#her crest! her tattoos! she's so happy!

[queen-scribbles]

Wayfarer Jael Aizura, enjoying a lovely day out in nature, because you can take the girl out of the Wilds but you can’t take the Wilds out of the girl.

Art by @harumeau

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #jael aizura #she's so prettyyyyy haru did such a fantastic job #her crest! her tattoos! she's so happy! #i love it

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 5

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to babies, Uncle Javy and Uncle Rooster (because they deserve their own warnings)

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR USE ANY PARTS OF MY WORK

Breaker’s Beach, almost 12 years ago

In…out…in…out…

Jake timed his careful breathing to match the waves as they slowly danced towards the sand, the sky painted a beautiful cacophony of pinks, reds, purples, and yellows as the sun hovered just above the shoreline.

It was done. The papers had been signed and delivered to the courthouse, the judge had signed off on their custody arrangement, and her bags were packed and sitting by the front door of the house they shared – had shared. Now, it was time to say goodbye.

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as Abby’s peels of laughter rang across the near deserted beach, her toes being gently kissed by the cool water as Jake held her up over the cresting waves. He never thought it would end like this, not for them. Not for him and his sweet, beautiful wife and their two incredible daughters. They were supposed to be it, endgame, together forever. Whatever you want to call that couple who is just so blissfully happy together that no evil could possibly touch them. But points had been made and things had been said and enough tears had been shed to let him know that it was ending, whether either of them wanted it to or not.

His daughters were his only regret. Not having them, God no, he could never regret that. The very thought made him sick to his stomach. But knowing that this would be the last time he saw Abby for a long time made him…weak. His arms trembled at the notion that he wouldn’t be able to cuddle her against his chest before bedtime and his heart ached knowing that he would miss out on so many of her firsts.

Backing up a few steps, Jake sank down to sit on the damp sand and cuddled his daughter close.

“It ain’t gonna be forever, darlin’,” he murmured, thankful that she was too young to remember his voice cracking. “I’m gonna see you real soon, okay?” He pressed a kiss to her soft baby curls and felt a tear sneak down his cheek. “I’m sorry, darlin’…” His eyes clenched shut as more tears made a break for it and he tightened his hold on her, as though the last rays of sunlight stretching toward them would try to take her away from him, stealing the last few moments he would have with her.

Maybe he could go back to the house and give it one last try. Maybe he could convince her to stay, that they could work it out, that she didn’t have to leave the country, that it would be so much easier to do if they stayed in the same state. But that had been part of the problem, hadn’t it? And the judge had already agreed, with the provision that every effort was made to foster the relationship between the children and their parents. The papers had been signed and stamped, all black and white and professional. Buttercup got Abby, Jake got Charlie, and they would make provisions for visitation once the girls were a bit older and capable of traveling on their own. There was nothing to do now. There was nothing he could do now, no fancy maneuver to bail out at the last second, no nameless, faceless enemy he could strike down to save the day.

Sniffling slightly, Jake adjusted Abby, so she was facing him, and he traced his eyes over her features, committing them to memory. He knew that her features were the same as her sister’s, but she was her own person. The way she smiled and giggled, the way her nose scrunched up when she didn’t like something, it was all her. His Abby.

He trailed a single finger over her chubby cheek and she grabbed it, tugging it towards her gummy smile to gnaw on. Jake pulled her as close as he could to his chest without taking away her favourite teething toy and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek.

“I love you, Abby,” he whispered in her ear. “Daddy loves you. He always has and he always will. Please never forget that.”

Waco Airport, Now

Abby clutched her passport and boarding pass tightly in her hands as the plane taxied to the gate, her breath quickening as the plane door opened and passengers started to rush out. Just beyond that door, waiting for her, was her father, the man she’d waited her whole life to meet. She felt like she was a kid again, waiting anxiously in line at Disneyland Paris to meet Mickey Mouse for the first time.

Not that her father was a celebrity to her. No, he was way more than that. She loved her small, strange family in London, but she’d always felt like something was missing, and the lack of answers from her mother had left a small, dark hole in her chest. Her uncle had done his best to fill that hole, be the father she always wished she’d had, but it wasn’t enough. She loved him dearly, but it wasn’t the same as having a father to hold you tight or laugh with you or love you without a second thought. The mere thought of finally finding that missing piece had Abby nearly vibrating in her seat.

