#blank canvas hilt

[sabersourcing]

Shadowcrest Design Shadow Sentinel Lightsaber | New Saber Alert

Shadowcrest Design Shadow Sentinel lightsaber has been released. The custom saber, an original design, features a blank canvas design with multiple layered shrouds and lots of open spaces favoring etching and customization. Shadowcrest Design offers Shadow Sentinel, a limited micro run of 5 hilts, as an empty hilt capable of accepting electronics. The company released the hilt in late January…

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[juniper-sunny]

A Knight to Remember - Part 2

Medieval AU | Knight!Silco | Silco x Female!Reader | No (Y/N) | Romance | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff || SFW | WC: 7.56k | art by @designfailure56 (full piece here) | betas: @deny-the-issue @silcoitus <3

ao3 || Part 1

Your repeated efforts to bond with your new knight are slowly but surely rewarded…

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @ilikemymendarkandfictional @ursawastricked @quirkykaty @let-the-monster-out @ariaud

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Winter snow buried the meadow like thick furs draped over a soft bed. You felt the loss of the colorful wildflowers quite keenly, but the blank canvas of frost provided its own amusements.

The knight had never seen snow before. Despite your best efforts, he did not take to the cold well. He refused to join you in frolicking or making snow angels and only looked on in annoyance when you lobbed a snowball in his direction. He would blink furiously when a snowflake landed on his good eye and endlessly brush the falling snow from his styled hair until he started wearing his hood up, pulled low over his brow. As graceful as he was, he did trip once and fall, surprised that the snow cushioned his fall like a pillow— an icy cold and wet pillow.

The nostalgia for your younger days was potent. As children, you and your brother were allowed to freely play in the snow. All too soon, the behavior was deemed unseemly for the offspring of your lord father. It was an impulse you had not yet grown out of. After years of solitary excursions, you had forgotten how much you enjoyed having a playtime companion, even a reluctant one.

But the knight never complained, remaining as close to you as always. If you were not the daughter of his lord, there was no doubt he would have voiced his displeasure in many colorful words. As it were, you suspected he held his tongue not for your sake but your father’s. You paid the knight extra silver whenever he indulged your whimsy and made sure the kitchens supplied him generously with hot broth for his supper.

Still, the arrival of spring was more than welcome. The snowmelt was slow, the ground churning with slush and mud under your feet. Weak rays of the sun returned, piercing through the clouds as a soft caress on earth and skin. Then breezes blew in with gentle, refreshing warmth. The trees were no longer naked but dotted with little green buds, promising to grow into full leaves. You no longer trudged through piles of snow. Small piles of unmelted frost no larger than a puddle remained, none of them large enough to mischievously shove the knight into.

At the beginning of the season, the wildflowers were asleep. Nothing poked out of the dirt yet except for short grass. And yet you visited the meadow as often as you could, hoping to see the vibrant blooms once again.

The unexpected discovery was immediately visible.

From a distance, the thing was round, small, and white. At first, you thought it was another lump of snow. You paid it no mind and made to sit at your favorite spot, but the knight stepped in front of you, an arm raised in caution.

“What is it—”

The knight hushed you, turning to raise a long finger to his lips.

He stepped forward cautiously, raising and lowering his feet with the utmost care so that his steps might not be heard.

His hand drifted slowly but purposefully towards his sword, grip wrapping slowly around the hilt. Unsheathing it deliberately so that the noise was low.

At last he brought his sword to a draw. You followed him, unconsciously mirroring his pace.

You both took another step forward and then the shape sprung up. Or it tried to, before collapsing onto the ground again. 

It was a tiny wolf pup, white on its chest and grey on its back and head. Black eyes and a small nose stood out on its soft face. The breeze ruffled its short fur, no doubt fuzzy to the touch if only you could pet it. It had not yet grown into its overly large paws, sized like apples at the end of thin sticks. Pointed ears lay flat against the back of its head as it regarded you and the knight with wariness and fear. When it yelped and growled, it was too high-pitched and juvenile to be anything except adorable.

The knight seemed to feel differently. He walked more confidently and quickly forward, raising his sword to swing.

“Stop!!” you cried out when you realized his intent. “Lower your sword!”

He did but did not sheath it. When you stomped over to him, he pointed at the pup. There was a wound on a leg that you had not noticed before. The smears of dried blood on the creature’s fur obscured its severity, but the pup whined in pain and licked furiously at it. Such was its distress that it ignored the threat of the sword to tend to its own hurt. But it explained why the wild animal did not flee at the sight of humans.

“The injury is grievous. It is unlikely the pup will live to see the end of the day,” the knight said in a detached manner. “It would be a kinder mercy to give it a swift death.”

“That is not for you to decide,” you said furiously. You had already paid the knight his silver, but you shoved your whole purse in his face. “Run to the nearest alehouse and buy four legs of chicken. Return here as soon as you can. Quickly now!”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but your resoluteness left no room for debate. After he left, you backed away several paces. The creature needed space, but you still wanted to keep an eye on it. You slowly went down on your knees, lowering yourself gradually to not startle the creature. Its gaze followed you, watching you close should you lunge forward. You slouched as soon as you were able to sit. Hopefully, you were small enough that the creature would know not to fear you.

Its eyes never left you. It cocked its head at an angle, appraising you curiously. You turned your gaze away from its face, watching its paws instead. To meet its eyes would mean you were challenging it as a larger, fiercer predator.

Despite your command, the knight’s absence felt like it lasted an eternity. He was gone long enough that the pup finally lost interest in you and resumed cleaning itself. You let yourself glance at it. It was too cute and strongly resembled the pet dogs you had seen running around town.

Finally, the knight returned with a wooden plate in hand. It was stacked high with chicken legs, freshly cooked and steaming with heat. You gestured for the knight to sit next to you, and he did so with his legs crossed. In your haste, you burned your hand on the hot food. Swearing under your breath, you pulled your sleeve down as far as you could over your fingertips. It was not much use and you were forced to wait.

The pup returned the force of its full attention to you. Its nose twitched as it sniffed furiously, and it tried to stand on all four legs. The endeavor was clearly painful as it rose unsteadily, whimpering all the while. It only managed to wobble in place before it collapsed.

You touched the chicken again. It had cooled off enough that you could rip chunks of meat off. After shredding a decent amount of chicken, you took careful aim, closing one eye to gauge the distance between you and the animal. Your first throw was too long; the pup followed the trajectory of the thrown meat intently, lifting and turning its whole head when the food landed behind it. The next throw was much too accurate as it hit the pup square on the nose. It blinked and yelped again, but its consternation was soon forgotten as it sniffed and ate the offering, eyes wide with happy surprise.

You smiled at your victory. More food was tossed at the animal, and in its eagerness to eat it attempted to leap into the air. As the pup’s delight grew, so did the knight’s disapproval. His lips thinned and a notch between his brow deepened as it often did when he looked at something he disliked.

“You may speak freely, sir knight,” you said without looking at him.

He frowned, the scar on his upper lip pulling into a longer cut. “You are wasting good meat.”

“If you are so worried about the loss of food, you may have some for yourself,” you retorted. “And I would thank you to remember that you did not pay with your own silver.”

“The pup will not survive even with your help.”

“And yet I refuse to withhold my help from those who need it,” you said. His words were maddening, but you needed to focus on shredding another chicken leg. The action helped hide how your hands were shaking with anger. If you were not concerned with scaring the pup you would have rounded on the knight. “Why did you save my mother?”

His expression of surprise mirrored the pup’s, brows raising and good eye widening into a teal lake.

“Surely it would have been a ‘kinder mercy’ to let her die a swift death. And it would have been less trouble on your part to leave her to her own devices.”

“Does your mother know you speak of her this way?”

“I am not speaking of her. I am speaking of you, sir knight— and your inclination or disinclination to offer help,” you shot back at him. “Why did you come to my mother’s aid?”

He regarded you carefully, looking down his long nose at you. But for once his judgment was not turned on you. His eye was curious for your reaction as he spoke thoughtfully, “My motivations were selfish, I admit. Your mother’s carriage and retinue indicated she came from a family of wealth. I hoped to be rewarded upon her rescue.”

“Was escorting an ealdorman’s daughter part of the reward you had in mind?” you could not help yourself from asking.

“No,” he smirked. “But your father’s hospitality and silver are very generous rewards indeed.”

“And there you have it. If we let nature determine our fates then you would have me let the good people— and animals— on my father’s land starve, all for the misfortune of not being born into wealth,” you said firmly. “I would not let that happen while I am still able to offer help.”

“Help in the form of your father’s silver,” he commented dryly. Leaving unspoken his distaste for the privilege you were born into. He had never spoken of it out loud, but hearing of his formerly impoverished lifestyle made you self-conscious at times.

“It is as much part of his responsibilities as it is mine to see to their needs.”

“So you are motivated solely by a sense of duty?”

“Partly,” you admitted. “But perhaps there would be more good in the world if more people felt it was their duty to be kind.”

He stared at you now, an incisive glint in his eye as sharp as the day you first met. You turned away from it, uncomfortable goosebumps rising on your neck. The third chicken leg was ready to be shredded, so you turned your focus on that. Ripping the meat apart with more concentration than was necessary.

Finally, he dropped his gaze to the last of the food. It had cooled off considerably, and he grabbed the last chicken leg. He looked it over before biting into it. It seemed as if he claimed it for himself, but he spat out the morsel and tossed it to the wolf. It yelped in joy as it darted between the food you and the knight threw, too greedy and confused to know which bits to eat first.

“The morsels you are shredding are too large, my lady,” the knight said.

“And yet the animal does not seem to mind,” you smiled at him, grateful for his help.

You were loath to leave the pup behind. Its eyes were watchful as you and the knight departed the field, bare chicken bones left behind on the plate. Your feet followed the path home as if they had a will of their own, such was your concern for the pup that you had little room in your mind for anything else. Worry plagued you for the days to come. The wait seemed an endless infinity until you finally found your next opportunity to return to the meadow.

The pup was still there, having dragged itself to the nearby bushes for shelter. It could not put its full weight on its injured leg which was still in a bad way. There was recognition in its eyes as you made another careful approach. You were able to come a little closer than before. It growled and you stopped, although the sound was more akin to a stomach rumbling than a feral warning. You sent the knight off for more chicken and played the throwing game again when he returned.

Several months passed in this manner. After each visit, the pup allowed you to come closer and closer, closing the distance by paces. Its health seemed to improve; although it did not often attempt to walk, the animal would sit up at attention at your arrival. It did not need to lie down as often and would only do so when it had finished eating. Still staring at you with wide eyes, slow blinking as it fought the temptation to slumber in your presence. Its appetite grew as well. Soon, four chicken legs were not enough to satisfy it, as it would stare at you expectantly once you had given it everything, licking its lips in anticipation of more. The knight did pause when you asked him how much more you should buy.

“We have fed it enough, my lady. Surely we may cease feeding it,” he said. “If it should grow dependent on us then it may not learn to hunt properly.”

“It has not yet died from starvation or thirst,” you pointed out. “Perhaps it has been hunting on its own during our absences.”

“If this pup were a child, we would be indulging its laziness. It would grow into an adult with no ability to work. The aid we have already provided is more than adequate.”

His statement annoyed you, as he so often did when he disagreed with you. But you took satisfaction in his use of the word “we”. He had seemingly come around to your way of thinking even if he never admitted it out loud.

You were about to protest when the pup stood up. It limped forward cautiously. When you first arrived, you and the knight sat a fair distance away, far enough to place a long feasting table in the space between. The pup tried to cross that distance now, weighing heavily on three feet before quickly hopping on the fourth injured leg. Its gait was unsteady but its gaze was focused on you. 

The knight leapt to his feet and took a stance in front of you, putting himself between you and the animal. Clearly intent on protecting you from its approach. You had forbidden him from drawing his sword on the creature, so instead he reached out to grab it by the scruff of its neck. As his hand neared the animal, it looked up, head cocking to the side in curiosity.

Before the knight could react, the pup’s pink tongue darted out, licking the chicken grease off his hand. The animal’s eyes widened, shining with concentration as its tongue thoroughly enveloped each of the knight’s fingers in turn, engrossed in polishing off what little was left of its earlier meal. He froze in place and his stunned reaction allowed the animal to keep licking away with abandon. When it finished, it licked its lips and nose, finally satisfied that the knight’s hand was clean.

All the while, you had to suppress your laughter, clutching your sides as you heaved with silent mirth. The pup shared in your good mood and smiled at the knight, tongue hanging flappy with a great wide smile. It whined sulkily when he remained frozen. Pushing its tiny head into the knight’s palm was not enough to solicit pets, no matter how earnestly it rubbed itself against his hand. Finally, it rolled onto its back, paws flopping charmingly in the air.

The knight stood in confusion. Your giggles subsided enough to tell him, “Do indulge the creature, sir knight. It means you no ill will.”

“What does it want?” he asked, an alarmed tinge to his question.

“Have you ever played with a dog before?”

“No.”

“When a dog shows you its belly, it is a sign of submission. They are showing you their vulnerability as a way of demonstrating their trust in you. I imagine the same applies to wolves,” you added thoughtfully.

He still made no effort to move.

“It’s a show of goodwill, sir knight,” you continued. “You may demonstrate the same by obliging the creature.”

“How?”

“By petting it, of course,” you smiled at him, although with his back to you he had no way of seeing it.

You might as well have asked him to die in battle for you. He was still, no doubt some internal conflict playing out in his mind. It was easy to imagine the knight’s expression of consternation: good eye wide and brows high, his mouth fallen open to reveal the charming little gap in between his two front teeth. The thought almost made you giggle again, so you cleared your throat before stating authoritatively, “Sir knight, I order you to pet the animal. I promise you will enjoy it.”

The order seemed to turn his surprise into exasperation. He let out an almost imperceptible sigh that you noticed only because you were keen to observe what he would do next. The knight obediently sank to his knees, still slow with caution. You craned your neck to watch him place his hand on the animal’s stomach, fingertips first, before smoothing his fingers into its coat, letting his palm rest fully. Then he rubbed slowly, up and down movements ruffling the fur. He did not say anything further but you could tell he was enjoying himself, as he allowed his normally uptight posture to slouch, shoulders lowering in relaxation. Loud and happy panting from the animal filled the air. It was a point of envy that the pup warmed up to the knight first, what with the knight’s reluctance to get involved during the initial encounter. Still, it pleased you to see wonder on his face, the end of his lip twitching upward as if he was fighting the urge to smile.

You were always reluctant to return home after these outings, and for once the knight seemed to share in that unwillingness. He was always the one reminding you that the end of prayers was drawing near. This time, you were the one to let him know it was time to leave. His departure was slow, and as he made to follow behind you he cast one last look over his shoulder. As tempting as it was to tease him for his newfound attachment to the animal, you instead discussed with him how to further aid the pup’s recovery. Now that it readily accepted his touch, perhaps you could administer medical attention. The discussion was cut short when you rejoined your other attendants outside the church.

On your next trip, the knight brought a roll of bandages with him, hidden inside his pockets. Unfortunately, it had been too optimistic to hope that you could help with the pup’s injury so soon. The high-pitched yelps it unleashed when the knight grazed its injured leg were pained, and it once again growled with all the ferocity of a little beast. The knight was quick to withdraw his hands.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sighed. It was hard to watch its suffering and be powerless to help.

“It’s alright, my lady,” the knight said encouragingly. “It will make a full recovery in time. Our aid has guaranteed it.”

You glanced at him. He met your eyes, and his expression spoke of unshakeable confidence. So strange to see this change from his distant indifference to the warm reassurance he was offering you now. The simple acknowledgment of your shared endeavor made you blush and look away. Luckily, the pup had begun licking its leg vigorously and made itself a convenient target for your gaze. You breathed deeply to calm your heart, a sudden anxiety making it jump erratically in your chest.

“What a brave pup to endure such an injury, all alone with no family in the world,” you said wistfully. A thought rested on the tip of your tongue, one that you were suddenly afraid that the knight would object to. But why did his opinion matter to you? As your knight, he would be obedient to your whims no matter how he felt about them. You pushed down your concern and spoke, “If you should go through the world alone, at least you need not be nameless, little one.”

As if it knew you were speaking to it, the pup stopped licking and looked straight at you, staring intensely. You cleared your throat and spoke softly, “You were not born a lion, but you share its courage and its heart. Leo shall be your name.”

The speech was less silly in your head. Now that it had been spoken aloud, it sounded downright ridiculous. What if the pup would not respond to the name? Did the knight think you were too childish or pompous? He did let out a noise of amusement through his nose, not a snort but a low exhale. He was too dignified to snort.

In your embarrassment you wanted to snap at him, but he spoke first. “It is a good name, my lady.”

His validation cheered you. You turned to smile at him, and he returned it with one of his own, both ends of his lips lilting lightly upwards. Not a slanted smirk that showed amusement at your expense. It brought a handsomeness to his face that you never noticed before. A loud, happy bark from Leo drew your knight’s attention, and you were glad for him to look away before he saw how your blush deepened. 

As if receiving a name had spurred its recovery, Leo was able to walk slowly but steadily towards the edge of the meadow, looking to rest under a bush. You and your knight departed in the opposite direction. Today, your sense of revelry was not just in Leo’s improved recovery but also your knight’s first sincere smile at you, although you only discussed the former with him. It saddened you to rejoin your entourage, as it meant the end of your private time with the knight. At least you could look forward to your next outing in the future.

On your way back to your father’s hall, the blacksmith Talis hailed you. You greeted him politely as he approached. It was a warm summer’s day and he was shirtless, gleaming with sweat and smeared with grime. Evidence of a long day’s labor at the forge.

“Milady,” he grinned as he took one of your hands in both of his, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Are you and your parents well?”

“We are, thank you,” you said. “I shall let them know you inquired after them. Are you in good health?”

“I am, thank you. Your lady mother’s birthday approaches, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“No, not for several more months.”

“Then I will have her gift ready for her by then,” he beamed at you. “Good day.”

“Good day, Talis.”

If you had remained in the hot forge, you would have sworn that was the reason for your discomfort; being near such blazing heat in the summertime was nigh unbearable. However, as you made your way back into town the distress persisted. What could be the cause? You turned to ask your ladies-in-waiting some idle question, hoping to determine if anyone else felt ill at ease. All seemed well with everyone else— except your knight. All warmth had drained from his being, his posture straightened to the point of near stiffness, a scowl on his lips and a notch between his furrowed brows.

More often than not, your knight’s usual demeanor was less than pleasant. But to see his previously good mood suddenly ruined caused you no small amount of worry. The rest of the day was agonizingly long and you were overly distracted, unable to put your apprehension to rest until you met privately with your knight, in the evening as he escorted you to the staircase leading to your chambers.

“Are you well, sir knight?”

“Why does the blacksmith act so familiar with you?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“Oh—” what a bizarre inquiry. It caught you so off guard, you laughed in puzzlement. “His family has served this town for generations. Talis is friendly with all who employ his services.”

“That is all he is to you? Someone your family employs?”

