down half the casino to get to him.”

Boba didn’t realize that the crowd had jumped away from his warpath. Whispers of “Mandalorian” and “bounty hunter” floated through the crowd while Boba stood there, fuming. He tried to take deep breaths to tamper down the fury that threatened to boil over at the image of you wrapped in the quarry’s arms. Only when the quarry took his lips off yours was Boba able to stop shaking from his anger.

“Let’s get out of here,” the quarry started to tug you towards the exit.

“He’s headed your way,” Boba gritted out through the comm. He trailed behind the two of you, watching you follow the quarry out the door. Within moments Boba was out through the exit, and fury swirled in his chest at what he saw.

The quarry had pinned you to the wall of the casino and had his hands and lips on you. Boba couldn’t wait for Din to swoop down from the shadows and get the quarry. He was going to put a stop to this, now.

Boba grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and ripped him off you. Anger flashed behind his visor as he slammed the quarry’s back against the wall. The man’s eyes widened in fear when Boba drew his fist back, poised to slam it into his face. Before he could break the man’s jaw, Din had finally revealed himself and put himself between the quarry and Boba.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch her again,” Boba seethed. He couldn’t even get any satisfaction of watching Din cuff the bastard. He had never wanted to kill someone so badly- not since he watched a jedi cut down his father.

“Boba.” Your soft voice had pulled him from his red-tinged thoughts. He looked down at you as you placed your hand on his arm. Boba almost melted into your soothing touch. “I’m okay, he didn’t hurt me.”

“I know, but-” Boba’s head turned to look at the scum again but your hand on his helmet directed his gaze back to you. He could feel his cheek heat up under your touch even though you weren’t directly touching his skin. The look you gave him made Boba weak in the knees- he could hardly feel the anger he was just raging with only minutes ago. 

“Everything I said, everything I did, was all a lie.” You had your hands on either side of his helmet, cupping his face. “I need you to know that.”

Boba could only nod at your words. He knew that they were true, but jealousy still lingered beneath his skin at the memory of your lips pressed against the quarry’s. “Guess you didn’t need my help after all, sweet girl.”

“Trust me, I most certainly did.” You unknowingly held his gaze under the black visor. “If I didn’t pretend that it was you that I was talking to, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

Your words made Boba pull up short. “What?”

The heat that flushed over your cheeks was beautiful. “I, umm, pretended that I was, ah, trying to seduce you.” You stumbled over your words, but Boba’s heart swelled with them. Before he could stop himself, Boba was tearing off his helmet from his head and pushing you back against the wall, large hands on your hips.

“Sweet girl,” Boba sighed as he brushed his nose against yours. Not wanting to waste another minute, he crashed his lips against yours. Your lips were so soft beneath his own, even better than he dreamed. A soft sigh slipped from between your lips and Boba almost let out a moan at the taste of your breath on his tongue. You even tasted sweet, Boba thought. He wondered where else you would taste sweet.

“Boba,” you moaned against his mouth. He just continued to kiss you, pulling you tight against his chest. Before he could make the kiss any deeper, you pulled away from him, much to his dismay. “We can’t do this.”

That certainly made him stop dead in his tracks, cold fear pulsing through his veins. He had thought that you wanted this, wanted him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” you cut him off, hand cupping his cheek. “You misunderstood me. We can’t do this, not here.”

Just as your words had stopped his heart, they revived it just as easily. He couldn’t help but press a bruising kiss against your lips. “Thank the Maker.” His grip on you tightened. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Don’t you forget it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smiled up at him before you pulled him back down to your lips. “Not in a million years.”

#boba fett masterlist #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x y/n #boba fett imagine #boba fett drabble #boba fett one shot #boba fett oneshot #boba fett fanfic #boba fett fic

[passable-talent]

May I perhaps request a part 8 for the dai li series? I'm very very hype for what's to come for the finale!

should’ve figured this would happen within 20 min

ya boi returns after a week of classes with significantly better mental health! not enough to make me think I’ll be here more often than I have, but enough to give me the passion i need to f u c k i n g d e l i v e r 

and now...

THE MOMENT YOUVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 |

The day of Sozin’s Comet.