Finally, the passengers in the aisle cleared out enough that Abby was able to fetch her duffle and start the long walk to the door. She smiled at the flight attendants and the pilot, who was standing just outside the cockpit, chatting with the crew. The sight of the familiar looking uniform sent a pang of homesickness to her stomach. She had missed her family so much over the past six weeks, and now she was passing up the opportunity to go home and see them in order to meet the father she hadn’t seen since she was a baby. She wanted to be the one to meet Uncle Bob at the airport and have him spin her around like he had when she was a little girl and her mother would take her to pick him up at the airport after he had finished work for the day. She wanted to sit on the couch and watch old reality shows with her aunt and eat junk food and giggle about how silly the people were. She wanted to curl up with her mother on the window seat that looked out over their quiet London street and drink their tea while they read a book or watched the rain drops race down the pane of glass. She ached to see her family, and yet…

The thought of her father waiting for her behind those doors was enough to propel her down the plane’s aisle and down the tunnel towards the arrival gate.

As she breached the crowd of passengers, her eyes scanned across the crowd of waiting families until green met green, and she paused.

There he was. Her father. Standing amidst the crowd with military posture and a bunch of purple and green balloons, he was actually there. She was actually seeing him in person for the first time, and he was smiling at her, the crow’s-feet near his eyes deepening and a dimple popping out of his cheek as he waved.

“Charlie!”

“Dad!” She bolted towards him, dodging and weaving between the travellers who didn’t see her, and launched herself into his arms.

He caught her and lifted her into his arms as though she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. “Hey, Charlie-girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair as he slowly lowered to his knees, allowing her feet to gently touch down. “God, kiddo, I missed you like crazy.”

“I missed you too, dad.”

His eyes studied her face for a moment, and she gulped. She and Charlie had made sure that they were as identical as they possibly could be, even going so far as to pierce Charlie’s ears with a hot needle and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings. They had done everything they could; the plan couldn’t fall apart now.

“You pierced your ears,” her dad finally whispered, gently brushing her hair away from her ears and she felt her cheeks warm.

“Oh…yeah,” she looked down at her toes. “A girl in my cabin did them for me. Do you like it?”

Jake shook his head. “Charlie, you know how dangerous that can be? What if you got an infection? They look great but I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I won’t!” Abby hugged him. “Amelia helped me take care of them. We cleaned them three times a day with rubbing alcohol and I made sure to keep twisting them so they didn’t get stuck.”

She wasn’t lying, per say. While she had been the one to pierce Charlie’s ears so she could pass for her, Amelia had taken over at once, making sure the new holes stayed clean and uninfected. Once, she had gotten over the shock of it, that is.

Jake sighed. “Alright, baby. I guess I can’t say no when you’ve already done it. But, next time, permission first, please?”

“Okay, dad.”

Jake smiled at her before kissing her on her hair once more and pushing himself up to stand. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and your uncle might just kill me if we’re late for dinner.”

Abby grabbed her duffle off the floor and Jake snagged it from her, tossing it over his shoulder casually as she grabbed his hand, and they began the trek through the airport towards the parking lot.

As they passed a large bay window overlooking the runway, Jake’s eyes drifted over and he slowed to a stop as a plane raced by them, slowly picking up speed before lifting off the ground. She felt his shoulders lift and fall with a heavy sigh before they started moving again.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

Abby huffed. “Flying, dad. Do you miss flying?”

Jake hummed as he pushed open the door to the parking lot. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I guess.”

Abby fought back the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that Auntie Nat still practically climbed the walls whenever the urge to fly hit her, and she was always a bit snappish at Uncle Bob when he left for a long haul flight, even though flying a 747 was way different than flying a Super Hornet.

“You can tell me the truth, dad,” she said as they approached Jake’s truck.

“Who says I’m not?” he tossed her duffle in the bed of the truck and opened the passenger side door for her to climb in.