“Yes,” this conversation was becoming more and more strange—

“You have no interest in him beyond that?”

“No.”

“Would he say the same about you?”

“I don’t see why not. He is married, after all.”

“Is he now?” your knight raised an eyebrow at the information. “It is a strange custom here. Do all married men kiss the hands of women they have no interest in? And offer gifts to their mothers?”

“He seeks to curry favor with the ealdorman’s family, nothing more and nothing less,” you said, more bewildered than ever. To turn the tables on him, you asked teasingly, “And what about yourself, sir knight? You have lived here nearly a year now— have you met anyone of interest yet?”

For a man with a singular eye, the knight’s gaze could become extremely penetrative when he wanted it to be. It paralyzed you. Just as suddenly as it began, the interrogation was over. He bid you goodnight, leaving you to stand on the stairs alone.

The whole conversation was too peculiar to dismiss. You paced your room endlessly, repeatedly brushing your hair and remaking your bed, stopping one activity only to return to the other mindlessly. What was the purpose of the knight’s questions? Why did it feel like he did not believe your answers? Why did that possibility fill you with a sense of defensiveness? You had done nothing wrong— so why did you get the impression that your knight felt otherwise?

You stared at yourself in your mirror and shook your head. You had unintentionally made the knight into your confidante when he insisted on accompanying you on your secret outings. And it was only natural to feel a sense of camaraderie with someone you spent so much private time with. It was a mistake to assume that closeness would grow into friendship. His obligations to you began and ended with your commands and your father’s.

Perhaps he wished for your relationship to remain professional, and nothing more. After all, he had quite the withdrawn manner when he first came into your service. Was his tolerance of you solely based on staying in your father’s good graces? There had been others who sought out your friendship merely to use you as a means to an end, without any interest in forming a genuine bond with you. The knight would not be the first nor the last.

You ought to limit your interactions with him. Just as you resolved to do so, a tiny feeling of sinking disappointment settled in your chest, churning into an unpleasant sourness in the pit of your stomach. Was it so wrong to enjoy the knight’s company?

What if he found no enjoyment in your company? That notion was outrightly painful, a stinging little hurt in your heart. Your hand rose unconsciously to your chest, rubbing in circles to soothe yourself.

Well, he would think it strange if your visits to Leo ceased in such an abrupt manner. You would visit the pup for as long as it accepted your presence. Then you would stop sneaking out altogether, or at least find another way to leave the knight behind entirely.

The air in your room felt cold despite the warmth of the late summer.

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Was it your imagination or was the knight’s morning greeting to you even icier than usual? He had a habit of speaking only when spoken to, but his answers seemed even more taciturn, opting only to nod, shake his head, or hum in acknowledgment. If you did not know better you would have wondered if he had lost the capacity for words entirely.

At least Leo did not need words to express joy at your arrival. He was waiting at the edge of the meadow for you today and barked, tail wagging excitedly. His acceptance of you had progressed to the point where he allowed you to pet him. The wolf was so jubilant that he raised his forelegs and batted you on your shoulders, almost knocking you off your feet.

Delighted, you leaned in to hug him. How had Leo’s growth escaped your notice? The wolf may have still been a pup, but only in age and not in size. His body exceeded the length of your torso, his head towering above yours when you sat on your knees. Your arms did not meet when they wrapped around him. His fur was no longer soft and thin, but now rough and thick underneath your hands. You laughed as he licked your face, his wet tongue and hot breath on your cheek. What a miraculous development! 

You glanced surreptitiously at the knight. He made no move to separate the two of you. Perhaps he had finally grown to trust that Leo truly meant no harm.

However, the wolf had not quite recovered fully. He had the bad habit of periodically reopening his wound during his sporadic moments of self-grooming. The wound’s severity was never quite as grave as the first day you met. However, the wolf would never heal properly if his self-sabotage was not prevented. Being able to hug Leo safely was a good sign that he would let you bandage him.

When you met the knight’s eyes again, there was understanding on his face. Despite whatever grudge he held against you, it was a relief to know that he would continue his involvement in your plans to help Leo. You wordlessly held out your hand for the roll of bandages just as the knight pulled it out of his pocket. After scratching Leo underneath his chin, you stood up and backed away to give the knight plenty of room.

You had instructed the knight how to restrain a hound, a method that you had learned from your brother. However, today would be the first time that the knight would put this practice into action. You watched with bated breath as the knight knelt next to Leo, patting the wolf’s back. He pressed gently on Leo’s shoulders, encouraging him to lie down. The wolf rested on the ground, staring off into the distance and panting happily, seemingly content just to have the two of you nearby. Then the knight leaned over the wolf, tucking the animal under his arm and grasping its chest with his hand. It was imperative that the knight perform this part, as his strength was greater than yours and would allow him to restrain the animal. Leo was undisturbed and merely licked his lips.

The wound was on Leo’s left hind leg, a sideways cut not dissimilar to the knight’s own scarring. It was a stroke of luck that the injury only spanned the upper half of the wolf’s leg; there would be no need to wrap the entirety of the limb. You adjusted the position of the leg on the ground, highly conscious of the knight’s proximity to you.

His back was broad, long lines sloping into the straight, handsome column of his neck. You were close enough to him that you could have bumped your forehead against his shoulder. The smells of the forest did not overshadow his scent—

Leo boofed in annoyance, his foot kicking out of your grasp. His patience at being manhandled was running out. Hastily, you unrolled the bandages. The wolf whined and squirmed but the knight’s hold was strong, allowing you to wrap the wound tightly. You backed away immediately after you finished and the knight let go as well.

The wolf instantly made to lick his leg only to be confounded when his tongue met bandaging and not skin. He licked and licked and licked, unable to reach his intended target. After a minute or so he became disinterested, turning abruptly to resume staring into the air. 

Victory! You laughed in relief and exhilaration. This had been by far the riskiest endeavor of Leo’s recovery and the pair of you successfully completed it unscathed.

“Thank you,” you told the knight, beaming at him. “You did well to earn Leo’s trust. We could not have accomplished this without it.”

The knight regarded you with an unreadable expression but he nodded. “The same goes for you, my lady. Leo’s recovery is a credit to your compassion and persistence.”

“Nonsense,” you turned away from him, blushing. You scooted forward to scratch Leo behind his ears, studying the pattern of gray and black coloration on his fur. He closed his eyes in enjoyment, mouth hanging open and tongue lolling out happily.

“It’s true, my lady,” he said simply. “Well done.”

The heat of your embarrassment burned away any words you may have used to disagree with him. Why did you choose a dress with such long sleeves and a high neckline today? It was positively oppressive in the summer season. You mumbled your thanks, pointedly staring at a spot on the wolf’s shoulder. You felt more than saw the knight sit down across from you on Leo’s other side.

(When was the last time you visited the medic? You needed to stop by at the first available opportunity. Some strange ailment had befallen you and you needed a cure: a mingling excitement and anxiety in your chest, an excessively rapid heartbeat—)

“There is no one,” the knight said.

“I beg your pardon?” you looked up at him finally. To continue avoiding his gaze when he was conversing with you would be rude.

His eye was serious, and he spoke solemnly, “To answer your previous question: I have not yet met anyone of interest.”

How strange that you felt both thrilled and dismayed by his statement. But you giggled and blurted out, “Perhaps that can be remedied. There are a number of my retainers who wish to become better acquainted with you, sir knight.” You winked at him for emphasis.

“I am aware.” Of course he was. He was too astute to not have noticed.

“And you are drawn to none of them?” you asked, surprised. “They are all good people. You need only choose your favorite— I could make proper introductions if you so wished—”

“I do not,” he said, firmly but not unkindly.

“Truly?”

He nodded. He scratched the wolf under its chin, smiling gently. Leo closed his eyes, lost in bliss.

You could not help but sigh, a heavy heart in your chest. The knight’s eye alighted on you. His examination of you this time was gentle.

 “That is quite a shame,” you said lightheartedly, or you tried to. “There will be many broken hearts among them.”

 He rolled his eye. “If they are good people then they will find love with ease.”

 “I hope so,” you said. “You all may live and love as freely as you please. If only—”

If only you could as well. You had stopped speaking, swallowing hard when a lump in your throat made it too painful to continue. As if he could sense your discomfort, Leo crawled closer to you, resting his head on your leg. His eyes were wide and doleful as he looked up at you.

“Are you betrothed?” the knight asked. His tone was casually curious.

“No,” you said, absentmindedly petting the wolf. “But perhaps it is only a matter of time. My father does intend for me to marry. If I cannot find anyone ‘worthy of our family name’, then he will choose for me.”

Even in your unhappiness, you could not help but smile at the wolf. You scratched him behind his ears, avoiding the knight’s gaze as you spoke, “I am sorry… You must think me a spoiled child… my family has more than enough silver to see me live comfortably to the end of my days, and yet I often find myself feeling caged…”

Tears welled up in your eyes. It took such an effort not to cry that you could not restrain yourself from the outpouring of complaints. “There are moments where I wish to run away when the world is too loud. And it very often becomes loud. After all, I am never allowed a moment alone except to wipe my own ass.”

The knight’s lip twitched upwards, but he continued looking at you with sympathy. “We were meant to choose our own destinies. If someone else chooses for you, then the desire to run away is only natural.”

He turned to look directly at you. His gaze was unwavering but a note of worry crept into his voice. “My lady… I have not been fully truthful with you. I wish to do so now. I cannot stop you from telling your parents, but it is my hope that you will not. You will come to understand why.

“I told you of how my brother and I lived in poverty. That was not always the case,” he said. “As orphaned babes, we were left at the church. They raised and fed us when no one else would… but they asked for too much in return. We were expected to join the clergy, to remain and serve for the rest of our days. I wanted more out of life. I asked my brother to leave with me. He was free to stay, but he chose to join me.

“The church and our community spurned us. As if wanting a life outside of monastery walls was a crime. You already know of how we lived… and my brother grew weary of it. He went back to the church and begged for their ‘forgiveness’. Played lapdog after everything we suffered. They agreed— but only if we returned together.

“I trusted him, and he betrayed me. And yet I was the unreasonable one for not wanting to rejoin the church,” he scowled darkly. 

You gripped a fist in Leo’s fur. Fury at the brother boiling inside you. “Your brother’s treachery cuts quite deeply, sir knight.”

“May you never experience the pain of betrayal, my lady,” he said. “It can break you, or forge you into something greater. But there are other ways to find strength. To become powerful enough to defy your fate. I hope to help you find it.”

What a blessing to witness so many selfless acts from your knight today. Even as he looked to you for reassurance that he had not alienated you, he still reaffirmed his loyalty.

“I am sorry you endured so much hardship, sir knight. May I say again that you deserved none of it. If there is anything I can do to lessen your pain, all you need to do is ask,” you said softly. Would that there were more words you could offer in sympathy. “I will not tell my parents if you do not wish for them to know… after all, neither of us are as devout as they would like.”

Was the joke too poorly timed? You bit your lip for your thoughtlessness. But your knight chuckled and looked at you warmly. Perhaps the worst of his pain had faded.

You dared not voice this, but you were glad for his survival. Not just because your knight deserved to live freely, but also because he somehow ended up on a path that led to you. Instead, to change the topic you asked him, “Are you happy, sir knight? It seems to me that you traded a life in service to the church for a life in service to a mortal.”

“I do not mind. This life is much more preferable. After all, I chose it for myself,” he said. “And you are a much worthier master.”

You smiled at him in thanks, but the hollow flattery of his words did not move you. His earlier compliment might not have been sincere either. It was foolish of you to forget how the knight was only pretending at kindness towards you. This reminder did not hurt any less than the first time you realized it.

It was necessary to remember it always, if only to guard your heart.

And yet you could not stop from finding happiness in the time you spent with the knight. It was too comfortable a companionship that you had yet to find anywhere else. Trusting each other with secrets you dared not share with others. Made all the more exciting by a certain irony: you were not allowed to spend time alone with any man unless you had an escort, and yet the knight seemingly did not count as a man. A loophole that made your paired outings feel more like secret trysts. No one witnessed your transgressions except for the wolf.

Now that he was bandaged, Leo’s recovery became straightforward. You and the knight changed his wrappings every time you visited him, and the wound was more improved each time you checked. No fur grew on the scar, but the skin was no longer tender and Leo no longer flinched when he was touched. You found yourself making excuses to keep attending to the wolf. His leg might still be weak in the muscle and the bandaging provided support. If the knight found your reasoning to be implausible, he did not remark on it.

Autumn passed and winter came, marking close to a whole year since you first met Leo. He had reached his full size and was now exponentially longer and heavier than you. Yet he was as playful with you as ever, clamoring to lie in your lap and disregarding how his weight crushed your legs into the ground.

A sudden change fell over him as you unwrapped his leg. He stared out into the woods, beyond the horizon. Contemplating something that was beyond your perception. The impulse to hug him overwhelmed you, but as you wrapped your arms around him he moved away, stepping out of your grasp. He stalked away easily towards the edge of the meadow where the trees grew thicker in number. It was as if he had never been injured at all.

Leo turned to look at you and the knight. His eyes were the same brilliant white as the snow on the ground. Staring at you with some unrecognizable emotion. Or perhaps he looked at you with no emotion at all. There was no sign of the pup you nursed to health; only a wild beast remained. Perhaps it was his gratitude to you that did not compel him to run away unceremoniously.

You and the knight stared back at Leo. You dared not breathe too loudly, nor run up to the wolf and pet him one last time.

Because there was the unshakeable conviction that this was the last time you would ever see Leo again.

He turned and loped into the woods, soft footfalls lightly crunching the snow underfoot.

And then he was gone forever.

It should have been a joyous occasion. He was never meant to stay with you as if he were a pet, in such close proximity to other humans who may have wished him harm. His full recovery guaranteed his survival as he rejoined the wild, as he was always meant to do.

But the world blurred as tears welled in your eyes. You sniffed and turned away from the knight, not wishing to cry in front of him. Were your parents struck by a similar sense of grief when your brother grew old enough to travel on his own? It was an irrational thought that would not leave you.

You hunched over, hands covering your face. As if that would prevent the knight from noticing your sobs. The notion that he was bound by your orders to never speak of this to anyone provided little consolation in your devastating sorrow.

The knight sat as near to you as possible. His knee almost touched yours. He moved his hand towards you but stopped just shy of touching your shoulder. He clenched it into a fist and kneaded his thigh.

“He will hunt often and well, my lady,” said the knight. “I do hope that might provide you some solace.”

It did, but not enough to stop the tears. It was many moments longer before you could catch your breath and compose yourself. The knight sat next to you the whole time, a quiet source of comfort that could not touch you but nevertheless felt like twin arms wrapping around your heart.

Part 3

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #Silco fanfic #my writing #A Knight to Remember #AKtR

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is down below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish Chapter 6~

Kenobi moves in his sleep. A lot. Maul knows this, because the jedi rolls to a new position approximately every twenty minutes. Primarily, the other man seeks the heat of the magma rock, curling around it until he's over heated. Then, he flops away from the heat and over onto Maul.

This provides a series of interesting discoveries.

For one, Kenobi is affectionate when unconscious, pressing his face to the sith's chest, and holding onto him wherever his flopping arm lands. The jedi's warm breath tickles the soft skin of his gills, and his legs keep trying to tangle with another pair that isn't there.

Amused, Maul winds his tail over Kenobi's restless limbs, and finds that it settles the man. The jedi only wiggles closer, like he wants the weight.

This is oddly pleasing.

Another thing is that he mumbles in his sleep, talking to various people. Someone named Ahnahkin needs to clean his room. Someone named Qwin needs to go away. Various others are complained at or dismayed over. This is the first glimpse, however removed, that Maul has heard or seen of the outside world in years. With the gungan fleeing from him on site -as is right and proper- he has simply not had opportunity.

The dragonfish sith takes note of every name and mumbled secret. He puts together stories, hungry for mental stimulation.

The third thing he learns while watching Kenobi is that he can stay unconscious for a very long time. A. Very. Long. Time. Maul waits, unwilling to sleep while exposed, for what feels like twice the time he would normally rest himself. Still the jedi sleeps.

His bruising has faded away over the course of this hibernation, colorshifting until the skin is cream toned again, and the scrapes and abrasions are nothing but faint lines. On one hand, he is disappointed to see the markings fade. On the other, a blank canvas invites new paint…

Eventually, Maul grows too bored to tolerate. Even with a selection of fresh calamari to nibble on. He shakes the other man, calling him back from his endless rest, “Kenobi. Awaken.”

The jedi groans, burrowing closer.

“Jediiii,” Maul hisses, “Wake. Up.”

Kenobi rolls away, batting at the hands which shake him, wiggling to the magma rock instead.

Squinting, Maul pins exactly one hair from his head between two claws, and yanks.

The other man makes a sad noise, ducking his head further under the rock.

He pinches another hair, and yanks-

Kenobi comes half awake with an angry noise, elbowing him, then burrowing into his own arms.

Maul grins, entertained, and gets ahold of a single beard hair, and yanks-

The jedi punches him in the side of the head, making his ear fin sting something fierce.

“RrrraaaaahH!” Maul shrieks, somewhere between rage and glee, and grabs the other man by his tunics to rattle him about.

Finally, Kenobi truly wakes, muzzily batting him off and rolling away with a groan. “Ye gods, you're a monster, and it has very little to do with your career choices.”

Maul preens. “You brought it on yourself, jedi scum. You would not wake.”

“Have you considered that, perhaps, that was because I needed more sleep?” the man snaps in a cranky rasp, kicking him.

Maul wacks him with his tail fin.

Kenobi kicks him again, harder.

It quickly escalates. The jedi yanks on his horns, making Maul gasp as a strange zing runs down his spine. He gut punches Kenobi for the trouble. Maul snaps his many sharp teeth at an offending arm, and tears a hole in his robes that makes the man cry out in dismay.

The dragonfish sith is tossed across the room with the force, and immediately shows the jedi how terrible of an idea that was by springing back at him like a compressed coil.

Both of them are bleeding a bit by the time Maul is satisfied. Not that Kenobi seemed settled, but it is hard to effectively complain with hundreds of pounds of amphibious sith on top of you.

Maul pins the jedi's shoulders as he leans over him. “We are done now.”

“Go kriff yourself, Maul,” the other man says dryly, flat on his back and trapped under the weight. “I haven't done anything, I've been nothing but compliant! Why are you beating me?”

The dragonfish sith grins, all teeth. The jedi may act disdainful, but his body shows interest in the fight. His pulse is fast, he's supressing a grin, he feels excited in the force, and his blood isn't the only thing that's up.

Good. Maul likes to fight. “You would not wake up, and, you kicked me.”

“I was tired and you woke me up by pulling out my hair.” Kenobi says defensively.

“I was bored. You slept for half a day, at least,” Maul returns, “Such weakness.”

Kenobi sighs heavily, scrubbing hands over his face. “Yes yes, weak as a babe.”

The dragonfish sith giggles like water tossed on a campfire, and licks the trail of blood running from the jedi's split lip where it drips down into his beard. He mouths at the bloodied chin, stealing away all the iron taste. Kenobi makes a choking noise, eyes going wide as he freezes in place.