The comet tore its way across the sky behind Appa, vaporizing clouds and turning the sky blood red, as though it knew the terror and destruction it was meant to bring. Seated in Appa’s saddle behind Katara and Zuko, you looked over his tail at it, its brightness in the sky that rivaled the sun. You wondered when it would behind to effect firebenders- you wondered if Zuko could already feel it. 

“Zuko, don’t worry,” said Katara, catching the anxiety you had noticed slipping off of him like waves. “We can take Azula.”

“I’m not worried about her,” Zuko said, “I’m worried about Aang. What if he doesn’t have the guts to take out my father?” You made brief eye contact with Katara before moving forward, getting closer to the conversation. 

“What if he loses?” Zuko’s voice was clear in its trepidation. 

“Aang won’t lose,” Karata said, confidence in her tone. “He’s gonna come back. He has to.” You put your hand on her shoulder, settling down on your knees between the two of them. 

“Of course he will,” you said, looking over your shoulder once again at the comet. “He wouldn’t let us face Ozai without him.” Zuko caught his reaction before it made its way to his face, controlling it. But all the same, he had to wonder- had he even told you his father’s name? And referring to him as ‘Ozai’, rather than ‘the Firelord’- a disrespect that even some of the others of the team hadn’t done. 

None of the three of you wore armor. What would metal do against fire, anyway? You wore the uniform of a Dai Li student, or what had once been. Its long, loose sleeves had been ripped at your biceps and the baggy pants ripped just below your knees, so that all that was left to be recognized was the symbol of Ba Sing Se on your chest, and the gold trim as it hung at your waist. If you were going to win the war, today, you’d do it for your home city. 

You didn’t wear shoes. 

“There’s the palace,” Katara said, leaning forward to get as good a look at the courtyard as she could. “It’s almost empty.”

“Except for Azula,” you said, narrowing your eyes as though that would help you see. “And those guys.”

“Those are the Fire Sages. Everyone else is either with the fleet or at home, waiting for the victory,” Zuko said, his normal brand of anger yet nonchalance gracing his voice. Drawing closer, the words of the Fire Sages drifted up to where you could hear them, high on Appa’s back. 

“By decree of Phoenix King Ozai, I now crown you Firelord-” he hands swung down to place the crown in Azula’s hair, but he paused, noticing Appa beside one of the towers. Appa bellowed as he approached, and Azula’s words were lost beneath the sound. Appa landed at the steps of the palace, and Zuko stood. 

“Sorry, but you’re not going to become Firelord today.” He leapt down, leaving you and Katara on the saddle. “I am.” Azula’s laugh ground on your ears, shivering you to the bone. She looked... unkempt. 

“You’re hilarious.” Katara approached Zuko’s side, and you flanked his other. 

“And you’re going down,” she levied against Azula, and you couldn’t help but find a smile sliding to your face. Azula has had this coming, just like you said to Iroh only hours ago. You were happy that you got to be a part of the force that took her down, after all the pain she had brought into your life. She was a monster. 

“Wait,” Azula said, stopping the head sage from placing the headpiece on her, “You want to be Firelord?” She stood, and walked toward the edge of the stairs. You didn’t like standing beneath her. “Fine. Let’s settle this. Just you and me, brother.” She spat the word with contempt that you wanted to wipe right off of her face. “The showdown that was always meant to be- Agni Kai!” 

“You’re on,” Zuko growled before you could even react. You turned your head, noticing Katara had done the same. 

“Zuko-” you said, concern in your voice. You’d come all this way to help, and Katara had too, and now he was going to take her on without you? 

“What are you doing? She’s playing you,” Katara said, narrowing her eyes. “She knows she can’t take all three of us, so she’s trying to separate us.” You wanted to reach out and take his hand, as though to pull him toward reason, but something held you back. You stole a glance at Azula, and the sick, gloating smile on her face. 

“I know,” Zuko said, and your eyes widened slightly, surprised that he knew the trap but still walked into it. “But I can take her this time.”

“But even you admitted to your uncle that you would need help facing Azula.”

“Zuko, that’s why we’re here for you,” you added, finally breaking your gaze from the princess. 