“I am,” she replied simply. “I know I’d miss something if I used to do it every day. So, it would make sense for you to miss flying.”

Jake smiled as he started the truck. “When did you get so wise?”

Abby shrugged. “I don’t know, dad. I guess camp had a good influence on me.”

“That’s another thing,” he said, taking advantage of the pause in traffic to look at her. “What’s with all the ‘dad’ stuff? You never call me dad. And you haven’t roasted me once since you got here, not even for the balloons. Usually, it’s ‘old man’ this and ‘old timer’ that.”

Abby felt even more blood rush to her cheeks. Charlie had told her about the playful relationship between her and their dad, one that led them to being both father and daughter and best friends. She had filled her in on how she razzed their dad about his age and his inability to get a date (though they both theorized now that it was because of their mom and not because their dad had no game), how she called him old man and he called her punk, how they pranked each other and her uncles when things got boring on the ranch.

“I…I mean…”

“You okay over there, punk?”

To her utter embarrassment, she felt hot tears start to slide down her face. She was supposed to be Charlie, and Charlie didn’t cry. Charlie was tough, a ranch kid who had been ready to get into a fist fight with her in the first week they met because they hadn’t clicked.

“Charlie?” She felt the truck pull over onto the side of the road before her dad reached over and unclipped her seatbelt and tugged her into his side. “What’s wrong, Charlie girl? C’mon, talk to your old man.”

Her mind racing, fighting through the embarrassment and the panic that was now coursing through her, she gathered her thoughts and began to speak in a quiet voice, tears still dripping down her face and onto her father’s flannel shirt.

“Th-there was a girl at camp…and she didn’t have a dad. She didn’t know who he was or where he was or even if he was still alive. But even though she didn’t know him, she still missed him like crazy. She said it felt like missing part of her heart.” Abby sniffled. She wasn’t lying. As much as she loved Auntie Nat and Uncle Bob and her mum, it had felt like she was missing part of her heart, not knowing anything about her father. But now? Now it felt like that part was sliding into place, her father the missing puzzle piece in her life. She continued, “And it just made me really grateful to have you, you know? And it made me miss you so much that I wanted to call you dad. Because not everybody has a dad, but I do, and I have the best one ever.”

Jake’s hand rubbed up and down her back as she sniffled into his shirt. “I missed you too, Charlie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Abby pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “It just seemed really unfair to me that some people don’t get to know their fathers, you know?”

She watched as Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he turned his attention back to the road, pulling on smoothly and continuing the drive home. “Yeah…yeah, honey. I know.”

Almost an hour later, they pulled off the road and onto the long, manicured driveway that led up to Seresin Ranch. Charlie had told her all about the ranch, how her dad and uncles had taken over when Grandpa Wyatt passed away and turned it into a successful working ranch, with cabins for camping and trail riding offered to the public, but nothing could have prepared her for the first sight of the ranch through the trees.

It was huge. And gorgeous. Cabins, barns and stables dotted the landscape; Abby could see horses grazing in the paddock and, when she rolled down the window, she could hear the gentle mooing of cows in the distance. Coming around the bend in the driveway, the main ranch house stood like a shining beacon at the end of the driveway, grand and homey and beautiful. Abby felt a shiver run up her spine. It was better than anything she ever could have imagined.

Abby blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes as two men exited the ranch house and stood on the wrap-around front porch, waving at them. Jake chuckled.

“They just couldn’t wait,” he muttered, parking the truck off to the side of the driveway, next to a baby blue Bronco and a gleaming red motorcycle.

Abby scrambled out the door as her dad grabbed her duffle out of the truck bed and her uncles jogged down the stairs to meet them.

“Charlie girl!” One of them cried, scooping her up into a hug and spinning her around. Abby caught sight of a tattoo decorating his bicep and knew exactly who she was being almost smothered by.

“Uncle Javy!”

His smile grew as she hugged him back, his impossibly white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “We missed you, kiddo!”

“Speak for yourself,” the moustachioed man quipped, but the smile on his face as he pulled her in for his own hug dulled the sarcasm of the comment.

“Hi Uncle Roo,” she said into his chest, the scent of something delicious wafting off his floral Hawaiian shirt.