Maul’s grin only grows, broad and sharp and cunning.

“Must you… do that?” the man complains, cheeks turning red and barely managing a scowl as he looks at the ceiling over Maul's shoulder.

“Yesss,” the sith affirms with a spiteful laugh, writhing his tail over the legs pinned beneath him. He moves just so, and Kenobi’s back arches up off the ground, head tilting back as he moans.

Maul's brain empties itself as he sees throat bared to him.

Pale.

Thin skin.

A pulse, a fraction away from the surface, that would font if nicked in the slightest..

His hindbrain gibbers mixed signals at him like a badly tuned radio. The dragonfish in him says ‘food’, the zabrak says ‘submission’ and ‘trust’, the sith lord and trained assassin says ‘opportunity’... and the man that is all of those things and more just stares at that enticing expanse of throat.

He makes a little noise when it goes away.

No no… he… what was that? He…

Maul roils over top of Kenobi again, hoping to elicit that same…

The jedi paws at him, blinking rapidly. He looks confused with himself. "I, ah..."

“Again!” Maul demands.

“Mngh?” the man asks, limp underneath him.

“Your throat! Show me-

Kenobi makes more choking noises, scrambling out from under him in a flail of limbs and putting his back to a wall.

The jedi swallows, but it is so dry his throat clicks loud enough to hear “...force, I am so thirsty. Very thirsty! And hungry. I'm really wasting away here. Aren't you going to feed me? I'm probably losing kidney function as we speak.”

Maul makes a face, slowly rising up and looking towards the water, considering. “You cannot drink salt water…?”

“... no,” the jedi confirms. “That will kill me in hours.”

“Mnngnngn,” the sith replies. Yes... yes he knew that. “There are… fruits I can bring?”

Kenobi perks up, “Fruit sounds wonderful.”

“Mnnn,” he decides, “Fruit it is. First, we must move you to a more secure location. If one gorogoro found you here, more could come.”

The jedi makes a face himself, glances over at the water, then rotates his neck to look around the walls. “Move… how? I don't see any other caves.”

Maul sloughs over toward the water, pulling on the jedi's arm, “Through the tunnels. Come.”

Kenobi scoots away. “Or, consider, we could… not do that.”

A growl of annoyance rolls out of him. “Kenobi.”

Blue eyes flash at him, challenging. “The water is cold. I'm not well. My robes are covered in dried octopus viscera and crunch with salt, and there's no fresh water to bathe in. I don't want to be wet again on top of all that.”

Maul sneers at him, but pulls back, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to think through what of that was whining pathetic jedi and which parts could actually kill him.

Dehydration… deadly fast.

Cold… deadly fast.

Poor hygiene… deadly eventually.

Maul hisses in annoyance, he did not like those results.

“I will… mnnnh… I will get a new heat stone, first. I will put fruit there. Hnnn… I will make it warm enough that you do not need clothes.”

“What, no,” the man says.

The sith nods. Yes, this will work. Not cold, not unclean, not hungry, and only wet briefly.

“Maul,” Kenobi says, pained, “You're going to the surface for fruit, yes? Please, just, bring me a container of fresh water? Please do not make me walk around naked. Leave me some dignity.”

The sith thunks his fist on his forehead a few times, then discards all of the difficult thoughts in favor of action. “I will consider it, jedi. For now, I will make the safer room… better.”

“Wait!” the other man calls.

“Mnh?” He turns.

Kenobi licks his cracked lips, “What if another octopus comes while you're gone? Leave me a way to defend myself.”

Maul hisses again, leaning forward, “You think I would give you a weapon? You would use it against me!”

“Just! Just think about it,” the jedi pleads. “If one comes, I can only dodge it. One slip up, and I'll be dead on the ground and half eaten before you ever get back.”

The sith shrieks his denial at that result. “No!”

Kenobi approaches him by the water's edge, reaching out to touch fingertips to Maul's left wrist. “I solemnly swear, on the force, if you give me my lightsaber to defend myself, when you return I will relinquish it without complaint or hesitation. Please. That… that pain. I don't want to die that way.”

Maul vibrates in place with displeasure. The jedi had a point. The jedi was certainly lying. What was the worst risk? Which result was less good?

…

… he would not lose his revenge to a mollusk.

“Fine,” he snaps, “stay here.”

The sith takes to the water with no small amount of aggravation. Down and through the warren of caves, he goes quickly to the distant nook where he had buried the blade and rebreather. Quick as he can, Maul returns to the unsecure prison cave.

He emerges just enough to check that a gorogoro has not appeared in the interim minutes. Seeing nothing but a pacing Kenobi, he rises up enough to catch the man's attention, and then tosses the hilt at him before quickly diving again before he can attack.

They can fight again, later, after there is food and water and warmth waiting for his fragile prisoner. A place for the jedi to recover after he is beaten for his lies.

The dragonfish sith gathers another magma ball, rolling it up and carrying it back in the force. The new cave is a little smaller, and does not have the under-floor water ways that the original one did -which Maul had intended to use to harass the jedi- but, it is much more defensible. Two ways in and out, plenty of oxygen and bioluminescent plants, various boulders, and a relatively flat floor. Also, none of it is splattered in blue blood.

He takes a brief moment to check on the jedi, who is curled up by his heat source, before taking off for the surface. It is not a short trip to the islands with the fruit trees, so he plans to take many.

The sith also steals the laundry off the line of a fishing boat, and uses a sheet to bundle all the things together, but then he has to stop scavenging and descend. It is too bright up here, and the air feels wrong in his lungs. Too thin.

Maul dives for the depths again, eyes scanning the water for escaped jedi, or, conspicuous corpses floating upward. To his surprise, pleasure, and suspicion Kenobi is still in the cave where Maul had left him. He makes a lap to drop off his finds, and returns for their fight.

“Kenobi~” the sith sings, “I am back. Will you kneel before me and hand over your saber?”

The jedi master turns towards him, then looks down at his unlit blade.

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

#king of the dragonfish #chat writes the plot #fanfiction live #ho boy #Please reblog #obi-wan is having things awakened in him that he did not want to know #is he.......... into it??? #oh no #monster!maul #is spicy #star wars #darth maul #sith #zabrak #nightbrothers #maul opress #obi wan kenobi #obimaul #Obi-Wan #obiwan #obiwan kenobi #signal boost me #mermaid au #creepy shit #tw blood and violence #i mean it's maul sooooooo #maul be very confused

[actingwithportals]

Last Line Challenge

I don't really post art anymore but I'm proud of how this is turning out so figured why not.

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many as you like.)

(I'm treating this as just showing off the current wip cuz I do not fuckin know what the last line of this piece I worked on was lol)

I was tagged by: @wynnibee

[ID: lined wip of a bedroom scene (the canvas is a light dull greyish purple/blue and all lines are done in a very dark purple/blue. in the room there is a mattress against the viewer's leftside wall (with a large blanket and several pillows covering it), a laundry basket at the foot of this mattress in the foreground (with the sleeve of a sweater hanging out and a sock on the floor in front of it), and a sword propped up against the back left corner behind the mattress (that looks very similar to nails from Hollow Knight). The sword has a ribbon hanging off of the hilt with beaded tassels hanging off the end. There is a humanoid character with long wavy hair lying down on the mattress, holding a hand up above their face in an enclosed fist and looking at it. On the right side of the room there is a chest of drawers against the wall (with a sewing machine on top), and a potted plant next to the dresser in the foreground (the plant is long and viney with little clumps of leaves dotted around the branches). On the back wall is a shelf with two picture frames sitting on top, the top shelf being empty, the middle shelf containing a small box and a little jar with random tools such as rulers and pencils and rotary cutters inside, and the bottom shelf containing books. On the back wall is a mirror showing that the fourth wall behind the viewer is a hung curtain rather than a wall, several pinned up polaroid photographs, a poster above the shelving unit, and string lights in the shape of stars hung from the center of the back wall, connecting to the back left corner above the sword, and going off to end on the foreground side of the left wall (intersecting over two posters on that wall as well). The right side wall also appears to be a wall divider rather than a proper wall itself. Propped up against the back wall between the mattress and the shelving unit is an open backpack with papers and books inside, some papers and pencils strewn out on the floor. There is also a bag of yarn in front of the shelving unit and beside the drawers, spilling balls of yarn out onto the floor. In the center of the room over a circular rug is a box of bandages (with several bandages scattered on the floor around it), a pair of scissors, a pair of boots, and an xacto knife. There is lastly a plushie on the floor at the foot of the mattress in the foreground that looks similarly to a mosscreep from Hollow Knight (but wearing a bow), and propped up in front of the sword is what looks like the fangamer broken vessel plush, also from Hollow Knight. (Note: all of the above mentioned photographs and picture frames and posters are currently blank.) End ID.]

I'll tag @silverstreams @pnkrathian @ebenrosetaylor @sundimus @thehobblefootalchemist @publiccmenace @sheabeanie @erismourn @vivifrage @pine-guardian @portalpanda (no pressure tags! only if you want to!)

[sketchy--akechi]

ok OK. So I thought I was done but shadow Akira is haunting my head! Again, feel free to ignore this.

***

“Where did you hide him?” Goro snarled.

The abomination that wore Joker’s face did not say a word. Golden eyes stare blankly into the distance, unmoving.

A rush of anger flared in Goro’s chest. Joker would never ignore him like this. Joker would acknowledge his presence with a competitive gleam in his eyes. Joker hid from the world behind his glasses and slouching shoulders, but Joker didn’t hide from Goro. Joker would not back down from a challenge. Joker would never look so defeated. How dare this abomination take Joker’s face?

Goro ignored the small part of him that recalled the fateful night in February, how Joker’s eyes were glassy with tears that he tried to hold back because of Goro’s wish, how Goro had to turn his back because the sight was too much for him. How Goro himself had killed the light in Joker's eyes.

“Have you gone daff? I—”

“You’re wasting your time,” said the shadow. “He chose to stay here, exactly where he belongs.”

“Joker does not belong here. You’re sprouting nothing but nonsense.”

“Why not? He has everything that he would ever want here. He has you—well—a better version of you that actually keeps his promise,” the shadow chuckled, humorlessly. His mouth was moving with faux mirth but his eyes were dead.

Goro’s heart twisted because he remembered what Joker’s real laugh sounded like, and this was nothing like it.

Then the shadow’s eyes turned blank once more, lost to the void of this palace. “He belongs here, where he has you. Even if he doesn’t deserve it for making the choice as he did.”

Goro scowled, “I’m taking him with me.”

The shadow’s gaze flickered to Goro’s once more. There was something dangerous shimmering behind the blank canvas of its face.

Goro tightened his grip on the hilt of his saber.

“He will stay here. He will have you—” the shadow’s eyes sharpened, cold and steely like knives— “and everything else he deserves to atone for his decision. I will make sure of that.”

Before Goro could ask what that meant, the shadow faded away.

The shadow’s threat echoed in Goro’s mind, and Goro’s heart thumped with the chilly thought that he didn’t have a lot of time left.

DAAAMNNN YOURE GONNA RUIN ME WITH THIS ANON??? I LOVE IT SO MUCH? you just EXACTLY captured the vibe i'm imagining and god i would pay to read more

#he doesnt have a lot of time left!!! nope he doesnt!!! #goro hurry up and save your bf!!! #txt #asks #joker palace au

[dreamingdragonscion]

To Everyone I Know, With Love From Tiki <3

The blank page of the reflective assignment stared back at her, unmoving and not even a speck of ink nor paint coloured the canvas before her. Tiki continued to stare at the blank parchment with a scrunched face, swinging her legs back and forth in attempts to help rack her brain. The white paper taunted her and the little manakete threw herself into the soft plush bed behind her desk. “It's not fair!” She wailed into her pillow, stuffing her face into the soft covers and rolling around and around on her bed before pulling the pillow down, away from her face, still on the bed as she stared at the ceiling with shiny jade eyes. “I can’t choose just one person to write about who I appreciate.” She whined into the pillow, burying herself under the many layers of blankets on her bed. 

Holding up under the blanket fort, Tiki curled up like a petty child, refusing to leave her tiny cave until she could figure a way out of this plight. She had already been scolded for being late on the assignment, and her teachers refused to give her extra time for the assignment. The reflective essay was already submitted by all the students on the campus and she was the only one. 

The only one, who had yet to decide what to write. 

Peeking out from under the covers at her desk where the blank sheet of paper fluttered in the slight breeze that billowed through her curtains, Tiki stuck out her tongue at it, making faces at it in disdain. The winds picked up a little bit more and the paper was blown off the table, waving in the air as it landed on the small pile of varied items in the corner of her room. Pulling herself out from under the covers, Tiki crawled over to her little hoard and she picked up the paper from her precious pile. 

The many trinkets that were precariously balancing on each other fell over onto the floor, spilling over the ground with a shuffle of sounds. With a pouty huff, Tiki began to pile the trinkets back into their extremely carefully balanced pile, but as she picked up the trinkets one by one, she paused on each and every one of them. 

Her fingers ruffled through the scarf that Xane once had, but this piece was long torn off by the heat of the battle back on Archanea. “I like Xane because he taught me how to feel more free and happy. His tricks are mean sometimes but I find it funny!” She placed his scarf aside. 

A red flower sat next to Xane’s scarf and Tiki held it to her nose, enjoying the scent from the dried pressed flower. The redness reminded her of Maria. “Sis Maria is always so happy and really good at healing. She feels like I have a real little sister, so I like her too!” She placed it together with a pale purple flower. “And Miss Deirdre… she feels like Mother. Its strange but I feel like I like Miss Deirdre too.”

There were other things that she remembered collecting from the ball. A shed feather from Leanne, a dried cherry from Mae that still smelled sweet in the little glass jar she put it in. A colourful gossamer powder of blue and red from Lilith, a deep green petal that reminded her of Kurth and even the strange card she received detailing Big Brother Artur. She smiled and appreciated them all, for being her friend, for coming to her and making her smile.

There was a small card in the pile and Tiki squealed, little fingers wrapped around the card and holding it towards the ceiling light. “This one is from Professor Dark! I love Professor Dark’s class and he is so funny and strong and nice! He says the funniest things and I love it! He makes me feel happy when we play games together!” Storing the card into a tiny box, Tiki continued through her pile.

Her fingers ruffled through the items and pulled out a broken sword handle, rusted on its ends and blunt from time. “I like Kris-Mar because he was really nice to me and he looked out for me a lot! He is a bit serious but he is brave enough to protect everyone!” And she touched the worn out hilt, pressing a thumb into it and pretending to swing the sword up and down before putting it into the hoard. 

A letter from Bantu was procured next, and Tiki took her time reading through it bit by bit, running her fingers over each word that she recited in her head, as if Bantu was speaking to her right there and then in the moment. She held the letter tight to her chest, hugging it with all her might. “I love Ban-Ban for saving me from that awful nightmare. For bringing me where I wanted to go, for showing me all the places I love and want to see.” 

Without putting down the letter, Tiki held up a pegasus feather, hugging it close to her chest. “I love Big Sister Caeda for being so nice to me, for baking me sweet treats, and for helping me when I feel sad. Oh, I love Big Sister Caeda when she takes me flying on her pegasus. She feels like a real big sister that I love so much!” And finally, the famous plush doll of the Hero-King. “Mar-Mar.” And her smile returned ever so warmly to her, reaching out hugging the doll tight. “I love Mar-Mar with all my heart. For protecting me, for being there for me when I felt lonely and sad. He saved me so many times, and I can never love Mar-mar enough.” She stood up, with a giggle. “If my love for Mar-mar could be counted it would be…” She squeezed her eyes to think for a number before she squealed. “Infinite!” The blank piece of parchment paper fell to the floor, touching her feet with a subtle lightness, and then it clicked. The teachers told her to write what she appreciated about people. 

It never said to write about only one. 

Putting all her treasure hoard on her table one by one. Tiki let the warmth in her heart inspire her to pick up the ink pen once more. Her messy penmanship scribbled over the paper in an attempt to write properly for once. 

“To every one I lov with all my haart.” She began with a smile, the sun shining on the paper and her smile from the window.

#~ic: tiki's diary #~ooc: bolt speaks #~ooc: Characters Mentioned in this Drabble #~ooc: Xane Maria Deirdre Leanne Mae Lilith Kurth Artur Owain Kris Bantu Caeda and Marth #~ooc: Bolt suffers trying to get activity stuff because god help me I came off hiatus at the wrong time #word count: 1109

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It's A Complete And Utter Blank Canvas For This Test Team Going Forward - Ben Stokes

It’s A Complete And Utter Blank Canvas For This Test Team Going Forward – Ben Stokes

England’s new Test captain Ben Stokes said his team will be backing the young stars like Ollie Pope and Zak Crawley to the hilt and expects them to follow Brendon McCullum’s philosophy of playing free-flowing cricket. Stokes will be leading the side as a full-time captain for the first time against New Zealand at the Lord’s from June 2. Ahead of the game, Stokes put to rest the debates around the…

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[caliburn]

Gold danced upon the sea breeze infiltrating the vehicle. Saber gazed through the open window toward the sparkling ocean, the electric hum of the firewall flickering among speckles of sunlight, clutching tighter her blade. The ordeal in the city had been frightening beyond words, and once she awoke in one near identical, the sword confiscated upon arrival had been by her side, further deepening the mystery of what exactly transpired. Her power remained otherwise locked, and following the instruction of the sole message as guidance, she sought a girl her mirror with no attachment to King Arthur.

The girl she found was a woman some years older, and she had clarified the situation, doing so behind the wheel of the car transporting the two along the seafront. It had been her only request in exchange for all the answers at her disposal, and so the Servant complied. Travelling at speed far exceeding anything human, but with restraint that prevent the passing environment to blur, fascinated the girl who leaned into the open space, the wind muffling her ears until the point when she withdrew. Lily observed in the corner of her eye, solemn as ever. adolescence held few positives, and its influence marked her in the present day. For the rest of her life, surely, its scars would remain. Lily Pendragon was one familiar with misfortune, so much so that she couldn’t be certain when last her smile matched that genuine beside her.

The sky was still blue when they arrived. upon the shore largely vacant. Saber observed the woman who trod deeper toward the ocean’s foam, sword at her hip, unflinching against the whipping wind — she only gazed ahead towards a blue endless beyond the firewall and out of reach. The worlds they were adamant to protect spanned from on edge of an island to the other, all else outside unknown. Saber had long ago acknowledge it — that a stone-faced king would be her future; the bright innocence in her eyes would fade away, her smile would wither and her optimism challenged. Regardless of had she been present when Lily existed in the original Spirale, it was undeniable a fact that she resembled the Servant’s future self in every way, just as the blue King of Knights.

“When you first showed up, I thought ‘huh, she looks different’. It took seeing you in Chaldea to realise what was going on”.

“Do you hate me?”