“There’s something off about her,” he said, “I can’t explain it, but she’s slipping.” It was like you could feel her gaze on the side of your head as you looked at her brother, like you could feel her weighing her decisions, like she did back in Ba Sing Se, when she manipulated you and Zuko both. It made you shiver. 

“And this way,” Zuko said, reaching out and taking your hand while he looked at Katara, “no one else has to get hurt.” You squeezed his hand, tightly, before letting go and circling him to Katara’s side. The courtyard before the steps of the palace were cleared, and the two siblings took up positions facing away from each other. You stood with Katara, not far from Zuko. It may have been against the rules, but still you wanted to stand by, in case you needed to interfere and help him. You were sure Katara felt the same way. 

Slowly, the siblings stood, what felt like miles separating them. 

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, brother,” Azula said in a near snarl, slicking her robe from her shoulders and discarding it to the ground. Zuko stood steadfast in his ready stance, calm. 

“No you’re not.”

Azula took up her ready stance, and before you knew it, the battle had begun. 

Until this moment, you hadn’t seen firebending under the influence of Sozin’s Comet. You understood the effect it was supposed to have had, but the pure size of the awful flames was something you could never have predicted, nor truly understood, if it weren’t for this moment, this amazing and intense shot of flame Azula conjured, her blue contrasting the sky and sun of dark red, and Zuko’s return, his bright yellows and oranges filling your vision and blocking Azula. The impact of the powers of the siblings created a wall that bisected the entirety of the palace grounds, and the heat and wind pushed your hair from your face. 

From the fading wall burst Azula’s fire, four waves of flame accompanying her movements, and as Zuko split and deflected each one, you kept your eye on him. His footwork. His stance. He had learned from Aang, just a bit- don’t go straight to the attack. Weave with your partner. He had absolute control, but still your fists flexed, making the ground roll beneath your exposed toes. Your feet were firmly planted to the ground, so even when you blinked, you could follow the fight. 

The two traded blows, their deflected flames launching up and out of the courtyard, coloring the clouds. Azula’s misfires tore through homes and set rooftops ablaze. Zuko’s blast toward her was matched, and as he adjusted his position it moved past him, a wall of cyan sliding past a wall of amber. Planting a foot to the floor, you rocked your fist up, a wall erupting from the stone floor to split Azula’s blaze in front of you and Katara. For the moment, you huddled together, watching as the fire circled you like a predator before disappearing. Quickly, you shot it down into its place, and once again took your eyes to the battle. The front of the palace was ablaze, and in a rage, Azula leapt toward Zuko, raining down on top of him what looked like a whip of fire. Planting his stance, he split it, a pathway opening straight from him to his sister. You recognized that move- Toph had taught it to you. 

Azula was on one knee, collecting herself, and from far away it looked like she was breathing hard. Zuko, on the other hand, stood strong, and steady. He moved toward her two interwoven streams of flame that roared and grew as they moved, which she slid out from beside. You couldn’t look away, even as tears fought to moisten your eyes from their onslaught of heat. Azula gave him a sloppy attack, and so he did what you could only describe as ascending, rising on a pillar of fire until he could swing an arc at her as he fell back down, splitting her next offense. 

She swung around him, weaving, and he stood his ground, protecting himself. But he sensed the weakness that you could not see- as long as she was sliding on her flames, as long as she wasn’t connected to the ground, he could break her root. He sent a wave of flame in all directions that broke up her fire, and sent her crashing to the ground. 

She collected herself up, her hair fallen from its updo, fluttering around her and into her eyes. She had a madness in those eyes, a bloodthirst, but her stance was weak and her back hunched, like something was giving out beneath her. 

“No lightning today?” You heard Zuko taunt. “What’s’a matter? Afraid I’ll redirect it?” He brought himself into an offensive stance, and, sensing danger, Katara ran closer. You followed, remembering your last run-in with Azula’s lightning. The night Aang died. 

“Oh, I’ll show you lightning!” Azula snarled, and, following your instincts, you pushed Katara behind you. Rock would fare better against lightning than water. 

With movements to her right, then her left, Azula collected her lightning, thunder echoing off of walls and mountainsides and clouds all around you. Through the earth you felt as Zuko took a deep breath, his heartbeat calm, but your eyes remained on the princess. 

She gathered her two fingers to her chest, readying to fire. But then, you saw her eyes land on you.