“Hey, kid. Made your favourite for dinner.”

Right. Chili was Charlie’s favourite, and she especially loved it when her Uncle Rooster made it for her. Rooster worked as the cook on the ranch, making sure all the ranch hands and ranch visitors were fed three square meals a day. Javy managed the ranch staff and also coached the high school football team in town, something her dad helped out with on occasion.

“Sounds awesome. Thanks, Uncle Roo!”

“Why don’t you go get changed and washed up for dinner while I throw your laundry in the machine?” Jake offered as he slung the duffle over his shoulder and trekked up the stairs.

“Okay, dad!”

Jake grinned, a softness in his green eyes that had her smiling ear to ear. “Dinner in 20, okay?”

“Got it!” Abby turned and, taking a deep breath, walked through the entryway into the ranch house that Charlie had called home for 11 years.

Everything was laid out exactly as Charlie had drawn it. Her dad’s office was through the door on the right, the living room to the left, and the kitchen straight ahead, with a staircase up to the bedrooms through the living room. She knew that Javy had converted one of the cabins into a house for himself but that he spent almost all of his time in the main ranch house, and that Rooster had turned the attic into a bachelor pad.

Charlie’s bedroom was the furthest from the top of the staircase, and everything was exactly as Charlie had described. Purple walls, grey sheets on the bed, photos of Charlie and their dad, Charlie and their uncles, Charlie and the horses decorating the walls and tops of dressers. Ribbons and trophies from horseback riding competitions hung from a corkboard that left Abby’s mouth agape. The thing was practically overflowing with blue ribbons. Abby thought she was a great rider, but Charlie clearly had the hardware to backup her claim.

She pulled out her phone and opened the WhatsApp app, taking a photo of the medals and attaching it to a message that read, “You win. Hope you’re having fun with mum :)”

After a quick shower in Charlie’s ensuite bathroom and changing into jeans and one of her sister’s many t-shirts, Abby skidded down the stairs and raced into the kitchen, where Rooster was just serving up the homemade chili he’d been working on all day.

“Whoa, easy, kid!” he exclaimed as they narrowly avoided a collision that would have left the pot of chili on the floor.

“Sorry! I’m just starving!”

“Then grab a piece of garlic bread instead of trying to tackle me.” Rooster nodded over to the plate of cheesy garlic bread on the kitchen island next to Javy, who was staring intently at his tablet. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen, folks. I just need the hot sauce to really marry into the other flavours.”

Javy rolled his eyes as Abby hopped up on the stool next to him and snagged one of the gooey golden appetizers off the plate. “Yes, chef,” he mockingly saluted, covering Abby’s eyes playfully when Rooster flipped him off.

“I can always grab an MRE from the basement if you’re gonna poke fun, Coyote.”

Javy’s whole body shook with the force of his shudder. “Nope. Never again. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Good plan.” Rooster winked at Abby as he turned back to the bubbling pot.

“What’re you working on, Uncle Javy?” Abby leaned against him, peering at the x’s and o’s that decorated his screen.

“Just trying to figure out a new play for the season, girlie,” he tilted the screen towards her so she could see the dotted lines between the x’s and o’s. “What do you think? Should I have our running back go here?” He pointed at a spot on the screen. “Or here?”

Abby gulped. Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything about football in their preparations. Abby didn’t know anything about American football, only European football. She knew that Uncle Bob wasn’t a big fan, and that Auntie Nat used to enjoy playing football with Dagger Squad before she was medically retired.

“Oh, I don’t know…” she murmured, refusing to meet Javy’s eyes.

“You…you don’t know? You, Charlotte Seresin, don’t know what I should do with my running back? Rooster, you hearing this?”

“I’m hearing it but not believing it.”

“What did they do to you at that camp, girlie?” Javy rubbed his knuckles over her hair. “Steal your brain?”

She grinned weakly. “Sorry, Uncle Javy. I guess I’m just tired. It was an excruciatingly long flight from New York to Texas.”

“Excruciatingly?” Javy stared at her. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m calling Penny and demanding your brain back. Since when do you use the word excruciatingly?”