The woman’s head shook with a calmness as if the wind itself where piloting the gesture. “Like I told her — I made my peace then. Ultimately, in the end, someone came to help. Kirschtaria, Oberon, Cas, my siblings, they were there and they tried to reach out in whatever way they could". Her gaze sailed upward, traversing the flickering barrier toward carefree clouds. “You could say it was like the strained relationship between King Arthur and her Knights who were on the same page”.

Saber’s arms tightened around her sword, its hilt tapping against steel chest. History had already decided what her reign would be and she would simply resign to that fact. The past was set, but the future... that was another story. With the other child Servants, she had been kept at a distance from the full scale of what Chaldea faced; grim faces insinuated it were for the better. The world they fought for shrank as time went by — from an observatory to a single vehicle marking a blank canvas. Sunlight from behind drifting cloud strengthened and deepened their shadows strewn across the sand.

Lily turned toward her youth, parting the sword from her side and raising its tip along which the gleam of sunlight surfed. What she took was a stance prepped for battle — the sight taking Saber by surprise, her spine quivered for a second of uncertainty. “What are you—...?”

“It’s fine,” Lily answered with none of the hostility her younger may have anticipated, expression smooth and indecipherably calm. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you — you’re going back either way, so there’s no point in being difficult about this. But I want to see. What you can do before you put on that crown. When we met before, the King of Knights accepted my challenge and we duelled — it was the only way I could accept being forced to leave the city where everything that mattered had always been. It’s only fitting that we fight again before our ways part again, wouldn’t you say?”

Saber’s fingers curled, rounding the edge of Caliburn’s steel, as she listened. It was a sensible conclusion when followed the line of emotion. Her arms loosened, letting the blade tumble into the palm of one hand and taking hold the hilt with the other. For the first time since treading the land Spirale did she wield the Sword of Selection, against perhaps the most unlikely opponent she could have imagined.

"Then as a knight, I, too, accept your challenge, Lily”.

They’d their positions made, the trio of seagulls down the shore and paddling in the shallow waters their only audience. And synchronised without words, the two lunged at one another. Their swords clanged and ignited with each impact. Wings scattered the birds fearful of the sudden commotion, emptying the beach of all witness while still the blondes clashed. With each swing Lily executed, Saber met with precision, oft as blockade, but she’d too launch offensive strikes. Theirs was a clash which exceeded the duration of the girl’s combat with the King of Knights and continued without sign of conclusion imminent.

Saber planted her foot back, driving her heel into the sand and taking root on that spot — her opponent knew well the perceived distance between human and Servant, taking into account her previous battle, and her training of the past years against the CPNs heightened her battle capabilities. Despite the slim chances a human should have possessed against a Heroic Spirit, she’d the stronger position — but that be all the more reason to meet her equally. If she couldn’t compete with a single human, how could she win the woman’s favour on the battlefield already once lost? the Servant’s brow furrowed and she pushed forth, lifting her foot from its bed and stamping into the tangle of their legs’ shadows. Her waist twisted in turn and her body spiralled on the spot, bringing Caliburn from behind with accumulated momentum that should dislodge her opponent’s weapon from hand.

But once more did their blade collide and no decision made. Air passed Saber’s mouth agape as she gazed upon the opposing sword standing perfectly vertical, stabilised by the grip of both hands. A defiance of which the child could not break, and an opening her opponent took advance. With a push, her sword repelled Caliburn and disrupted Saber’s root, falling back the step taken to close the space between them — and that played perfectly into Lily’s strategy. Raising her arms, the woman brandished her sword overhead for a mere split-second before bringing it down with the force of all both limbs could offer.

The blade collided once more with the Sword of Selection, the ferocity of the swing plunging its counter down and into the sand — if not for the grip as though her life depended on it, the weapon might have been torn from Saber’s very hands. But true to her words upon discovering their reunion, the Servant held on, and her knees fell to ensure that vow remained unbroken. a yelp sprang forth, and as her head rose to verify what threat await, the tip of that blade were trained on her head.

Disappointment flickered in her eyes, brow woven a concoction of frustration and disheartenment to have fallen. “...I have lost”.

Lily’s sword withdrew, returning its place by her hip, though her sights never parted the knight brought to her knees. Toward her, a hand unfolded — the sight one which similarly came unexpected of the girl. She reached up slowly, keeping her hold on the hilt all the while, and with the aid, returned onto her feet. Once more, like a precious treasure in danger of loss if not handled most delicately, her arms wove around the blade. Lily observed with care the sight — she could recall clutching her beloved sword similarly when Shirou had handed it to her; fitting a piece into the voids which emptied much of the child she had once been. The emotions which coloured the princess’s face were those well-worn within her hardened heart, those which long had she expressed any, numbed to their frequency as they took permanent residence. Saber was an honest girl, far more than she or the King of Knights, or even Arturia herself, who held her head high but undoubtedly let it fall behind closed doors.

“Does this mean I failed?”

Soft-spoken words unprovoked lured Lily away from her thoughts, all attention centred on the girl who eyed her with apprehension, but not despondency. She was unsatisfied with the result, yet her crumpled expression read not of surrender and hopelessness — she’d still the yearning to prove herself. Lily considered herself a girl who lived in her sister’s shadow, and Saber likewise might never part from the King of Knight’s, but she held no resentment for a testament of the future undeniable. She smiled when still the expectations of an entire nation rested on her shoulders, shining with optimism knowing that her life would end bloody and lonesome.

'who am I to deny a dying girl her wish?’ the King of Knights asked.

She had overcome a Servant — that which she believed impossible, and by all account, should have been. Though the gap between them had reduced significantly not solely as result of her dedicated training — Saber was bound by a system that had not the time to forgive her before it collapsed.

“The answer to that depends on what happens when you return,” her answer came, neither sympathetic nor dismissive. Saber’s perplexed gaze asked the natural confusion. The soldier’s eyes fluttered closed, her hand moulding around the peak of her partner’s hilt. “You’re going back whether I give you a blessing or not. There’s nothing to gain from being difficult. If anything, I’d be going against what I told her last time”. Emerald emerged from their momentary slumber. “Protect it. The city my father died for. The city we fight everyday to keep going”.

Saber’s eyes glistened, somewhat hesitant to believe she was hearing correctly, yet how earnest Lily’s expression and tone soothed her heart spoke louder than doubts of her ability to carry through the trust. “Then you mean...?”

"It was never a question about giving you a blessing. Though if you had lamented on your knees just now, that would have changed. Britain and Radiale deserve better than to be given up on because of a single defeat".

Saber’s lips closed; though her wish had been for another to inherit the throne, the King of Knights’ mindset had been that it better for Britain if that were the case — even if misguided, even if given up on herself, she had the people in mind when pleading to the Holy Grail. Arthur, Arturia and Lily... they never gave up hope of finding their father’s assassin, no matter how many years passed or the universal crises that threatened the city. Rather it had been motivator for the youngest to take up her sword, no matter what darkness swelled inside of her. For a land she loved, no matter its troubles, she stood up and continued to walk even if it hurt. The way she imagined it might have been for Chaldea’s Master.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure she kept her promise, and what you faced was just too much for even her to handle”. Lily turned, strolling away until she stood approximately the same distance from the lapping waves as the day she pulled her sword out after defeat. Saber watched, not with a means by which to send the woman away — no, when the week came to a close, she would be the one watching the Servants and outsiders vanish in their stead.

A step lessened the space between them. A dozen closed it altogether, and the girl stood by a future whom she’d never reach again. “Of course. And I will too. This sword waited for me, and the dreams of many people with it. I can’t change anything about what happened during my life, but there’s a future which we’re fighting for in a land far away. There, I can. I want to make it something humanity can treasure, for all that was done to take hold of it. And the island we lived on — that’s no different when it comes down it.

I want the people to be happy if they can find peace. Enjoy the friendships they make in this land that brought us together from all manner of worlds. and keep safe what you all knew, so your trust is safe in us”. A hand unravelled from Caliburn, reaching instead for the woman’s, and furling her fingers around. “Might I be so bold as to ask something of you? Those people, trust them with yourself. You aren’t alone, and they can understand. Don’t make the same mistake we did.

Don’t let them go, Lily”.

‘Don’t let them go, or I won’t be able to forgive you,’ she told the King of Knights.

She had always known. They never gave up on her. Kirschtaria like an older brother, Oberon checking in on her brother’s behalf as much as his own, Cas always reaching out with a smile. Arthur kept Arturia at a distance to protect her, and no doubt they both had their youngest sister’s well-being at the forefront of their minds always. And she cried behind closed doors, never letting any of them know how far deep her hurt fell, left to their imagination. She hid it behind a stern frown and dedication to playing her part for the city to witness tomorrow.

Her fingers moulded around the girl’s hand, watching the same endless blue together. “That’s how we Pendragons are — a terribly stubborn bunch”. Something of a smile formed, though so long had she truly done so, even now, she couldn’t be certain if it were heartfelt or fabricated habit. “I won’t. They’ve been waiting a long time, it’s about time they had an answer. I’ll leave that city to you visitors again — fight to get it back. You can see how we can manage things here; we’ll be alright”.

#❀DRABBLE. #❀EVENT 2. #❀subsistence

[theepisceswriter]

STALLION’S 600 MILESTONE EVENT.

♡ Request: hi!! can i get dreads with clips? :-) ♡ Dreads: Shigure Sohma  ♡ Clips: Cockwarming 

TW: chile Shigure Sohma is a trigger warning of his own, cockwarming, teasing, slight belly bulge and size kink, kinda mean Shigure, reader has titties and vagina but I would say gender neutral for the most part, MINORS DNI!

WC: 866 something sweet and short

“G-Gureee...”

Your whines fell on deaf ears no matter how loud and distracting you attempted to make them. Not even a glance into your direction or a hum to acknowledge your presence was given to you to soothe the ache of being practically ignored by the one who’s attention you wanted the most.

The author chose to focus on the blank canvas in front of him being filled up with Japanese characters with each flick of his wrists painting a scene of one of his latest romance novels.

 It was funny how the moment you had expressed your want for him he suddenly had the muse to spring into action and start writing, a task that only happened once in a blue moon even when Mitsuru showed up at the front door begging him like a woman gone mad. And knowing Shigure, whatever he was writing down was probably nothing more than gibberish just to tease you further like he always did, only giving in to your wants and needs if they were just as convenient for him as they were for you. 

Only Shigure would go the extra mile to ignore someone who was sitting directly in his lap; sunk down on his cock with your warm velvety walls encasing it and clenching around it every time he leaned forward or switched positions to “focus” on what he was writing. Your bare nipples were mere centimeters away from his lips, but still he looked over your shoulder like you weren’t there. By now the arousal dripping out of you taking the form of wetness had made a mess all over your inner thighs and left the green scrunched up fabric stopping just at his abdomen a damp mess. 

It’s Shigure’s promises of edging you for the rest of the week that kept you squirming in his lap and not daring to go overboard with your movements knowing that he would keep his promise of punishing you and more. 

Something the conniving man will never get tired of, always getting a rise out of, is seeing your squirm and clench around his cock in limited motions. Going crazy with lust and sore from being stretched out by his protruding cock while he went on with mundane tasks like it was nothing. 

Keeping his cool with that signature sly smirk on his lips while you were going absolutely feral in his lap with each passing minute.

“You’ve made a mess all over me, dear y/n.” It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in over thirty minutes but knowing that he was finally paying attention to you gives you a euphoric rush like no other. Your eyes lighting up with something close to relief as his eyes finally make contact with yours.

His fingertips trail along the soft flesh of your tummy until it reaches a bulge in your abdomen that quite obviously is from the stretch of his cock inside of you. No matter how many times you had taken him or how he had your pussy trained to swallow him whole in one motion; his size was something that couldn’t be denounced and your body made sure to show your struggle with it in ways such as a belly bulge. 

“Shigure, I need you badly.” You decide to beg once more now that his attention was on you once more, hips grinding against his in a way that has grunts spilling from his lips despite his best effort to hold them back. 

The hand he has over your belly bulge presses down on the area to keep you from moving your hips any further and soon he lets go of the pen in his other hand so it can assume a position on your other hip, thumbs and pinky digging into your love handles.

“You need me badly, do you?” He muses with a purr, closing up the gap between you too and leaning in to the point where his lips were ghosting over yours. 

You could taste the familiarity of his lips being on yours without them even being on you because it was a motion and taste you had witnessed multiple times. It never got old, every time feeling like the first time, and you were happy to indulge in the action once more. But when you puckered up your lips expecting to be met with the soft flesh of his, you were unpleasantly surprised to find that he had pulled away the moment you did. 

“I think you could wait a moment’s more while I finish up this chapter, can’t you?” And as if the sinister way of his actions weren’t enough, his hips buck up against yours for a deep long thrust until you’ve taken him to the hilt.

Purring in amusement at the way your thighs clench against his sides and your toes curl from pleasure. This was all just too much fun for him. 

“And then, after that,” he speaks up, moving your hair away from your neck to leave gentle pecks until he reaches your ear, “If you can stay behaved like you have been, I promise I’ll fuck you silly until you’re begging me to stop.”

#this is my first published work for fruits basket so ty Anon and I hope you enjoy #I also hope the fandom isn’t dead on here 😭 #Shigure Sohma #Shigure soma #Shigure Sohma x reader #Shigure Soma x reader #fruits basket anime #fruits basket #fruits basket x reader

[eloquentmoon]

By The Light Of The Second Moon

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

chapter thirteen: fear of the water

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{read chapter on ao3} / {read entire fic on ao3}

CHAPTER SUMMARY: “A stunned Jedi Knight and a determined Sith apprentice duel beneath the storm-fractured blue glow of the second moon.”

RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 7.1k

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Angst and violence. Lots of it. I do not think it is very graphic violence, as I have tried to keep it canon-typical. But do take care if such a thing could bother you. References to torture. Injury and death. Strong threat. This is a very intense, and quite dark chapter. You have been warned.

CHAPTER SONGS: game of survival, ruelle. fear of the water, syml.

A/N: My dear readers, I do hope that this next installment lives up to your expectations. It is very different, and took a lot of effort. Your feedback on this one would mean the world. I'd like to quickly mention that my Jedi OC Avona Teller is a love letter to the High Republic era of Star Wars. If you have read the Light of the Jedi, or any of those books/comics, you'll be able to recongise the influences they have had over her character, over the Jedi in general in this story. I cannot recommend the High Republic stories enough: they are some of the best Star Wars content out there. I am not anti-Jedi. I think that they are nuanced, and complicated. Good and evil is never simple or objective. That's partly what this story is about, in a way. Thanks for reading. Best, Moon ♡

Chapter 13

Fear of the Water

Jedi Knight Avona Teller reaches within the Force, allowing the solace of the light to wash away the agonising shock of such a jarring revelation – that a dark Lord of the Sith now stands across from her in the clearing: his weapon poised and sighted on her.

It is entirely beyond reason, almost unbelievable.

But she trusts in the colours of the Force, and she understands the story that each hue tells her. Every Jedi experiences the Force in a different way, is able to harness a unique understanding of its power. The connection that links all life in the galaxy, it is perceived and manifested in a very personal, unique framework by each force-user, each Jedi.

Avona sees it in the colours of all things.

As an Umbaran, Avona embraces her colourless appearance, dresses herself in varying shades of grey and white. The hilt of her weapon is a swirling blend of slate and white durasteel, a marbling of balance and light. Ashen and snowy, plain, like a canvas. But the blade itself is bright, the green so vivid and striking when ignited by and illuminating her pale, blank form.

The blade of her weapon is the only colour that she ever has on her person.

But whilst she herself is pallid and bleached on the outside, when she looks inward, the Force appears to Avona Teller as vast, long wires of colourful neon lights. They are strands of endless illumination, vibrant rainbows that reflect and mirror the beauty of the galaxy, its life, the colour and shapes of all things. She can follow each line of light, pull it apart and peak between, investigate the fibres within, adapt them and bend them to her needs, manipulate them.

She speaks the language of the colours – when she sees the pigments, she hears the Force.

But the colours have been dampened ever since she arrived here, as though a blurring filter has been pulled across her senses, the vibrant noises muffled. She knew at once that something was very, very wrong. 

She stares at the cause of it now.

When she dips inside the lights that frame the scene before her, she witnesses the plight of this Sith. He is a terror – a hard and determined disturbance that infects the colours with inky, violent aggression. He is a plague of darkness, a sweeping and loaded threat. He becomes a strand of dead light, a void that bleeds blackness into her kaleidoscope of colour. It is unlike anything the Jedi Knight has ever seen before, and the disturbance fills her with a sense of foreboding. The Sith returned – implausible yet, it is what the Force tells her.

So she knows that yes, this is real and yes, it is true, though it is a hard truth to accept.

But now is not the time for disbelief. She pulls within herself, within the Force, and calls for the light. She opens herself up, embracing the peace, the harmony, swearing to protect it from such a perilous threat. The Force, the richness and serenity of the familiar illuminations reach out, and she allows the colours to wash over her.

As the dark Lord charges forwards, she thinks: there is no fear.

She raises her lightsaber.

--

A stunned Jedi Knight and a determined Sith apprentice duel beneath the storm-fractured blue glow of the second moon.

There is so much light that you cannot keep track. Swift flashes of lurid green and striking red stun you into stillness. The violent hum of blades colliding and crackling under the unforgiving rain is louder than the thundering downpour itself.

You track every move that Maul makes in startled silence, your being entranced by his terrifying, relentless form as he attacks Avona again and again and again. You try to identify the man that you know, the hesitantly kind one, the cruel yet protective and aggressively passionate lover.

You try - but in this moment, you do not recognise him at all. He is somebody else entirely. You have never seen this side to him, never knew something like this was possible. There is not a hint of kindness here, no compassion, no warmth. Though he is violent, he is not even cruel, not in the way that you know him to be. The cruel man that you know, his tongue is sharp and his bearing is cold but here – here he is instead, vindictive. Destructive and sadistic.

A blood-thirsty warrior.

He sneers and growls like a vicious predator, and is bold in his advances, throwing his weight into each blow, ducking and swiftly diving around his opponent and her attempts at striking him down. Avona blocks each stroke of his double-sided blade quickly and gracefully, each movement she makes is sharp and purposeful – yet elegant, as if she is dancing a choregraphed routine. She is steadfast and prepared, and does not let up, not once. Her colourless eyes gleam in conviction, her blade the brightest shade of green that you have ever seen.

Everything happens so fast, they both move with such rapid tenacity that your eyes cannot keep up. Before you can even begin to fully process the duel, the Padawan is pulling you away, trying to move you as far from the two battling Force users as he can. You allow yourself to be grabbed and heaved over for a moment, as the shock numbs your muscles – but then you wake up and shove yourself out of his grip.

“Wait - No. Do not touch me,” you say coldly, pushing him away, stumbling back. “He is not…he won’t…”

“Who is he?” asks Farley curiously, suspicion glimmering behind his stare as he tries again to tug you away. “Who is he to you?”

“I…” you begin, then shake your head, raising your hands to your mouth. Your shock grows more severe with each second. “Maker, what is this? Why are they fighting like that?”