Sometimes, a person sees a million moments pass in less than one. 

You saw her stance pivot to you, and her arm extend toward you and Katara. But she wasn’t targeting Katara- she knew what you were, and what you had become. You had become a weakness, not in yourself, but in Zuko, and she had seen it in the way you looked at him in Ba Sing Se, and she had seen it in the way he had reached for your hand at the steps of the palace. You had endangered Katara, and so with the world moving by at the pace of a million moments in less than one, you launched forward to plant both feet, sweeping your arms from your sides and in, up, and from the tiles began to rise a wall. 

And you saw, at a pace of a million moments in less than one, the way that Zuko ran between you and the lightning, the blue of it drowning out any other color. The strength in your arms faded, and the wall in front of you, meant to protect you and Katara, vaporized to sand, and crumbled back to the ground. Zuko absorbed the lightning, and shot it out above the walls of the volcano. 

There he was left, then, trembling. 

“Zuko!” you shouted, and Katara the same, both of you meaning to run toward him. But Azula reminded you that she was still a threat by slamming the ground in front of you with lightning, and you snapped your gaze to her. 

Once, in a cavern deep beneath a palace in Ba Sing Se, Azula had come between you and Zuko. And that day, you’d been too scared- you were a kid who had never seen war. You weren’t ready to attack, and if you were, maybe that day would’ve changed how the war played out. Once, in a cavern deep beneath a palace in Ba Sing Se, you’d failed to keep Zuko from his sister. 

It wouldn’t happen again. 

You let out a scream and lifted a dozen boulders from the tiled ground, launching them at the princess, each in turn. Her laughter grated against your skin and you’d never moved with such rage in your bones before, the strain on your joints nothing compared to your heartbreak. Your hair and clothes whipped around you, put to the test by the speed with which you were moving. And yet, Azula alluded you. 

“Y/N!” Katara called, and you wisened up for just long enough to realize that she was all too used to fighting off a rage-fueled attacker. You weren’t going to win this way, and now, winning was up to Katara and you. One more shot you pressed toward her, and using that as a distraction, you knocked her from her path with a stone launched from just beside her. It gave you enough time to slip with Katara from the battlefield into the awning-filled pavilions nearby. 

You could barely keep your legs from turning you back to where Zuko still lay. 

Azula brought her fire down from behind the pavilion where you and Katara had taken shelter, and so she chased you out, back toward the open yard. Katara made a break for Zuko, covering her hand in water so she could heal him, and as you ran, you threw your open hands down toward the ground, walls slicing up beside him, hopefully to keep him safe. But your path was interrupted by Azula’s flame, her laughter rocking your core as she conjured lightning, and so you shot back a boulder to divert her long enough for you and Katara to put just a bit more distance between you and her.

Still, her lightning caught up to you, and the explosion sent you both flying. Katara rolled, and you brought up a platform to land on properly. Azula landed on a nearby rooftop, giddy smiles on her face. 

“I’d really rather our family physician look after little Zu-zu, if you don’t mind!” Her voice gave you pause, even as you launched to the side to avoid her lightning. What, really, was she doing, attacking her own brother? What had brought her to being the bloodthirsty murderer she was so prepared to become?

More flame chased Katara as she joined you behind a pillar, and you stomped your heel to the floor to raise even another wall between you and where Azula had just been. 

“Zu-zu, you don’t look so good!” Azula snarled, and with her scream sent another bolt of lightning to Katara, the crack of thunder nearly deafening you as it split you from her, sending you in opposite directions. 

After all that, though, when choosing who Azula would go after, who Azula would see as a threat, it wasn’t you. She went for Katara, and after a moment, you realized her goal- Katara was the only one, now, who could save Zuko’s life. And so you slipped to the side, running between columns, one eye on Azula and the other on Zuko. Katara froze both her and the princess in place, and immediately you knew who would come out the winner. You bolted to Zuko’s side, your feet carrying you shakily, until you crashed to your knees beside him. You lowered the walls you’d put up around him and rolled him to his back, finally laying eyes on the deep, raw wound on his stomach. 