Abby felt her cheeks flush as she opened her mouth to try to salvage the situation, but someone beat her to it.

“Upset that she knows how to use big words, Coyote?” Jake strolled into the kitchen, snagging a piece of garlic bread and kissing her on the head in one fell swoop as his other hand finished tugging on his white t-shirt. “Just because my girl has a better vocabulary than you…”

“Oh, okay. Remind me who did better in Mrs. Stewart’s grade 12 English class? Hmm? What was that? Oh right, I did.”

Rooster snorted as he stirred the chili. “Oh, here we go.”

“Yeah, and who was it that helped you write that final essay? Was it me? Because I distinctly remember it being me.”

“Only after I came up with the idea.”

“Right, just like you came up with the idea for the play against St. Mary’s, but I’m the one who executed it perfectly. Who got the credit for that win again? Hmm?”

“We both did, you dummy.”

“Okay, and what about the evasive maneuvers we came up with at Top Gun? What’re they called again? Oh yeah, The Hangman Maneuver!”

“They should’ve been called the Coyote Maneuver!”

“Oh screw that, it should’ve been called the Rooster Maneuver!”

As Rooster clicked the stove off and turned to join the argument, Abby felt a warmth as familiar as her home in London wash over her like a cool breeze on a warm day. This was home, just as much as her home in London with her mum and aunt and uncle. She belonged here, just as much as she belonged in London. This felt right.

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#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #parent trap au #glen powell #as you wish fic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine

[writerlyhabits]

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it. 

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?:  Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day. 

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home. 

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind— 

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated. 

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply— 

“Alright, what are we doing?” 

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love. 

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb. 

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again. 

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again. 

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her. 

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…” 

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move. 

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently. 

You challenge him, “He looks scared.” 

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.” 

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din. 

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride. 

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says. 

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep. 

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them. 

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head. 

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out. 

In… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly. 

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment. 

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more. 

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore. 

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.” 

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion. 

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.” 

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit. 

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.   

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[duskandcobalt]

bloodlust 🩸🗡️

Happy Halloween 🎃🎃🎃

Azriel's covered in blood and Elain has an ✨awakening✨ (18+)

This is my contribution to kinktober, it's porn with a smidge of plot and a dash of pining because of who I am as a person.

TW: slightest bit of knifeplay and a hint of degradation, like so so so miniscule for both.

3.8k words

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Azriel is covered in blood.  

It’s soaked through his clothing - his white shirt and jeans are stained with massive splotches of blood, his black combat boots act as a canvas for large crimson droplets. It’s smeared across his broad chest and shoulders, splattered all over his strong neck and handsome face. Streams of it drip down his toned arms. The bright red rivers stand in stark contrast to his deep brown skin and the black ink of his many intricate tattoos. Even his hands and nails are flecked with dried blood, as is the shining dagger clasped in his right fist. 

Elain is irrevocably frozen in place, unable to do anything except gawk at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

———————————————————————————————

Elain didn’t have a single clue as to what her sisters were talking about as she stood in between them. Her mind was elsewhere, her back pressed against the wall as her eyes anxiously flickered to the front door of Cassian’s apartment each and every time it opened, hope cresting within her like a wave only for it to crash into crushing disappointment when the person entering was inevitably not the person she’d been praying would make an appearance tonight.

She hasn’t seen him in almost three long months. He’d been away for almost the entire summer, traversing Europe on an unplanned trip that was almost definitely a very expensive effort to avoid her. 

They had had an arrangement. One that had them secretly meeting over the course of three whole years to satisfy physical needs in between other on and off again relationships. It was an arrangement that had worked well until lines had started to blur. Until their nights turned into mornings and mornings turned into afternoons and afternoons turned into entire days spent together.

It all came to a head one tumultuous evening when he’d gone and ruined everything by letting three small words slip in the heat of a moment. She’d been so shocked at the time that she hadn’t even tried to stop him when he quickly got dressed and left her in bed, sweat soaked sheets that still smelled of his cedar cologne clutched tight to her chest. 