The young Jedi knows that you are truly unaware, that you do not really understand what is happening. He knows of your innocence and your ignorance, but he is frustrated at your lack of transparency. He can sense that you hold back from them, but not why. There is something else going on here, and he cannot seem to place what it is. So to some extent he understands, though he has his doubts. Either way – he knows that he must protect you.

But then he looks at the Sith Lord, watches how he lashes and pummels at his Master, charges at her over and over again with that sickening, crimson blade. His fingers twitch and hover over his own saber – and he is tempted. He could join the fray, allow his Master the opportunity to land a hit. He wants to join in, because he knows that he and Master Teller could take him together.

With each clash of light, his apprehension worsens. The Sith does not relent, he gets faster and faster, he parries with ease, attacks with asperity. He sees that Avona is now fighting a deadly battle - without him. It sickens him to do so, but he pulls his hand away from his saber – he must trust in his Master’s abilities, wisdom, and in her instruction. He must complete his task.

And he must make haste.

So he only scowls at you in suspicion, and does not answer your questions. He takes your arm in a hard grip and then begins to run with you reluctantly in tow.

He is pulling you at full speed towards the river. What? Maker – where is he going?

He is strong for a teenager, and steadfast in his attempts to obey Avona’s instructions. You almost trip over yourself keeping up with him.

“What are you doing?” you shout, leaning backwards, putting all of your weight into pulling back, to attempt to stop him from heaving you any further forwards. “Where are you taking me?”

“Our ship is over the river, deep in the jungle,” he replies. “We thought it best to arrive in secret…argh, it does not matter anymore. My Master was right, there is something terribly wrong here. We must contact my Order, we must leave.”

“But – but why? What? No,” you scream, twisting out of his grip, though the wetness of the ground makes you slip, and you fall to the damp floor in a flustered heap. You land clumsily on your wrist, which now flares with a sharp ache of pain.

He swiftly pulls you back to your feet, insistent on keeping the both of you moving.

“Does it matter? We have to get away from him. My Master…” he looks back in anguish, clearly concerned for her, doubt rippling across his face. “She is letting us get away. She will not stop until he can no longer harm anyone, harm you.”

“What? No, that is…” you whimper, startled and confused, trying in vain to move your hand and wrist without soreness. “He will not harm me…”

Farley sighs and looks at you with a pitiful stare. He considers attempting to use the Force to convince you to come with him, to use the mind touch and make this whole ordeal that much easier. But he wavers on such thoughts, as it would likely be fruitless. His Master has never properly taught him how. She prefers to subtly influence the emotions of those around her, by using both her Force abilities and her inherent Umbaran skills of manipulation to earn what is needed.

Farley doesn’t understand why.

She insists that people must make their own decisions, that Jedi should ease their fear, calm their emotions and allow them the peace of mind to make an informed decision – just like the Jedi do to themselves. It has not ever made much sense to him, as he cannot see the difference between slowly persuading someone to do what is wanted, and outright making them do so. The same conclusion is reached eventually, after all.  

But he isn’t a Jedi Knight, and he isn’t an Umbaran either, so what does he know?

Well – he does know that Avona is an incredibly devoted Jedi, perhaps the most devout to the light side that he has ever met. She is strict, quiet and can be terribly rude.

But he trusts her entirely.

When she chose him as her Padawan, he was shocked – thrilled of course – but shocked. They could not be more different. He tumbles head first into every opportunity whilst she meticulously plans each approach, he rushes down each path always looking for shortcuts, whilst Avona prefers to wander and take the long way around. Maybe that was why she chose him, so that she could train such traits out of him.

But she has yet to do so.

So he thinks that maybe he will try to compel you into no longer resisting, because what harm can there be in it? He must do what is instructed of him after all, and you are not making this easy for him.

As Farley heaves you towards the river he tries to twist you towards him, but you thrash away again. Then he grabs you harder, and begins to speak.

“You shall stop resisting – ”

But you refuse to hear any more from him, you refuse him with everything you have.

You scream as loud as you can, startling him enough to briefly let you go, for you to fall back and away, to catch another glimpse of the duel, to see how Maul is doing.

The battle rages on – swinging blades, twisting bodies. Black and white, light and dark.

You clutch your injured wrist to your chest and try to come up with a plan, grasping at any idea of how to make Farley leave you alone. What to do to understand or stop this madness.

But then you hear a scream that draws your attention.

It is a shouting roar of conviction and physical exasperation that comes from Avona. You watch as Maul slams his elbow into her stomach with a brutal jab, at how she loses her balance and keels over. And so Maul takes the chance to strike, bringing his saber down in a determined arc of murderous intent – but then she blocks him. She meets her blade with his from the ground, slowly rising and pushing against him, harder and harder. She eventually stands, and then they are both so close, driving in on one another in a deadlock so extreme it is as though they become one twisted entity of opposing power.

You watch on in disbelief, stunned and tearful, unable to catch your breath at the sight before you. You watch as your lover pulls back – and then drives forward once again, but with more violence, more aggressive persistence. He is so ruthless that his opponent cries out once again from being on the receiving end of such power.

He is unyielding – and then Avona takes a strong kick to the chest. She is thrown so far across the clearing you think you imagine it.

Maker – he is so strong. How by the Moons did he do such a thing?

It is now or never, thinks the Jedi Padawan as he sees Avona slam to the ground. This creature is dangerous: and Farley has to protect you from him, he has to protect his Order from him. He must do as his Master commanded.

So he grabs you and heaves you across his shoulders, readying himself to use the Force to jump the river, and escape off-world in the ship.

But you refuse to be moved.

“No,” you shout, and you kick and thrash, freeing yourself from his grip, falling to the ground and crawling away from the Jedi, backing up as close as you can to the violent currents of the river – the great expanse of water that separates the clearing from the wilds of the rainforest.

You stare up at Farley in a panic, who does not understand your avid reluctance, and he goes to pick you up again, looking at you sadly with those big, kind eyes, though they are darkened by his stress.

“Please,” he says, both irritated and sympathetic. “I know that this is frightening and confusing, but you need to let me help you.”

“Stop it,” you say, moving as far back to the riverbed as you can. “I am not leaving him, I am not leaving with you. I do not want to go. Please.”

Farley watches as your eyes move from his, your line of sight shifting slightly to the left. The Padawan’s face then contorts with alarm as he senses what you can now see behind him.

Maul runs unnaturally fast, his movements like a flash of the violent lightning that rips through the sky above you. His blade is a gleaming crimson glow that gets larger and larger as he nears the two of you, and though frightened by such a weapon – it is wielded by him. Your body instinctively wants to stand up and go to him, you want to reach for him – so you heave yourself to your feet. He is almost right there, and he shouts your name as he leaps up, the Padawan yells, and then –

You feel a hard thump on your chest.

And you are moving, pushed hard and fast through the air by an invisible Force. It takes your breath away, and you feel the cold sting of betrayal – just as Maul gets to you, he pushes you away? You cry out as you then hit the surface of the river with a rough blow, and the sharp cold of the wild water winds you, sucking out the air from your lungs. Disbelief swarms through you as the freezing water numbs your bones.

Why would he do that to you? Maul…

You try to keep your face above the current: you blink away the rain, your tears, the rough water of the river – you gasp in air as you kick your legs wildly, but the chill is rapidly numbing your senses, your muscles. You look up to the land, trying to make sense of why he would…

But then you realise it wasn't Maul.

The final image that you see before the cold cruelty of the water washes you away, is the shocked expression of the Jedi Padawan, his arm extended.

A glowing red light falls past and then through him from behind.

Then you are pulled beneath the waters, and the strong current begins to drag you away. The water takes you, and you can see no more light, and hear no more rain. Nothing makes sense.

And everything hurts.

--

The last thing that Jedi Padawan Farley Korro ever does is obey the instructions of his Master, by attempting to move you out of the fray.

He senses the impending threat and has only seconds to react. His mind races. He could reach for his lightsaber, turn around and block the blow. He could dive down on top of you, shielding your body with his. He could jump out of the way, hoping that the monster would leave you be and focus on him. He could do a number of different things – but his instinct, the way that the Force wills him to act, is to push you as hard and as far away as he can. To move you away from the violence of the Sith, even if it means that he cannot defend himself, even if it means that he cannot get you to the other side of the river.

He makes the decision knowing that you will go into the water – for his control over the Force is much too inexperienced. Alongside his heightened emotions and the threat of the Zabrak, he can only shove you back at the wrong angle, much too hard, throwing you directly into the rapid current of the river behind the duelling ground. It seems illogical, but the Force often times does.

And it is never wrong.

So he listens to it anyway, and as he makes his choice, he feels that it is the right thing to do. No, he knows. Even though he does not fully understand, even though he will never know if his sacrifice saves your life – in the Force, for the brief moment of time when he makes the decision: all is well.

And when the searing heat of the red lightsaber slices through his chest, as he falls to the ground and to his death, he knows that he has played his part.

The young Jedi dies trusting in the Force, believing that his sacrifice protects an innocent life from the violent rage of a warrior Sith – in the same way that the ancestors of his order once did, over a thousand years ago, on a world so far away.

--

Darth Maul cuts down the Jedi apprentice with a ruthless stroke of his blade, utterly on instinct. An instinct that takes him by surprise, as he did not know that he truly possessed it.

For it is an instinct that concerns you, and the way that he cares for you.

He knows that he has dabbled in it, indulged in it. He has acknowledged that you do indeed hold some sway over how he feels, how he acts. But in the same moment that he accepted such a thing existed, he also refused to allow it to grow further than that. He refused the weakness to fester.

Nothing can hold him back from his purpose to destroy the Jedi. Nothing.

So naturally, he planned to ignore you for the entirety of the fight. He had to, for his attention is so easily drawn away by you. He could not risk complications or interference, he must not. When you stepped away from between himself and his prey, he removed you from his radar completely. No distractions, no weakness, not now.

Not ever, a voice callously crooned in the back of his head. Not ever…

He must only allow the most powerful parts of himself to exist. He entered the fight with a thought-out approach, focusing solely on the two Jedi and what he would do to them. He was intent on the Jedi Knight, beginning by focusing on her and her alone, on tearing her apart, grinding her down piece by piece and enjoying every second of the battle. Testing himself, by torturing her slowly. He wanted to incapacitate her, make her too weak to protect her Padawan as he hunted the young human man down and ripped him apart in front of her. They would both feel the pain that he felt, that his kin felt all those years ago. He would have revenge.

But then he heard you scream, and everything changed.

He was then distracted from the duel, as he secretly feared that he would be. It both confounded and infuriated him as he found himself automatically tapping in to your thoughts, as he latched on to your emotions to find out what was happening to you. He cursed himself and his weaknesses, because his energy was being syphoned away from the duel, from his destiny – because of what he feels for you.

And by the Force: he tried to ignore it, attempted to ignore you and your cries.

He tried.

But he sensed the extent of your shock and your defiance, how you fought to get Farley away from you. How you were being handled, how you did not want to leave, how you –

How you refused to abandon him.

That alone – the guttural impact of that, it could have winded him. And he didn’t understand why. It was an eclectic, disarray of emotions he felt in that one moment: the softness of the affection, the hurt and resentment he holds deep in his hearts, the anger that scorches in his veins. The thrill of the battle. The need for revenge. All of these opposing feelings, they all collected into a roaring, twisting impassioned beast – which just made him that much more enraged, streamlined his hatred into an even sharper dagger.  

He was furious. That the Padawan was doing this to you, yes – but it was more than that the one assaulting you was a Jedi. It was more than that the young man was trying to escape the battle, attempting to escape his fate as the Sith’s prey. It was a strand of his anger that he has not thoroughly explored before, because he cannot allow himself to do so.

For it is rooted in that care – in that weakness. He worried for you. He wanted to stop him from hurting you.

This protectiveness, though hesitant, he understands that it is a defect born of simply being close to you, from being with you so intimately. He knows that he has grown to desire more than just your body. He values your time together, the strange connection that renders him inarticulate, the way you tease such raw, real tenderness from him. His affinity for you, it is now so unbearably strong. He values you.

He did not know that he cared so much. Not until that moment.

And so he seethed. His new instincts concerning you, these vexing feelings, they took control and derailed his own battle strategy.

The rage stoked a hot burst of pure power, and he used it to throw the Jedi Knight across the clearing with a Force-fuelled kick. The shock of the blow allowed him a brief window to get ahead of her, away from her. Instead of going for the kill then and there, he turned around, and directed his attention in the opposite direction, towards the riverbed. Towards you.

He chose to abandon the Knight, to instead kill the Jedi that threatened you.

As he ran, he began to see you more clearly. The frightened worry across your features, the way you held yourself tightly, as though you wanted to disappear. He saw him, the Jedi, with his hands on you, the way he tried to control you. How you refused and fought to get away.

As he closed the distance, his wrath extended beyond the bounds of his own understanding. It kept stretching further and further until he was there, and close enough to strike true, to relinquish you from the torment of this zealot.

He watches as you stumble to your feet, as you move to go to him. Even as he charges, as he prepares for slaughter – your body naturally gravitates towards him. It is both the most agonising and beautiful thing that he has ever seen.

But then you are gone.

The Padawan shoved you away with the Force before Maul could strike him.

You are gone.

Maul can still sense you, sense that panic, the fear and the pain. He feels it as he instinctively slices through the Padawan’s chest, as the Jedi falls to his knees. Maul shoves him to the ground with an apathetic push and steps across his body, listening to the song of your life-force.

You are in the river, and you move further and further away with each second.

He automatically moves to jump into the waters, to dive in and bring you back but – the Jedi. He cannot stop until she is dead.

He will not stop until she is dead.

If he gets in the water, she will get away. She will contact the rest of her pathetic Order and his Master’s plans will be shattered. The secrecy of the past thousand years will be thrown to ruin. The Sith will fail. Because of his mercy, his compassion, his weakness. Because of him.

Because of you.

If he gets in the water, he admits defeat. He fails.

But you are in pain. He feels the weight of the water, the aggression of the current. He knows that you could die. And he cannot stand it. It claws at his insides like a venomous, stinging, starving creature. How can he allow you to suffer such a fate?

He now faces the choice that he has secretly feared since the night you smiled at him up in the trees, since you took his hand, since you leaned in closer to him by the pond as you sketched his starship. Since you offered him that deep and life-changing affection that he has never before known.

How can he let you die?

But how can he let the Jedi live?

His dilemma is ended for him, the choice made – as he twists around just in time to block the strike of a blazing green lightsaber, wielded by a screaming Umbaran Jedi Knight.

He attempts to push all thoughts of you away as he realises that the fight has only just begun.

--

Avona Teller feels as though she has been ripped in half.

The colours of her Padawan’s life force are snuffed out in a matter of seconds, torn from the rainbows of her vision with one merciless strike.

Just like that – he is one with the Force. He is gone.

Despite what many across the planets think, Jedi do feel. They have emotions, and though they must have strict control over them, Jedi still experience pain and anguish and grief. And in this moment, she feels it all at once. As she pulls herself to standing, her chest burns with the sharp heat of a thousand suns, from a pain both physical and spiritual.

The colours, she reaches for them – and they are so much less vibrant now that her Padawan has died. Even so, she wills the Force to calm her, to bring her enough reassurance to keep her on her feet, to keep her focus locked on her enemy: the ancient enemy of her Order.

The power of the Sith’s blow has broken her ribs. Each breath sets her chest further ablaze.

But broken bones do not hurt even half as much as the loss of her young apprentice, of how she has failed him so terribly. She embraces the colours of the Force to ease the agony. But even without attachment, even with the guiding light, the pain is unbearable.

She regains her composure enough to charge. And as she pursues the Sith with a scream, her heartbreak is evident in the desperate cry that rips from her throat.

She lays down a solid strike, but he blocks it at the very last moment.  

--

Drowning feels like a dream.

The water tries its best to snake into your mouth. You can feel its attempts to reach into your lungs with greedy, desperate ice-cold fingers. You resist it as much as you can, urging your body to break the surface and breathe. You are able to do so, a few times – but the further away you go, the more harsh the water gets.

You know that you should do more. That you should kick your legs faster, that you should try harder to escape the current. But the water is now so strong that you cannot do anything but allow it to take you away. You try to swim, to seek the surface again – but now you do not know which direction is up. The pressure of holding your breath begins to crush your chest.

Your body is streaming along with the fury of the rushing water, and as you are being dragged away, you hit against something hard, and the blow is rough and sharp on your forehead. A rock perhaps – a stinging collision that sends harsh pain and deeper panic rushing through you.

Then suddenly, all is still.

It is so silent beneath the depths, so dark and hopeless. You try to open your eyes, but you do not even know if you are successful. Because you see nothing.

You try to push through the fear and the panic, to move past the pain in your head, your wrist and your chest – to focus your thoughts on to one thing, the one thing that instantly calms you and brings you hope.

The only person who can help you now.

Him.

--

Darth Maul knocks back the green blade and flips to the side, dodging the chaotic, uncontrolled strikes of the grieving Jedi. He turns, wheeling his saber into hers, continuing the furious clash. A sadistic grin twists his features as he listens to the sizzling hum of their plasma blades colliding under the rain. It is the most gratifying song, it further fuels the thrill of the battle – it stokes his inner rage and reawakens his blood thirst. The fight enables his most primal, raw need to shine through – vengeance. 

As he becomes more and more furious with each movement he makes, Avona becomes calmer, each throw of her blade striking closer to his body, her previous grace and poise returning to her. The shock of having her apprentice murdered in front of her is slowly disappearing, as she trusts fully in the Force, as she commits herself to the purpose of slaying this enemy: the protection of her Order, of the galaxy. It makes her stronger.

Oh, but that is not a problem for Darth Maul. It makes him all the more excited.

She is a true Jedi. It will be even more satisfying when he finally ends her life. He wants to drag it out, wants to tear her apart, make her hurt enough that she questions her connection to –

Maul.

He senses you.

He feels you, how you slip away more and more with each passing moment. The weight of the water on your chest, the sharp pain that reverberates around your skull, the ache that shoots up your arm.

Maul.

He lazily blocks a thrust of the green blade, just in time. He focuses on you, on where you are and how long you have left, and Avona lands a kick to his right leg.

Maul.

He can sense how alone you feel, the disappointment that lingers deep inside of you as you contemplate your imminent demise. The pain of never seeing the stars, of never going beyond the confines of your home-world. The wasted potential of your tiny life. The regret of never being brave enough to escape the Planet. The heartbreak of never seeing your family again. The raw pain of never seeing him again.

He hears you as you call for him.

He listens as now, all that you think about as you drown, is him.

--

No matter what she does, Avona Teller is unable to strike the Sith with her lightsaber. He is much too strong a duellist, he reacts too rapidly, as though he can sense what she will do before she does it. But then she notices a strange lagging to his movements, just enough to draw her attention. She embraces his distraction and takes the chance to sneak a hit with her body, a kick, and then again, this time on his jaw with her elbow. It briefly knocks him back – but why is he…

Then she feels you. She hesitates for a moment and glances around the clearing.

Where are you?

It dawns on her then, what must have happened. She quickly comes to the conclusion that Farley’s last act was to attempt to get you away from the fight, to throw you across the river, but was unable to get you there.