“Stay still,” you ordered him, extending one foot out to ground yourself, and you punched the tile in order to raise up a platform underneath him, where Katara could hope to work better. Shaking hands extended toward his face, and those tears that once tried to protect your eyes from the heat now tried to protect them from something far, far worse- the pain in Zuko’s expression. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” you promised him, even as he flinched and groaned, even as your voice shook, even as you slowly cupped his face. The sound of a crash of water made you look over your shoulder, and the sight you found was relieving- Katara chaining Azula to the ground. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” you promised again, your voice shaking even as this time, you knew you weren’t lying. Katara was there only a moment later, water already coating her hands, ready to press it down into his wound. It began to glow, and you watched as Zuko’s face first flexed with more pain, then relaxed. A tearful smile crossed your face and a small sob escaped your lungs, and he looked first to you, then to Katara. 

“Thank you, Katara,” he said, taking a deep breath, and settling his muscles down onto the stone beneath him. 

Azula had been defeated. Zuko was to be Firelord. For the moment, the world was triumphant, and you saw him smile. You’d waited a thousand moments for this one, right here, when everything was okay, and when he was safe. 

You’d waited a thousand moments, but in this one, you couldn’t remember the ones where he’d hurt you, where you’d hated him. You couldn’t remember the ones filled with pain, and anger, the ones in which you walked away from him in anger, or threw up a wall between the two of you, or yelled at him. You couldn’t remember the ones in which he hadn’t done what you’d needed him to, or in which you had kept yourself at arms length. 

All you could remember where the moments that truly brought you to this one, right here. 

Finally, you leaned down, and you kissed him. 

Your fingers slid into his hair at the back of his head, and cupped his head away from the hard stone beneath him. Your eyes closed, all you could do was feel, your instep pressed to the ground beneath you, your lips pressing against his. And you didn’t want him to move, to push himself, but he did cup your face, letting his fingertips feel into your scalp, as your hair fell down past your cheekbones. 

When you parted, for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but stare. 

“I love you,” you said, and a smile pulled at his lips. 

“I love you, too.” 

You brought your legs to your side to help him sit up, and then stand, one of your arms around his waist. Seemingly overwhelmed by her brother’s total victory, Azula truly fell, tears and screams leaving her while she flailed and spit fire. Finally, as you stood in front of her, in her truest, basest form, you recognized what you had never, any time you’d faced her. 

She was never in control. She was just scared, and finally, she’d been beaten, just like she always feared. 

Katara looked away. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

~~~

As you took Zuko into the palace to rest, Katara traversed the palace city, putting out fires. It would take work, but the city would be inhabitable again, once Zuko took the throne. He had a lot of recovering to do, but by the time the world had gathered for his coronation, he was well enough to walk on his own, and to kneel to receive the crown. Still, though, he had trouble reaching behind himself to put on his robes. 

Luckily, you were always there to help him. 

“So I suppose, after all this, you’re going to go home,” he said as you lifted his clothing to his shoulders. 

“Hmm?”

“Back to Ba Sing Se. I know you miss it.” A small smile graced your lips, but you shook your head as you smoothed the wrinkles across his shoulders. 

“I do. I miss the city, but it hasn’t been my home. Not for a long time.” You circled around Zuko to take his hand just beside him, regarding him with a warm expression, warmth toward him that you could only match with a few moments before. 

“I thought I made it clear that this- right here-” you lifted his hand, interlocked with yours, up to his sight. “-This is my home.” He brought your hand down so that he could lean into a kiss, and you could enjoy it only for a moment before you had to pull away. 

“I’ve got to go,” you said, a bright smile on your face. “Toph saved my seat, and Aang is waiting for you!” You rushed to the door, a small exit that wouldn’t be noticed by the crowd gathered out front, but you paused. “Good luck,” you said, giving him an honest and traditional Fire Nation bow. 

“Your Highness.” 

-🦌 Roe

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#reader insert #imagines #angst #imagine #x male reader #x reader #zuko imagines #zuko imagine #atla zuko #zuko angst #avatar zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko #atla katara #atla #avatar imagine #avatar imagines #avatar angst #avatar: the last airbender #avatar

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with Half Shy (the songwriter of “Monster”)

For the last few months, I’ve been collecting information for a second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo that will also cover the production of Distant Lands. This means that I’ve started to look into the new songs that we have been graced with this year, and this of course includes “Monster,” the beautiful track from the masterpiece that is “Obsidian”. And so I reached out to the song’s writer, Half Shy, who was kind enough to chat with me via email about the songwriting process!

(Photo courtesy of Half Shy)

In many ways, Half Shy is living the creative Adventure Time fan’s dream: She got asked by Adam Muto himself to write a song for “Obsidian” after he heard her music through Bandcamp! (I’ve dabbled in fan music before, and the fact that someone from the show might listen to it just blows my mind.) What an opportunity; I am so excited for her!

Since a second edition of my book won’t be coming out until after all the Distant Lands episodes air, I thought it would be best to share my Half Shy interview now. Read on for the fascinating behind the scenes story of how Half Shy and “Monster” came to be..

GunterFan: What is your origin story? How did you get involved in music, and how did the Half Shy project come to be?

Half Shy: I’ve been making music pretty quietly since I was in high school with a keyboard and guitar. I played one or two shows a year after college when I could find a friend or my brother to get up on stage with me, but I don’t really have that performer gene in me naturally. I get too much in my head and forget what the lyrics are to the song I wrote, or what the next chord is. Total brain freeze. So that whole experience is a bit of a mental drain. It’s something I think I’d like to dig into and figure out, but right now I’m really enjoying the time writing.

Even playing a song for my friends I still get pretty nervous. That’s where the name Half Shy comes from. I’ve always been interested in making things that by their nature draw a bit of a spotlight, but at the same time, I am just really quite nervous about the attention.

I recorded my first songs under my old name Hey V Kay in my bedroom and started putting them up online one at a time. When I got enough I thought about packaging it up into an album, but then got really distracted by learning how to fix up motorcycles and going to automotive tech school. When I eventually got back around to it I named the album Gut Wrenching.

After a few years I realized that I didn’t want the day-in-day-out life of a mechanic, I just wanted to know how to fix cars for myself and to have that knowledge in my back pocket. I got back into making music but grew frustrated at the process of writing and recording songs. I felt like I wasn’t able to capture the ideas I had in my head. Like trying to draw on your computer with a mouse. Doable, but it’s not going to come out like you’d hoped.

So these last couple of years I’ve focused more on learning the technical aspect of it, from the initial ideas and lyrics, to the recording and mixing. During that process I put out Bedroom Visionaries, and while writing I happened upon the name Half Shy in an old Thesaurus which felt instantly right. Learning all of that has been fun, I even went as far as to create my own book to solidify a daily writing routine (lyricworkbook.com). All that has been a bit of a tangent from actually making much music though. I should be getting my books in December from the press so I’m really looking forward to getting back into making more music instead of dealing with printing presses, setting up websites, and sourcing ribbon suppliers.

GF: What is the story behind "Monster"? How did the show get in contact with you?

HS: I keep a log of “Song Starters” with neat things I’ve heard in the world, and I would look through it every now and then and notice just how many came from Adventure Time. Eventually I thought well, I have to make a song about this show that just keeps breaking my heart. It was around the time I was nearly done with the first [Adventure Time-inspired] song “In My Element” that I got an email from Bandcamp saying “someone bought your album (Bedroom Visionaries).”