That even though she failed him, he refused to fail her, even in the end.

He tried.

If only she trained him better.

No. She pushes her ego and her pain away. It has already caused too much damage.

Whilst she was distracted with her grief, you have slipped by her unnoticed. Despite her training and her devotion to her Order, she still allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

And now your safety is threatened. The Jedi have failed you again.

But she refuses to fail you now, not if she can help it. She uses the bulk of her power to do what she does best. She feels your panic, and she soothes it. She calms your heart, she eases the pain. She extends the light, reaching out to bathe you in the comfort she can provide you before she is able to get the chance to pull you from the water.

But can she get to you? Can she even get past the Sith?

She takes stock of her enemy’s strengths. He duels with the utmost efficiency, his talent for swordsmanship vastly outmatches her own. Realistically, she does not know if the power of the Sith in front of her surpasses hers in the Force. His Force-invested kick was immensely overpowered, she can hardly believe the strength of it. She feels the burning in her chest, how it has greatly worsened over such a brief period of time. She notices the increasing pain when she draws in breath, how she struggles now to even breathe. She worries that her broken ribs have punctured a lung. In her condition, with doubts surrounding her opponent’s strength – she knows that she likely cannot calm or soothe him. In fact, it is almost laughable to even consider such a thing, calm the emotions of a Sith Lord?

But then she thinks – she could try something else. Can she exploit his distractions and use them against him?

He masks his emotions with the Dark Side, so she cannot make sense of it all, even with her skill. She senses that he is torn, that it has something to do with you. You cause the hesitation. Those feelings, whatever they are, they weigh him down like an anchor.

“Let me save her,” she says, opting to try to reason with him first.

But he simply growls in response, his attention snapping back to the fight, returning fully to Avona. He charges, pushing her back as he throws his weight into a string of abrupt blows. The Jedi only just blocks each of them – now that she has spoken to him, his strikes seem even more violent.

“You will not go near her,” he spits in response. He blocks an attempt of her own, then twists and thrusts out again, aiming at her already injured chest.

Avona deflects, swiftly pivoting and then throwing her weight into her blade, lashing out towards his head. He parries, of course. Their blades collide again and again.

“Then why won’t you? I can sense that you want to.”

“You know nothing,” he roars, driving her further back.

“Whatever prevents you from doing so – I have no such restrictions,” she argues between broken, agonising breaths. “Let me go to her.”

“Never.”

“Then you go,” she whines.

“And let you escape? I am no fool,” he retaliates.

He won’t let up. Negotiating is fruitless. She senses that he has her beaten, and it won’t be long until he lands one of his brutal, relentless attacks.

“She is going to die,” Avona says desperately.

The briefest tinge of regret crosses his face then. That feeling, there – that is what she should use. The colour of that grief – a deep cobalt blue in the Force. She takes it, and she holds on to his pain.

And then she tries something new.

Something dangerous and reckless. Stupid, perhaps. Something very unlike her. But she looks towards the dead body of her young Padawan, she acknowledges the agony of her collapsing lung, she senses how even with her assistance, your life-force slowly drains away.

She has nothing to lose.

She does not know if it will work. But she tries. She pulls her influence away from you, hoping that what she was able to provide will keep you alive for just a little longer. So that she can focus and throw all that she has at him now. She hopes that it will cause him to stutter in his onslaught, to falter long enough for her to just land a hit, to kill him, or even just maim him enough that she has a chance to get to you, to get to the ship, to get away.

This could go terribly wrong. Avona knows that she could die because of this decision. Oh, this is dangerous.

But she is desperate.

She does not soothe this Sith. Instead, she enflames him. She riots his emotions, stoking them to their maximum intensity. She gives him all that she has left, forcing him to face what he has done.

She awaits his reaction, and prepares herself to strike.

--

Darth Maul suddenly feels everything. It is a spike of emotion so chaotic and tumultuous that even he is perturbed, is taken completely aback.

He feels it all. He feels grief. He feels anger. He feels despair. He feels the agony of losing the only person who has ever shown him any semblance of tenderness. He experiences the true weight of what it means to be a weapon, he understands the consequences of his destiny as it rips him apart. The reality of a long, lonely life.

He plummets into a pit of endless rage and deep, twisted guilt.

He burns with hatred for the Jedi, for this planet, for the Republic, for the galaxy, for the Universe. For everything. For all that has been imposed upon him, for all that was inflicted upon his brethren so many years ago, for how the Jedi have made such a pitiful ruin of all that has come since. He hates the Jedi. He hates them so much for what they have done to him.

For what they have done to you.

But more than anything – and it takes him by surprise as he locates the direction of his loathing, of what wounds him the most.

He feels such hatred towards himself for allowing it all to happen.

He is devastated.

As he has been trained when faced with such turmoil, he allows the Dark Side to take over. He embodies it. The extent of his agony allows him to harness all of his Master’s training and pour everything into his next move, to streamline the agony into his saber. He thrusts at Avona with a full frenzied attack, channelling all of the distortion of his rage and suffering into the double-bladed crimson light. He throws all that he is and all that he has at the Umbaran to finally take her down, to free himself from the vice-like grip his hatred of the Jedi holds over him, over what he truly wants to do right now: go to you.  

She seems shocked at his reaction, and parries each of his blows as best that she can – but she is injured and cannot keep up. She is just a moment too slow with her defence of one of his strikes: and then his blade glides through her chest, as if she is nothing.

She is nothing.

The Jedi Knight somehow falls to the ground gracefully, maintaining the elegance she held when she was alive.

As she perishes, she keeps her blank stare fixated on her murderer.

He watches the life leave her colourless eyes, and when she is dead, he drops his weapon.

--

The Sith Lord strikes Jedi Knight Avona Teller down.

He has broken her heart by slaying her apprentice in front of her, and now he literally cleaves it in two with his lightsaber. She knew it was a possibility, that she could die if she tried what she did. It could have gone one of two ways. Unfortunately, it went this way – and now there is nothing more that she can do.

She can sense the burning pain and the turmoil in him as she looks up and meets those harsh, glowing eyes – that cold, severe frame looming over her as she collapses. As she feels her own life-force slip away, she feels a sense of freedom emanate from him.

She realises that her death has released him. She thinks that maybe now –

Avona gasps a broken, ragged breath as she watches the colours fade.

And then she is gone.

--

It is done. Darth Maul has defeated his most formidable enemy yet.

But he does not feel any kind of satisfaction. Nothing close. The sharp concentration of his feelings fade away, and a vibrating void is left in their wake. He relinquishes all of his previous reservations and turns towards the water. As he runs to the riverbank, he feels four words reverberate in the emptiness of his soul, reminding him of what he knows, deep down inside.

There is no peace.

Even so, he refuses to abandon you.

I can have both, he thinks, as he dives into the water. I will have both.

Finally, he gives in.

But he fears that now, he is much too late.

--

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#darth maul #darth maul fic #darth maul x reader #darth maul fanfic #maul fic #maul fanfic #maul x reader #darth maul x you #maul x you #eloquent moon #eloquentmoon #by the light of the second moon #bythelightofthesecondmoon #my fic #my writing #chapter thirteen

[the-al-chemist]

WANDS!

I saw something a while ago about wand design, and until I started writing PotV and a short story named Dragon Heartstring which I’m hoping to publish next month, I had never really thought about this for my OCs.

I’ve rectified this situation. Descriptions below the cut, and images are from Etsy (ofc, because I’m a basic bitch) other than the inspo for Artemis’ second wand.

ARTEMIS

For her first wand, I love this simple design. It’s got a little wave to it, which makes it look almost playful, and the fabric wound around the handle gives a good grip, important for fast spell-casting and duelling. It’s not overly showy, reflecting that Artemis is a bit of a blank canvas early on in her life.

I found it really difficult to find one to match the description of Artemis’ second wand in PotV, which was inspired by Theseus Scamander’s wand pictured above, but with a twist - it has panels of tortoiseshell, amber, and black stone (possibly onyx) on the hilt rather than just being tortoiseshell. These colours match her Animagus form, and overall the wand looks more grown up and sophisticated.

JACOB

A simple design with a little twisting, obvious grain, and darkness on the hilt - reflecting Jacob’s mysterious and somewhat murky character and past.

ETHEL

The spiral detail on the handle goes on and on, like Ethel does. It almost looks like a spring, reflecting Ethel’s vibrant character and ability to always have a comeback.

JIM

Yes, this is a honey wand. Of course I love it for Jim.

HÉLOÏSE

You have to imagine this is wood. Héloïse did have a first wand, too, but this is the one she ends up with. Sophisticated and yet very intricate once you look closely, but the tactility of the decoration is also practical as it gives a decent grip.

OPHELIA

Dark with very feminine decoration. Still, the design is simple and timeless without being expensive looking.

SAFFRON

Colourful and quirky, with unnecessary and impractical bead string details. Just so Saff.

RORY

Simple other than a Celtic knot detail on the handle, for a proud and easily-pleased Scotsman.

ZADIE

Clean lines with pretty dainty detailing for the perfect ballet dancer’s wand.

#artemis hexley #jacob hexley #ethel hexley #jim hexley #heloise perrault #ophelia burke #saffron summers #rory mctavish #zadie taylor allen

[sabersourcing]

Shadowcrest Design Templar V2 Crossguard Lightsaber | New Saber Alert

Shadowcrest Design Templar V2 Crossguard Lightsaber | New Saber Alert

Shadowcrest Design Templar V2 Crossguard Lightsaber has been unveiled. The custom crossguard saber, an original design, exudes a High Republic era vibe (or real world sword vibe). The V2 design is different from the Shadowcrest Design V1 Crossguard Lightsaber, which was released in 2020. The Templar V2 Crossguard Saber, a limited run of 100 units, is available as an empty hilt capable of…

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#blank canvas hilt #crossguard lightsaber #limited run #metal crossguard #new product #new saber alert

[superwho-am-i-kidding]

Too Late (PART TWO)

Once again, I'm sorry for how long this took! Life has been rather busy lately, and I couldn't find the time to write. But now I have. And oh boy, is it angsty. It's also quite long! PART ONE IS HERE.

I pride myself with ending stories happily, though it doesn't always happen… yet, anything is possible.

Thanks to @theregoesstevie for letting me word vomit based on this haunting image. Hope it lives up to expectations!

.

The end came with less fanfare than Aziraphale had expected. There was a world one moment, and nothing the next. The antichrist, Adam, had made un-existing as painless as possible, it seemed. There was no doubt in the angel’s mind that Satan was celebrating his triumphing victory over Heaven.

Aziraphale had been standing in the apartment of a dead demon, until he suddenly wasn’t. He found himself completely alone on an empty Earth. He had felt alone before, but it was nothing compared to now.

There were no nightingales singing in Berkley Square, no soft piano emanating from the Ritz, no ducks in the ponds of Saint James’ Park. Aziraphale decided he was tired. His gaze passed jadedly around him until it came to a stop on the only building remaining around him. A corporate tower that was as blank on the outside as it was on the inside. A tugging sensation pulled Aziraphale towards the building. He let it drag him to the escalators that lay in wait for both ethereal and occult forces.

Aziraphale’s eyes looked up towards the escalator that led to Heaven, the unwelcoming home he had known for the past six thousand years. But his instinct led him to the other escalator. He stepped onto the moving staircase for the second time in his long life (well, he wasn’t sure one could call it a “life” anymore) and stared blankly ahead as his corporation was taken lower and lower into Hell.

When he stepped into the dirty and musty hallway, he was surprised to once again find himself alone. He followed the sound of cheers and yelling down the hall until he entered a large room. Dagon was standing on a table in the center of thousands of demons, encouraging them in preparation of the coming war. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how, with plenty of other eyes to choose from, but Dagon locked gazes with him. “You,” she said, the room falling silent as the demons all turned towards Aziraphale. “What are you doing here? Come to spy on us, have you?” She laughed heartily, “Well, it seems they haven’t taught you the art of stealth!” She nodded towards a pair of large demons to grab Aziraphale’s arms and hold him in place. It was hardly necessary, as he wasn’t sure he could move, even if they wanted him to.

“You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Beelzebub worked her way through the crowd, shoving demons apart to reach Aziraphale. She stopped in front of him, flies buzzing around the corporation that held no warmth. Her eyes flit across every inch of him, narrowing in thought as she sniffed the air a couple of times. “He’s… fallen,” she declared slowly. Shocked murmurs spread throughout the demonic hoard.

“May you be forgiven.”

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”

“This must be a trick,” Dagon said.

Beelzebub stared into the grief-stricken eyes that held no spark. She shook her head, “No, it’s no trick.”

“I forgive you.”

“In fact, this is exactly what we need. He knows how Heaven fights. We will win the war with his help.” Beelzebub waved for Aziraphale to be released. Aziraphale just stood, not bothering to fix the rumples on his jacket sleeves. “You’re going to be in charge of training the troops,” she said.

Aziraphale spared a blank glance around the room. “I’m not fighting.”

“What?” the flies stopped buzzing for a moment to hear Aziraphale repeat himself.

“I said, I’m not fighting,” he said. Beelzebub laughed and Aziraphale was ushered into a new room that had line after line of demons ready to fight. His head slowly raised to meet the eyes of the battalion waiting for his orders. One of the demons handed him a weapon he was all too familiar with, though he never bothered to wonder how Hell had gotten ahold of it. The sword roared to life, the divine flames burning at Aziraphale’s unholy hands.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flames as they danced across the pointed blade. “Aren’t you going to teach us something?” a demon shattered the trance the fire had created.

“No,” he said. Simple and to the point; Crowley would have been proud.

“No?” the demon scoffed. “Do you expect us to just know this stuff? Sorry to break it to you, Halo, but we don’t have all the fancy things down here that you bastards have upstairs. Just the broken, sloppy seconds.” He pursed his lips and circled Aziraphale in an achingly haunting way. “But I suppose it’s no surprise that you’ve become one of us. You are broken and sloppy, after all. Just like Crawly was.”

Aziraphale didn’t know there was more in him that could break. But there was, and it shattered. Without thinking, his grip tightened on the hilt of the blade and he swung. Screams and sizzles told him that he had hit his mark. The rest of the battalion watched in shock as Aziraphale coldly watched the demon die. Aziraphale looked up, his dark eyes challenging anyone brave enough to a duel.

Some of the larger demons charged him, but Aziraphale dodged easily. It hadn’t been angelic that he had learned how to dance, though it seemed to come in handy now. He side-stepped and spun around his attackers, landing jabs and slashes on their corporations with his sword. One by one, they all fell, screaming in pain. Aziraphale looked up, his skin glistening with sweat, but with no flush. He was a dampened corpse walking around and swinging to kill.

The remaining demons turned and fled, leaving Aziraphale to glance at the bodies surrounding him. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t disappear, as he would have expected with utter extinction, but he didn’t really care. He stepped across them, ignoring the cracking and squishing of the bodies beneath his heels. Aziraphale walked down the corridor back towards the escalator that lead to an empty Earth.

He trailed the sword along the wall, igniting the posters and mold with holy flame. He caught sight of Beelzebub and Dagon surrounded by the surviving demons of his battalion. Beelzebub moved to intercept Aziraphale before he could get to the stairway. Their eyes locked, and she stepped back after a moment of contemplation.

“I should like to be left alone,” Aziraphale said quietly. He knew they had heard him, based on the nervous nods that were sent his way. He began the climb towards the surface and emerged into the blank canvas that the world had become. He took the opportunity to mold this new Earth into a tall hill that buried him within the clouds. A small patch of grass erupted from the top of the mound, yellow flowers popping out of the soil as well.

Aziraphale picked up a long stone that had not been there a moment before and drove it into the ground. It just so happened to have a lovely flat surface, perfect for carving. Aziraphale only wrote one word, one name. He wasn’t sure which one Anthony J. Crowley would have preferred, so he chose the name that Aziraphale always wanted to call him: Love.

“Aziraphale, former principality and guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, fallen angel of Heaven,” a voice appeared behind him. “I had always hoped it would come to this.”

Aziraphale turned from the headstone to stare down Sandalphon as he stood at the edge of the newly-formed hill. The angel smiled, gold shining through his teeth. “You will lose,” Aziraphale said, his grip tightening imperceptibly upon the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not worried,” Sandalphon smiled. “I’ve brought help.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and felt for the ethereal forces that were surrounding him. There were dozens of them. All waiting to land a blow upon the single demon, standing alone on a hilltop with a sword in one hand and flowers in the other. “This was your choice,” Aziraphale said. He stared at Sandalphon for a moment longer before he lunged.

His first swing against Sandalphon missed, and several angels flew in to retaliate. Aziraphale tore each of them down. He almost wished there was literal blood to be spilled, the angels were falling back to Earth too much intact for his liking. Crowley would be horrified at what he had become in such a short time. Aziraphale would have been horrified himself if he stopped to think about what he was actually doing.

But the angels kept coming, and Aziraphale never put more thought into the actions that were defending the grave of the only being he had ever loved. Soon enough, demons had appeared as well, hungry for revenge against those Aziraphale had slaughtered. Aziraphale had always thought about how lovely it would be if Heaven and Hell would put their differences aside and get along for a change. It didn’t even register in his mind that they were doing exactly that; putting aside their own agendas in order to kill Aziraphale.

They didn’t know it, but there was no killing this particular demon. Aziraphale tore through each wave, the bodies piling higher and higher around his once solitary hill. He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to get the message, but it eventually arrived. Fewer and fewer angels and demons approached the hill to challenge Aziraphale. Then, there were no more. Aziraphale felt something stir deep within him. Satisfaction, he supposed, and pride.

He looked over the new hills that surrounded his own, wings of both black and white broken together. Aziraphale looked to the sword in his hand, willing the flame to die. The blade slowly cooled and Aziraphale briefly contemplated joining Crowley in whatever was beyond their infinite lives. His ultimate decision was to toss the sword over the side of the hill, into the pile of bodies that encircled him.

Aziraphale willed a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses and a vase into existence at the base of the headstone. He filled the vase with a fresh gathering of the yellow flowers, ones that he didn’t know the name of, but was certain Crowley would have. That’s where he remained for the rest of the war. The decades passed within the blink of an eye, though the flowers adorning Crowley’s grave were as fresh as the day they were cut.

When it happened, Aziraphale felt the war end with every fiber of his being. He knew the fighting was done, but he didn’t bother to find out which side triumphed over the other. It was of little importance to him now. His gaze swept across the piles of angels and demons, a spark of something flashing in his heart. Tears began to fall from his eyes, blurring the image of a figure appearing before him.

“Angel?” a horrified voice whispered.

Aziraphale blinked to clear the tears from his vision. A black-clad figure with flaming hair came into focus, one that he never thought he would see again. “Crow…” his voice failed him after all the years of silence. “The empty flask…” Aziraphale saw Crowley’s eyes flash with dismay as he put together what Aziraphale was implying. “You weren’t dead?”

Crowley looked around the two of them, eyes never lingering too long on the bodies around them. He turned his gaze back to the tear-stricken face of his best friend. “I went to Alpha Centauri.”

“I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you.”

“What have you done, angel?” he whispered. Aziraphale looked down at the grave as he unfurled his black wings into the emptiness behind him.

#too late #part two! #finally! #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens angst #probably some trigger warnings #my writing #fallen!aziraphale

[nakedmossy]

Golden Hour ☼

A Triple Frontier Story - Part 1/?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Molly [reader] has been living on the beaches of Mexico for the last 3 years since being honourably discharged from the army and leaving her fiance back in Texas. Riddled with PTSD, she went on a bender, ending up in a small coastal farming town in the Yucatan. Forced into early retirement despite being the best sniper in her company and all the trauma that came with that responsibility, she has worked hard to obtain peace in her new life. She was closer than ever to fully achieving it, that is, until her ex-crew member and lifelong friend, Will Miller, showed up with a proposition to bring her out of retirement for one last job with the boys. -----------------------------

The sun was hovering around the horizon, beating down on the beach as the water lapped the shore. You rolled the dirty cup around in the dishwater absentmindedly, scrubbing the dried coffee off the sides, letting your hands soak. It had been an easy day, a 5am rise for a morning surf, a bike ride to the market to pick up some fruit, and a mid day Dive to a wreck site with some tourists. All-in you had pocketed around $50, including tips, and a complimentary phone number from the bachelor who had tried to frisk you while you filled the tanks on the dock. It would get you enough food to last through to the weekend, and if it didn't, well, you could always call the bachelor tourist for dinner.

You were caught up in a daydream when you heard something rolling in through the bush, the sounds of the studded tires reverberating off of the rock and palm trees, the sand and jungle brush cracking and moving, the dull hum of the engine. You tipped your head closer to the window over the sink to see a slick black motorbike come to a stop near your hitch, a large muscular figure hooking his helmet on the handlebar before jumping off and walking towards your trailer door. Your hand hovered over the sidearm you kept loaded on your kitchen counter.

“Hey Sweet Cheeks” The voice shouted, the silhouette keeping its arms and hands visible.

Your stomach dropped. No way. The voice belonged to the boy who had pinched your ass as a kid, annoyed your ass as a teen, saved your ass as a new recruit in the army, and more than once grabbed your ass at the bar while you squeezed your ass into a tight dress. You froze for a moment before you looked out your window and saw him standing at your trailer door, waiting.

You opened it abruptly, swinging it hard enough that it hit the side of the trailer with a loud clank. You kept your arm out to keep it wide, surveying the sight in front of you with a shocked expression, your chest rising and falling in shallow, tight breaths of disbelief. He did the same, his eyes travelling up from your bare feet, along your tanned legs, to your jean shorts and your braless tank top, all the way to your shaded eyes.

“Will Miller” You spoke, his name like a muscle memory in your mouth. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

You took three long seconds before you smiled, then you practically jumped out of your trailer and into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, laughing uncontrollably in surprise and excitement. He squeezed you tight, one hand around your hips, the other on the back of your head, compressing you into his muscular frame. He let out a low growl of contentment while he nuzzled his head into your hair.

“Good to see you Molly” He mumbled.

You squeezed him with as much strength as you could muster before he let you slide down, your feet hitting the sand below. You brought a hand up to shade your eyes, the sun beaming directly in your eyes from behind his shoulder. You knew his face like the back of your hand, you had grown up with it chasing after you with spiders and nerf guns, then spent 10 years in active service being chased by cockroaches and real guns. You hadn’t seen him since you moved to Mexico.

“What are you doing here, man!” You laughed, you couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t changed at all, aside from a few new laugh lines around his mouth. His smile was reserved as usual, but unabashed.

“Oh, you know….I was in the area” He winked and looked around, snickering. Your end of the beach was cut off to tourists and hardly even accessible to locals. You weren’t even sure how they got a trailer there in the first place. It was as visibly remote as you could get in the Yucatan these days.

“How did you…find me here?” You watched him watching you closely, like he was looking for something.

“A local kid working at the market. I asked for directions to the little local Turkey with yellow hair and he practically drove me here himself.” He grinned with mischief and dodged my hand as I smacked him. “He seemed to know who I was, too.” He looked at you expectantly, which made you giggle to yourself.

Your friends son, Erik, was one of the few kids who spoke clean English and visited often. You had helped him with his math tests last year and he had agreed to cut you firewood for a year. He had seen the picture of you and your crew in your trailer and demanded stories around the fire every time he came by. He asked about Will the most.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now.” You said, stricken with shock again and unable to gather yourself. “Whats it been…2, 3 years?”

“2 years and 5 months” Will said quietly, smiling at you. “You look younger somehow”

“Yeah, well, that’s the tequila and the saltwater for ya. Stick me back in Iraq and strap a rifle on my chest, ill age 10 years in front of your very eyes”

Will nodded with a knowing smile and looked around, checking out your decaying trailer and old truck, his eyes settling on the boat overturned on the beach, which you were in the midst of patching and doing engine maintenance on.

You shared a quiet moment together, taking each other in, before he smiled again and open his arms for another hug. “Come’ere kid”

He squeezed you again and this time found your butt, pinching it.

“Fucki-OUCH” You wailed, pulling away and smacking his chest. He laughed like a little boy and bounced away a step, stretching his arms and sighing, relaxed.

“So,” You said after a few moments of silence, before stepping back and pacing in a half circle once. “You want a drink?”

He smiled at you and you felt your head spin. It was the same familiar smile he used to give you when you were kids and you couldn’t reach something or you needed his help lifting something. Not patronizing, just…pleasantly amused.

“Yeah, a drink would be nice.”

“Grab a chair, i’ll be right back” You motioned to the seats surrounding the fire pit that was on the edge of the sand. He turned and walked towards them and you felt your chest tighten. You could never calm down when he was around, staring at you, his physical presence was overwhelming. Even still, after all this time. After everything that had happened in the war, your breath caught when he smiled.

When you came back out with two glasses of bourbon, neat, he had his feet perched toe to heel and was leaning back, enjoying the view of the ocean.

“Pretty okay view to wake up to” You said, handing him his drink. You saluted each others glasses and he smiled, looking back out at the water.

“Unreal. I wouldn’t leave.”

“I don’t” You winked.

“So how did you end up here anyways” He took a drink and savoured it, balancing the glass on the armrest.

You took a long, deep breath and leaned back in your chair before exhaling quickly and looking around.

“I came down after Pete and I.…after I left. He took the house, I took…my shit, and I split.” You laughed bitterly, rubbing your eyebrow. “I don’t know. I went rogue for a bit and woke up here one morning after a bender, just never left.”

Will was quiet for a few moments, considering what you said, before speaking.

“Did things end badly - with Pete?” He was watching you intently.

You held his gaze boldly, amidst your discomfort regarding the topic, your face a blank canvas.

“No” You lied, forcing a smile.

His eyes narrowed slightly but he looked back at the water and took another drink.

“What’re you doing to make money?”

“Lots. Pole dancing, escorting. Selling drugs.”

You were mostly kidding about the last part, but you had sold a couple bags of weed to some of the local teenagers after you found out they were buying it from the cartel - trying to keep their names out of the streets as long as you could before they inevitably got recruited.

He was looking at you again, his face dark now, a shadow of the light hearted kid you had gone to prom with.

“Seriously, Mol. What are you doing down here.”

“Getting interrogated apparently. Calm down, Ironhead. Nothing illegal.” But when he didn’t budge you continued “Im a Dive Master, I take tourists out to some of the reefs every couple of days to pay the rent, and I help out at some of the farms on the off season.”

Half satisfied by your half answers he swirled his drink and took a sip.

“Enough about me, care to explain what you’re doing down here? Turning up at sundown like an old friend?” You watched him closely, observing his posture, noticing the hilt of his sidearm poking out the side of his t-shirt.

“Working” He said bluntly, returning your snarky smile with an equally shaded answer. “Recruiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you sat deeper in your chair, unbelieving how crassly he was owning up.

“Unbelievable. Just right down to business eh? You turn up here after 2 years, sorry, 2 years and 5 months and you don’t have the courtesy to wait 10 minutes before you pull this shit? No.” You said firmly. “No. Im retired."

He nodded, then leaned forward and downed the rest of his drink, placing the glass at his feet and resting his elbows on his knees. He watched you with such an intensity that you shifted in your seat and looked away.

“Mol, look at me.”

You sneered and looked at him, your hat shading your eyes from the setting sun, but barely.

“Its a 2 day job at most. 1 day and a single shot if we’re clean-”

“No” You cut him off, leaning forward to stand up.

“Its 5 million USD” He said quickly, stopping you from walking away. “Each.”

You took a deep breath and waited, considering sitting back down. You stayed standing. You tilted your head to the side and lifted your hand to your mouth.

“Who” You said quietly, not wanting to give him the impression you were seriously considering it.

“Juarez.”

You choked you had laughed so hard and so quick. You sat down abruptly on the edge of your chair, looking at him like he had two heads.

“No way. Not a chance. Are you kidding?”

He said nothing, just watched you and raised his eyebrows, the words ‘5 million’ written across his forehead like a banner. When it was clear he wasn’t joking you leaned forward, matching his posture, ducking your head down until you had his eyes squared with yours.

“Listen to me. There’s dangerous, there’s what we did in the army, and then there’s that.” You waited for a reaction that never came. You pressed on. “Will, I have been down here for 3 years. Living, working, fucking with these people. Juarez isn’t just a cartel boss who cuts fingers off and mails them to the victims kids on their birthdays. He systematically brings down monarchies. He beheads children. That man is a fucking monster.”

Will sat firm, his jaw set, not breaking eye contact. He was challenging you, as he had a million times before, only this time neither of you were in uniform and both of you had level playing ground. He wasn’t your superior officer, and you weren’t his sniper.

“We’ve dealt with worse.” He said finally.

You broke eye contact and looked at your bare feet planted in the sand, your tanned skin smooth and warm. No scars, no combat boots, no dust. Freedom. What you had worked for your whole life.

“Its 5 million, Mol. One target, one shot. Nothing more. Freedom for the rest of your life.”

“I already have that. Look around” You put your arms out, the whole of the beach and your paradise encapsulated in them, rage tickling under your skin. “5 million aint worth giving this up, 5 billion wouldn’t even be.”

He looked around and back at your trailer, at the rusting metal and the fraying tarps, before setting his gaze on your arm, on the scar that ran up it, and finally back to your eyes.

“Hows the Physio down here.” He said darkly. “Your off season farm job’s health insurance covering it?”

You flinched like he had hit you, your eye flickering as the memory of the bullet cutting through your arm and shattering the bone blazed like fire in your peripheries.

“Fuck you, Will.” You said finally, your voice cracking when you said his name. You stood up and pushed past him, walking towards your trailer. Subconsciously you held your arm and rubbed it, the phantom pain lingering. The deep and permanent damage had bothered you every day since you obtained the injury 6 years ago, on one of the last missions you had done with Will and the crew before they retired.

“Molly” Will grabbed your arm from behind, pulling you to a stop, and you winced. Not from pain, more from recognition. “Im sorry” He said intently, his eyes searching yours.

“I can’t” You said finally, your posture strong and your eyes set. You were still muscular and built like you were in active duty, but so was Will. “Even if I wanted to - I can’t.”

Will took a step closer, his breath almost on your face now.

“Why not” He pushed.

“Because” You spit back at him “I can’t use a scope. Or Binoculars. My heads fucked up.”

Wills eyebrows knit together and he looked over your head with his gaze, face taught with confusion.

“What’you mean?”

You shrugged and licked your bottom lip, looking away from his prying eyes.

“I had an accident a few years ago. I got a concussion that fucked with my equilibrium, haven’t been able to use binoculars or a scope properly since.”

You took a breath and straightened your back, setting your jaw. If he was going to play hard ass, then so were you. Fuck his intimidation tactics, you had learned how to deal with those in elementary school. He would have to try harder.

“Service?”

You shook your head, your lips pursed.

“After I left”

“What happened?”

Your eye flickered again, the memory of Pete attacking you and knocking you down a flight of stairs, your head cracking off the banister, still as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“I fell.”

Will, visibly agitated now, shifted his weight to his other foot. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, probably because I didn’t expect you to come down here and try to recruit me to whack the leader of my neighbourhoods biggest cartel?”

“Mol, im your friend, you shou-“ He started, but you backed up, shaking your head.

“Oh yeah? And where have you been? Last time I checked a prerequisite for friendship was checking in once in a fucking blue moon.”

Will bared his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath, looking down at his feet with his hands on his hips.

“Was it Pete?”

You didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Will’s hands covered his face and he groaned audibly, rubbing them into his hair in frustration.

“Molly. I have like 5 minutes left in me before I pull the fuse line to your propane, light a match, and drag your ass out of here on the back of my fucking bike. Come for drinks. Hear us out. Please.”

“Us?”

“They’re all here, waiting at the bar.”

You shook your head, smiling bitterly. Of course they were.

“There are better soldiers out there. Better snipers out there. Go recruit one of them.”

“Not true. You never missed a shot.”

“I missed once” You started, your voice lowering reflexively. “And you know what shot I missed.”

He held your eyes as the memory lingered in the air between you, the sound of the bullet hitting the body of the child behind your target would be something you took to your grave. It haunted every minute of every day.

“Molly, come on. Look at you. You’re living in a dump trailer with a half broke boat and a fucking peddle bike. You’re better than this and you know it.”

“Im not better than shit. Don't feed me that 'we were warriors' crap. I was a girl who was good with a gun, and I killed people. And now i'm broken. Thats the truth."

“MOL, I NEED YOU-” He yelled now, his hand shaking. The outburst took you off guard and you stepped back, your face slack. Will grabbed his hand and rubbed it, turning around and sighing deeply before facing you again. “Molly, I need you to hear us out. Come have a drink in town, listen to Pope’s plan. Please.”

You were still on guard from his outburst but you closed your mouth, your eyes dropping to his hand, which still shook lightly. PTSD was a tricky motherfucker.

You blinked silently a few times before raising your eyes to his again, a silent moment of recognition passing between you. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t seriously asking for help, and the rest of the crew wouldn’t be waiting if there wasn’t already a good plan in place.

“They’re all here? Redfly?”

Will nodded, his jaw tight.

“Fine” You said then, swallowing your pride and knowing you would regret it. “One drink.”

“One drink” Will repeated, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But Will,” You interrupted his budding smile and took a step so your faces were close again. “I wasn’t joking. Im not the shot I used to be. If we do the Recon and I tell you I can’t do it, that’s it. Im out. Full stop.”

Will blinked a few times as his eyes drifted down your face to your mouth and back up, his eyebrow twitching.

“I understand, Mol” was all he replied.

----

#triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller #benny miller #frankie morales #santiago garcia #garrett hedlund #pedro pascal #will ironhead miller #will miller x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier boys #oscar isaac

[rnufharose]

Chapter 1

Words: About 2K

Warnings: None. Maybe some violence and a character death.

Every child is an artist.

The problem is how she can remain as such when she grows up.

It all begins with just one moment—the moment she picks up a crayon, a marker, a piece of colored chalk, or maybe a paintbrush. She uses the color red, maybe blue, or green, until her imagination blossoms and creates her hopes and dreams.

And what were her dreams? What dreams did she embrace? What honor did she protect? Well, she did many things, but as time passed and as the Planet was being sucked dry, so was the landscape. All she could see was the green lights, the iron skyline against the vibrant blue sky, reminiscent of an important person's eyes, and soon, each and every canvas was the same. The same buildings in the distance, the same children on their bicycles, the same young couple that held hands, the same schoolboy who fumbled with his phone.

To Ann, embracing her dreams was becoming much more difficult as time passed. Her time in Midgar wasn't as beautiful as it used to be when she first arrived.

It was when she was fourteen years old. She had saved up all of her money and left her hometown of Gongaga to follow her older brother where she too wanted to make it big in the greatest city on the Planet. She wanted to be an artist that would make people smile. She wanted her works to grace the canvases of every gallery where people would come from all over the sectors to see what she had painted next.

While her brother climbed the ladder and became a renowned SOLDIER for Shinra, Ann continued studying, spending the late-night hours perfecting her skills in sketching or painting while her brother slept away, his snoring sounding throughout the apartment. When she turned eighteen, she had been accepted into Midgar University, taking her place in its prestigious art program, but things changed. Ann's life grew dull, the warm and cool and pastel colors that were her world reduced to black and white, and she wasn't the same anymore.

She never picked up the color sky blue. She never looked up at the blue sky on a clear day. That very shade of blue became a constant reminder of what she had lost, and she would never see him again.

Ann was seated in her studio apartment, looking at the blank canvas propped on her easel, the city lights of Midgar just through the wide window with the skyscrapers of Sector 8 towering in the distance, Mako energy tinting the landscape a bright green with no stars to be seen in the night sky. She should have been working on her art project but she didn't feel like picking up her paintbrush, the shades of red acrylic on her palette untouched.

She breathed a heavy sigh, looking down at her lap where her hands were clasped, only to look back up when she heard a knock on her door. The brunette stood up, blue eyes set on the door, and she crossed the apartment to see just who had arrived.

"Helloooooo," a sweet voice called from the other side, and Ann knew just who it belonged to.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open, coming face-to-face with the one person who made her a life a little more vibrant. There she stood—a slightly older girl with big green eyes and an optimistic smile. Her brown hair was planted into a rope braid, tied back with a pink ribbon, and she wore a laced necktie with a flower charm along with a red bolero jacket, a pastel pink dress, and boots.

"Annie!" She greeted, wrapping her arms around the younger girl and giving her a tight hug, smelling of lilies. "Ooh, I missed you so much!" She always said that even when she had only seen her the day before.

"Hey, Aerith," Ann spoke softly before allowing her inside, closing the door behind them as the other girl walked toward the table, putting down her basket of flowers.

"I brought you those red roses you love so much," Aerith said as she took one step toward the kitchen area, opening the cabinet and pulling out an empty glass vase. "I figured you can brighten up this place. You need to surround yourself with more flowers."

"You don't have to do that," Ann chuckled a bit. "Do you want anything? Tea, maybe?"

"I'm afraid I can't stay for too long. I have more flowers to sell. You know what they say," she spoke as she filled the vase with water. "Midgar full of flowers, your wallet's full of money!"

He said that, Ann thought, walking back toward the easel and picking up the palette, washing off the acrylic in the kitchen sink.

"I see you haven't painted anything yet. Artist's block again?" Aerith wondered with an innocent tilt of her head and Ann gave a nod.

"You could say that," she said tiredly. "Sometimes... I just think I should just quit and go back to Gongaga..."

"You can't do that!" The flower girl gasped, walking away from the vase and standing at Ann's side, holding her arm with both hands, her brows furrowed with concern. "If you leave, then I'll never see you again! You're my best friend, Annie, and I'll be sad if you go..."

"Things just aren't the same anymore, Aerith," Ann shook her head, her eyes closed. "It's been a year, and nothing has changed... my world is dull... everywhere I look, all I think about is him."