I get maybe one or two of these a month at most so I love to go in and say hi to the person and say thanks, be curious about who they are, [and] what they’re all about. Turns out it was Adam Muto, the executive producer of the show. (I asked and he has no idea how he happened upon my stuff. He guessed that I must have tagged something #adventuretime and he just happened to see it.) So I sent him an email saying, “Hey wow thanks for checking out my tunes. Also... holy crap you’ve made the best show I have ever seen in my life.” [I] played it real cool like. After finishing up writing my second [Adventure Time-inspired] song “Betty” I couldn’t help but fangirl real hard [and I sent him another message saying], “I’m sorry this is probably awkward, but I really love your show and I wrote these songs about it.” He was incredibly kind and shared them with his Twitter Universe, and a while after that I got a random email from him saying basically, “Hey, I’m working on this thing I can’t talk about, would you be interested?” I was like… well you know I’m pretty busy working at a sign shop so I’m gonna have to pass on this once in a lifetime opportunity (J/K. Obviously I fan-girl squealed and said yes immediately).

We chatted a bit about what the project was going to be and the direction. He mentioned there [would be] two Marceline songs in the special, [and he asked if I] would I be interested in giving the love song a try? Trying real hard to suppress my instant imposter syndrome I was like, “Yea, totally I’d be into giving that a shot!” So I read through the story and loved the idea of the dragon mirrored in Marceline, thinking through how they’ve both built up a protective shell, how she grew tough for a reason, but now she can open up and be vulnerable with PB.

From there I wrote the initial demo with the first two verses mostly intact and we went back and forth a few times editing it down into the final version. I recorded the final parts for the show in my little home studio in Seattle.

GS: When you were writing the song, what emotions, thoughts, or ideas were you channeling? Was there any sort of memory of event that you were trying to artistically "catch" or "recreate" with the lyrics or music?

HS: As far as channeling an emotion, generally I’d say just the experience of existing as a human. It can be so hard to open up and be vulnerable. I can remember that feeling even as a young kid—getting really excited about something and having someone completely trash it or look at you like, “Why are you so interested in that? It’s dumb.” [It causes us to grow] a little more weary to share ourselves because we know that hurt and embarrassment. The pain of being misunderstood is something I think a lot of us can relate to. Then having to decide whether to keep sharing those vulnerable parts of yourself or think, “They’re just not going to get it, I’m going to get hurt, so why bother?” and then stop putting yourself out there. You lose a lot with that thick armor though. You might feel protected, but you’re not feeling a whole lot of anything else other than the weight and chafing of it (I had a whole lot of armor-related metaphors that I didn't end up using.).

I struggle with this in songwriting too. I’m not the bolt-of-lightning type. There are pages and pages of cliches, total garbage, bad jokes, and cheesy lines that I have to get through in order to get to something that I am excited to put out there into the world: “Here I did this thing, I know it’s a little (this or that), but I made it... What do you think?” It’s hard to open yourself up to hearing the other end of that question.

I filled about 5 little pocket notebooks just thinking through the story, ideas, and trying to get this song right. I wanted it to feel familiar and honor the past songs of the show ([e.g.,] using the ukulele and referencing a few of the familiar chords from “I’m Just Your Problem”) but also be pretty open and vulnerable and different for [Marceline]. [I wanted to] show that she’s going through some tough emotions but also figuring herself out and growing.

GF: I feel like “Monster” is, at its core, an ode to the “Bubbline” ship. How do you feel about your song being intimately connected to one of the most famous LGBTQ+ relationships in animation? Do you have any general thoughts on Marcy and PB, Bubbline, etc.?

HS: Oh, I’m a total fan girl of Bubbline. The whole story of how Rebecca Sugar and Muto slowly morphed it into this deeper relationship is just great. As a part of the LGBTQ community myself it really means so much to see the representation of characters like yourself portrayed in an intelligent way. Growing up I was too young to fully understand what was going on but I saw Ellen getting cancelled, and [I] heard people around me saying they’d never watch her show again after she came out. That stuff sinks in as a kid and so to have these characters who are not only intelligent, but funny, complex, and unapologetically strong who also happen to be queer is really great. I love that the story here isn’t about their orientation, but that they’re people struggling with how to be open and vulnerable in a relationship.

It feels like something sci-fi and animated shows do so well—to show that ridiculousness of limiting who a person should and shouldn’t love. Marceline is a 1000+ year old half-demon/vampire and PB was born from the Mothergum of an apocalyptic radioactive world, but you’re going to get hung up on them loving each other? It sort of brings it into perspective in a really interesting way.

GF: Do you have any other thoughts about the experience that you'd like to share?

HS: Just how lucky, thankful, and honored I feel to be a part of my favorite show, writing a song for one of my favorite characters. It’s also incredibly cool how the people on the show are so willing to connect and collaborate with their fandom. Everyone [on the production crew] was very open and a real joy to work with.

I’d like to give a huge “Thank you!” to Half Shy for agreeing to participate in this interview; she really was quite amiable! If you’d like to hear more of her music, check out her website and her Bandcamp. You can also follow her on Instragram here and on Twitter here. And of course, here is Half Shy’s awesome video of “Monster”.

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