Aerith pressed her lips together, gazing at the younger girl in silence, her eyes becoming melancholy. She knew exactly who Ann was referring to. That person she spoke of was important to her as well. He was the one who fell from the sky and into her bed of flowers. He was the one who helped her face of fear of the sky. His smile, his heart, his laughter, his dreams—they all became a part of her until she fell for him.

Her twenty-three wishes, her eighty-nine letters—they were all so she could see him again. Through him, she met Ann, and they became as close as sisters, and when she sensed his death a year ago, it kept her closer to Ann. She had to look after her and make sure she was okay. It hurt Aerith just as much, but she took comfort in the fact that he simply returned to the Planet.

She would see him again at one point... just not right now.

"I know," Aerith hugged Ann close, stroking her hair. "But he's always with us. You can't let his passing stop you from living. He would want you to embrace your dreams too. He will be so proud of you when you become a famous artist." She looked up for a moment, her gaze distant. "You have to keep his memory alive, and I've been doing the same thing. If I just sell more flowers, I know he'll be happy. That's what we've always wanted."

It seemed like it was only yesterday when the three of them were together. In his free time or when Ann wasn't in school, they would spend all of their time in the Sector 5 slums or the Church where Aerith's flowers grew, and they would make the best memories. They were a family and their future seemed bright, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Aerith wished she had stopped him from leaving for his mission that day, and Ann wished she had stopped him as well.

Zack... Ann thought, her eyes glistening with the onset of tears. I wish I could have told you I love you one last time... then maybe... my big brother best friend forever would still be here right now...

"Why don't we go out?" Aerith offered, pulling away from Ann and reaching forward to wipe away her tears with her thumbs before they could fall down her cheeks. "Turn those corners up. Selling a few flowers will put a pretty smile on your face and cure your artist's block!"

The younger girl was ready to politely decline, but she decided not to. Instead, she gave a single nod, the corners of her lips turning up slightly, "Alright... let's head out and sell some flowers."

"Hurray!" Aerith chirped happily, gathering her basket, and Ann gave a slight chuckle, walking toward the closet to pull out her weapon—a red rapier with a rose and gold thorns, along with three Materia slots in the hilt. It was a gift from Zack on her sixteenth birthday, and he had taught her how to wield a sword. There were more monsters in the city back when he was alive and he felt she needed to learn to protect herself in case he wasn't around.

She grabbed it, placing it at her hip where her belt held onto her red skinny jeans with black designs along the left pant leg that looked like rose petals. She grabbed her white leather jacket with its red hoodie, slipping it over her black fitted cropped shirt, and she faced the flower girl. "Ready to head out?"

"Mm-hmm," Aerith grinned, giving her a single nod, and Ann grabbed her keys. They stepped out of the apartment, locking it behind them before walking down the hallway toward the elevator, ready to fill Midgar with Aerith's vibrant yellow lilies.

******

It hadn't been long since they had left the apartment building. The streets of Midgar continued to bustle, its citizens chattering and walking about while the tires of cars raced forth and splashed against puddles. Ann and Aerith were walking through LOVELESS Avenue, the busiest street in Sector 8 which was the center of art and business. It was famous for residents who were studying in that field, as well as employees of Shinra or even the rich folks that purchased penthouse apartments at the top of the residential area. There was the local café, the art museum just down the block, the theatre where hit musicals and plays, including LOVELESS, had been held. There was the convenience store, the boutiques, the concert hall, the fountain at the center of the city sector, and just down the stairs several blocks away was the Sector 1 station.

Aerith had come to a stop in the alleyway between LOVELESS Theatre and the adjacent building, her emerald green eyes on a pipe that was slightly severed, a greenish-blue light coming out from it.

Ann had noticed her come to a halt, curiously eyeing the small light in the alleyway, "Aerith? Is everything okay?"

The flower girl was compelled to go near the light, stepping toward it and away from the busy street, crouching before the light and clasping her hands together in prayer.

Ann followed after her, standing above the slightly older woman and watching the green lights release something akin to embers. "Aerith?" She tried to grab her attention, but she was still engrossed in praying, her eyes closed. This wasn't the first time she had seen her best friend do something like this. It was almost like she was a divine being capable of sensing something otherworldly, but Ann chalked it up to her just being her quirky self as always, never questioning her.

"I hear them," Aerith spoke softly. "They're crying... they're in pain... they want help..."

"Who does?" Ann wondered, but the other girl didn't answer her. Instead, she stood up, having finished listening to the voices that echoed in her head, but her blood ran cold, the sound of howling coming from the other side of the alleyway. She flinched and looked the other way, her brows furrowed, shoulders tense.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ann inquired. Obviously, she couldn't hear the howling, but she could see the way Aerith had tensed, her eyes in the other side of the alleyway.

"I'm fine," she began before turning away, walking back toward the busy street. "L-Let's get out of here..."

"Wait!" Ann called out, following after her and still perplexed at her friend's frightened expression, and she bumped into a pedestrian, exclaiming slightly as the flowers in her basket fell to the ground.

"Hey, watch where you're going, chick!" The man barked, and the flower girl's eyes widened apologetically, bowing before him several times.

"I'm so sorry!"

He grunted, walking away and grumbling every curse word in his vocabulary while she stayed in her ninety-degree bow.

She gave a huff, straightening her stance, eyes darting toward her feet before her lips parted. "Oh no!" Aerith gasped, kneeling to grab the assortment of yellow lilies and red tulips that had fallen out of the basket.

Ann dropped her shoulders, opting to help her, grabbing the flowers as quickly as she could before anyone could step on them, and once Aerith reached for the last lily, another passerby walked past them, stepping on the flower, crushing the petals underneath his boot, and the flower girl's heart sank a little.

When he was gone, she gathered the flower in her hand, touching the petals delicately. She sighed heavily in defeat, holding it to her chest, "You poor thing..." she couldn't stand it when people stepped on flowers. "Normally... people are more careful with flowers... but he didn't even bat an eye..."

Ann looked over her expression with pity and melancholy. She knew how important flowers were to Aerith. Back when she first met her, she recalled the big scolding Zack had received when he almost stepped on her flowers. "Not many people see them in the city," Ann frowned, holding her shoulder in comfort while giving her the rest of the flowers that weren't harmed. "They often take such beauty for granted..."

"I wish they didn't," she mourned, lifting her gaze to look up to the nearly black sky, covered in smog, Mako energy, and light pollution.

"One day, I want to fill the whole city with flowers," Aerith continued. "But how can I do that when the Planet is crying out in pain?"

Ann wasn't sure how to answer that. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from Aerith's shoulder, lifting her gaze toward the sky, and she too gazed at how starless it was. Back in Gongaga, she would have seen so many of them, but this was Midgar, the iron city, and there was clearly something wrong. Zack... she thought. What would you do?

******

Somewhere in another part of Sector 8, the train was pulling into the Sector 1 station near Mako Reactor 1. Atop the train, on one of the many cars, someone was kneeling, baby blue eyes set on his destination ahead, the wind blowing in his spiky blonde hair. His hand grasped the hilt of his giant broadsword tightly before bringing it against his forehead, almost like he was paying respect to it. Then, he set it on his back, standing up from his crouched position.

He was tall, with a lithe, well-built frame, his face fair with the lightest dust of freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He had a tall nose, thin lips, his eyes glowing with Mako energy. He wore leather and metal gauntlets, a pauldron on his left shoulder, and the garbs of a SOLDIER First Class.

The train came to a halt, pulling into the station where two Shinra troopers were on patrol. He hid in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike, and the troopers inspected the train before one of them was pulled into one of the cars, knocked unconscious by a young man on the heavy side who wore a yellow t-shirt, denim shorts, a red bandana, and some belts and armor.

The remaining Shinra troopers had realized his partner had been immobilized, and he followed the sound of his pained grunt, his machine gun at the ready, but another male had captured him—a young man of the same age with scruff on his face, brown spiked hair and a bandana on his own forehead. He wore a t-shirt, protective gear, and fatigues, and while he held the captured trooper, a third person appeared.

The woman kicked the trooper in the stomach, a smirk gracing her pink lips. Her hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore breastplates over her blue shirt with brown fatigues. She giggled and watching her friend set the trooper to the ground and finally, came the leader of their little group.

He was a burly male with dark skin and tattoos, a crew cut, scars on his cheek, and a gun for an arm. His shades covered his eyes and he wore a sleeveless vest along with a wife-beater, dog tags, cargo pants, and a belt. He turned toward the top of the train, speaking in a gruff voice, "Get down here, merc."

The blonde male complied, making a grand entrance as he flipped off the train, looking ahead toward the end of the platform. It was time for their bombing mission.

My name is Cloud. SOLDIER First Class

#ff7 oc #ff7 #final fantasy 7 remake #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii #ff7 aerith #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife #ff7 cloud #cloud x oc #eventual romance #romance #angst #slow burn #eventual fluff #eventual smut #action #adventure #sci fi

[maaaaaatryoshka0325]

Hot - 3RACHA

Requested 💕

Warnings: filthy 4some (I’m ashamed) Dom! 3RACHA, double penetration

Maybe I should do a part 2?

I’d let 3RACHA dom tf out of me

Part 2

Being friends with three hot idols wasn’t always easy. There was a lot of sexual tension with the three, and you felt it every time you accidentally brushed against one of them or did the smallest thing, like your shirt coming up while you reached for something. Sometimes you allowed your eyes to linger on them a little longer than you should’ve, and it would lead to a blush or a smirk from one of the three.

All three were quite unpredictable though. What had started off as a normal conversation ended with Jisung hinting all three could take you and dom you.

“I could handle all three of you at once.” You said a little too confidently.

And who knew they’d call you out on your bluff? Because now you were seated on Chris’ lap, his plump lips kissing up your neck and sucking red and purple marks onto your skin like it was a canvas. Jisung was beside Chris, his lips on yours in a rough kiss while Changbin was kneeling in front of you, his lips kissing up and down your exposed thighs as he gripped just beneath your skirt.

“She wore a skirt just for us. She was planning this.” Changbin purred into the skin on your thigh.

“Such a cute little slut just for us, right Kitten?” Chris asked, his voice silky smooth.

You pressed your lips harder against Jisung’s to keep yourself from moaning at his words, not wanting to give in right away. Jisung chuckled as he pulled his lips away.

“A little rebellious are we?” He asked, taking your bottom lip with his teeth.

You closed your eyes tight, not trying to give him the satisfactory of you making a sound. He frowned and looked down at Changbin.

“Think you could break her?” He asked.

Changbin smirked a he lifted his head and licked his lips.

“I know i can.” He said.

You rolled your eyes, not thinking he was serious. He smirked at you and lifted your skirt up, running his finger up and down your clothed head.

“You’re really wet, huh babe?” He asked.

You went to say something snarky when pushed your panties to the side and licked a long strip up your soaked heat. You bit your lip harshly and arched your back. He smirked and rolled your clit with his tongue, making your legs start to tremble with pleasure. He slid a finger into your aching heat as his tongue continued to assault your clit. The things he could do with his tongue were lethal as it worked its magic on your sensitive bundle.

“She tastes so good, and she’s so tight.” He purred, switching his tongue down to your entrance and his finger to your clit. 

You let out a loud moan when he tongue pushed into you and lapped at your walls, earning a smirk from all three boys.

“That’s it baby, let us hear you.” Chan said as he placed sloppy kisses on your neck and shoulder.

“Her moans are beautiful.” Jisung said, pulling your shirt over your head and groaning at the sight.

He took your nipples in between his thumb and his index finger and rolled them gently, making you arch your back and push your hips right into Changbin’s face.

Changbin wrapped his arms under your thighs and buried his tongue deep in your walls as your moans bounced off the walls. You could feel Chris’ erection on your back and Jisung’s on your thigh as he leaned forward and took one of your nipples in to his mouth. You were an utter mess with all of the stimulation you were feeling. You were just about to reach your high when Changbin pulled away, and Jisung followed.

“What the fuck Changbin?” You yelled, your eyes filling with tears of frustration.

“You’re not aloud to cum yet princess.” He smirked, crashing his lips against your and making your taste yourself.

“Lay her down.” Chris said.

Changbin easily lifted you off of Chris’ lap and and pinned you to the bed, his lips attaching to the other side of your neck, the side that was unmarked, and left his own marks on it. You felt his bulge rubbing against your soaked heat and you whined.

“You’ll feel good soon princess.” He purred.

He stood up as the other two entered the room and took off their clothes. You watched their bodies in awe. Changbin had the most muscle, his chest toned and his abs as hard as rocks. Chan was very athletic looking, his stomach and chest beyond perfect, and despite Jisung looking skinny, he was completely ripped and had a broad chest.

“Like what you see babygirl?” Chris asked.

You bit your lip and nodded as you watched Chris turn to Jisung.

“You can have her first.” Chris said.

Jisung nodded and pulled his boxers down, his dick standing at attention and leaking with precum.

Your mouth watered at the sight as he walked over to you and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He smirked down at you as he swiped the head against your clit a couple times, making you moan as it stimulated you again. You felt something poking your cheek, and when you turned, you saw Changbin’s thick dick directly in your face.

“Don’t forget about us kitten.” He said. 

You were about to say something when Jisung slid into you, the stretch making you open your mouth to moan. Changbin took that as an opportunity and slid himself into your mouth. You moaned around him as Jisung pulled himself out and pushed himself back in with a groan.

“You weren’t kidding, she’s so tight.” He groaned.

You felt Chan’s hand grab your wrist and wrap your fingers around the base of his length as Changbin bucked his hips into your mouth, his head hitting the back of your throat every time. You were a whimpering mess as Jisung pounded into you, creating loud slapping sounds in the room. Changbin groaned as he thrusted himself down your throat over and over, and Chan was smirking down at you as you pumped his length with your hand.

“Look how fucked out she already looks, and we barley started.” Chan purred.

Your jaw began to hurt due to the overwhelming girth that Changbin had. His legs shook as he came down your throat. You swallowed him as your eyes rolled back as Jisung came inside of you after your walls deliciously tightened around him, your walls being painted white. At the sight, Chan came on your chest and groaned. 

Changbin slowly pulled out of your mouth, saliva and cum leaking from the corner of it. He smirked as he lifted you and flipped you onto your hands and knees.

“Don’t think we’ve finished princess, because we just started.” He said, pushing his already hardened length back into your dripping heat.

You let out a scream as he stretched you beyond what you’ve ever had. He pulled all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, a groan leaving his lips.

“Still so tight, even after already being fucked.” He purred. 

He grabbed your hair roughly and made you look up into the mirror across from you.

“See how beautiful you look after taking three different dicks baby? You look and feel like a goddess.” He purred, his hips slamming roughly into yours.

He was right, you looked incredible. You had cum painted across your chest that was leaking down your stomach, and some splashing from your abused hole every time he thrusted into you.

You saw Chris in front of you, rubbing his tip on your lips.

“C’mon babygirl, open up.” He said.

You opened your mouth as he pushed himself to the hilt into the back of your throat, groaning as he thrusted harshly into your mouth. Changbin growled as his grip on your hair tightened and he pushed your head lower on to Chris’ thick length till your nose was against his pelvic bone. Chris rolled his head back and groaned as he pushed himself as deep as he could go down your throat. Jisung was sitting on his knees beside you, pumping himself as he watched you being over filled by the two older boys. Changbin angled his hips and hit your cervix head on, making you gasp and almost scream around Chris’ length.

“Do that again.” Chris said.

Changbin slammed into you hard, making your mind go blank as saliva dripped from your mouth, and Chris smirked.

“She looks so filthy, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He said.

You cried out around Chan as Changbin landed a sharp slap to your ass as his hips were snapping roughly into you.

“That’s it baby, scream.” He purred.

Your body jolted when you felt Jisung’s free hand rub your clit in sync with Changbin’s thrusts, and your seocnd orgasm hit you so hard you had tears pouring down your cheeks as Changbin let out a low groan and came inside of you. Chris panted as he came down your throat, and Jisung on your back and ass.

Your legs and arms gave out as you fell onto the bed, panting as you felt a mixture of yours, Jisung’s, and Changbin’s cum leaking from your stretched hole. You felt yourself being flipped over again as Chris smirked at you.

“I have an idea.” He said.

You felt him lift you into his lap facing away from him as he brought your down on his impossibly already hard length and you cried out at the feeling. He allowed to you to sit there as he placed kisses along your neck.

“Changbin, come here.” He purred.

Changbin stepped in front of you and smirked, knowing what Chris was up too. Before you could question it, Changbin swiped his thick tip along your clit and you gasped at the over stimulation.

“This might hurt baby, but you said you could handle it, hm?” Chris purred, his eyes full of lust.

Before you could ask, you felt Changbin’s tip at your already full entrance as he began to stretch you to full capacity.

“Th-That won’t fit!” You gasped.

“You said you could handle us, remember?” Changbin asked as he pushed himself to the hilt into you.

You screamed at the stretch, and both boys covered your face and neck in comforting kisses as Jisung stroked your hair.

“You’re doing so well beautiful.” Jisung praised you.

Your pussy ached as both boys pulled out and pushed back in at the same time, setting a slow pace. You moaned, and it was cut short by Jisung sliding himself into your mouth.

“Just one more time baby, we promise.” Jisung purred as he thrusted roughly into your throat.

Tears and saliva covered your face as Changbin and Chan thrusted into you so roughly, hitting your g-spot and cervix all in one. You were screaming around Jisung as he had a tight grip on your chin, and Chan’s hand was tangled in the roots of your hair. You looked at Changbin, who was directly in front of you, and moaned even louder at the way his muscles flexed every time he thrusted in and out of you. His eyes were dark and hooded with bliss as he leaned forward and pressed kisses to your collar bone.

“She’s taking us so well Hyung, we should reward her.” He purred, looking at Chris.

Chris smirked and slid his hand down to your clit and applied pressure to it as he rubbed it in sloppy circles. Your eyes rolled back as you tightned around the both of them, your body stiffening and shaking as you were hit with a soul eating orgasm. Both boys moaned and came inside of you, their cum spilling right out and onto you and the bed as Jisung thrusted one last time and came down your throat. 

All of you panted as the two elder boys slowly pulled themselves out of you. Chris lightly laid you down and pressed soft kisses to your marked up neck.

“You did so well babygirl.” He praised.

You were a shaking mess, as your mouth was still slightly gaping and your body twitched with pleasure.

“We’ll clean you up baby.” Jisung said, grabbing a few rags and wetting them.

Changbin and Jisung cleaned you up as Chris held you and comforted you, rubbing soft circles into your hips.

When they finished, Jisung snuggled between you and Chris, and Changbin held you from behind.

“We should do this again.” Jisung said.

You smiled at them, having finally calmed down.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” You said.

“You did well, and acted on your bluff.” Chris purred above Jisung.

“Maybe a round two later?”

#3racha #3racha smut #bang chan #bangchan #bang chan smut #seo changbin #ChangBin #changbin smut #han jisung #jisung #han jisung smut #stray kids #straykids #stray kids smut #skz #skz smut #skz imagines