Elain hadn’t seen him since. Hadn’t even really heard from him except for one drunken text from an unknown number that started with the Italian country code. Despite it all, despite her better judgement, he lived at the forefront of her mind. 

All she wanted was to know what his face looked like now. She wants to know if he has new freckles from the European sun. She wonders whether he’s changed his hair, gotten any new tattoos, or if he’d still be wearing the chain she’d bought him two Christmases ago. 

A chain that he’d only taken off once - for a period of 162 excruciating days, while he dated some pretty redhead he’d met at his gym. The chain had been back around his neck the very same day that relationship ended and he was back at her door the very next night. 

In Elain’s mind, that thin strand of gold acted as a physical marker that a part of him still belonged to her.

…

When the front door swings open again almost two hours later and she finally sees the face she’s been waiting for, her mouth goes dry. All thoughts and questions empty out of her head.

Azriel is covered in blood.  

It’s soaked through his clothing - his white shirt and jeans are stained with massive splotches of blood, his black combat boots act as a canvas for large crimson droplets. It’s smeared across his broad chest and shoulders, splattered all over his strong neck and handsome face. Streams of it drip down his toned arms. The bright red rivers stand in stark contrast to his deep brown skin and the black ink of his many intricate tattoos. Even his hands and nails are flecked with dried blood, as is the shining dagger clasped in his right fist. 

Elain is irrevocably frozen in place, unable to do anything except gawk at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

She should feel alarmed, should be at least a little frightened at the thought of this absolute tower of a man drenched in blood. Instead, it’s a pleasurable tingle up her spine that she feels as she devours the sight of him, flashing images of those blood covered hands on her naked body invading her mind.

It isn’t until his eyes lock on hers that she’s pulled out of her deranged reverie.

Azriel’s face is frustratingly neutral, no hint of emotion visible even as his gaze drags quickly down her body and then back up again. He gives her no further acknowledgement before he turns and stalks towards the boys in the kitchen. 

Elain bites down on her lip and drains the last bit of the vodka soda she’s been sipping on before she passes her glass off to Feyre who’s too drunk to question why Elain is handing her an empty cup in the first place. She mutters something about going to the bathroom to Nesta and then makes her way towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. 

She tells herself it’s that singular drink settling warm in her stomach that has her pulling out her phone from where it’s shoved between her breasts and her dress to send a text that’s sure to be the first of the many bad decisions she’ll make tonight. 

… 

Azriel hadn’t let it show but he’d been shocked beyond belief when he walked into Cassian’s apartment tonight and saw her.

For as long as he’d known Elain, she had always favoured flowy dresses and skirts that only ever presented the occasional glimpse of her thighs or a hint of cleavage. Even when it came to costumes, the furthest she’d go would be a tight dress or leather pants. 

She’d clearly chosen a different direction tonight. 

He doesn’t quite know who she’s supposed to be dressed up as but he also doesn’t quite care because he’s more focused on the fact that she’s barely even dressed to begin with. 

All she’s wearing is a ludicrously sheer pink negligée with fuzzy pink trim over her breasts and along the hemline that matches the fuzzy pink high heels on her feet. Her dress is so obscenely short that it hardly grazes the elegant sweep of her hips and just barely covers the pair of lacy pink panties clearly visible underneath. 

It bothered him that he had felt an immediate, overwhelming desire to wrap her in a throw blanket and hide her away. 

He wasn’t that type of guy, had never been that type of guy. But that instinct had always come out of hiding around Elain and something about her tonight, something about the thought of other people seeing her like this made him so unbelievably jealous that he was genuinely concerned he’d use his fake dagger to carve out the eyes of any man that looked at her too long.

“Jesus Christ… is that a costume or did you actually fucking kill someone?” 

Azriel barely hears Cassian’s question over the thumping bass of the explicit rap song that’s blasting through the house. 

Nesta and Cassian’s Halloween party was an event that Azriel secretly looked forward to each year even if he liked to pretend that he’d rather be absolutely anywhere else if only to quietly antagonise Nesta. He enjoyed seeing the months of careful preparation come to fruition almost as much as he looked forward to the sheer amount of gossip that would inevitably surface over the coming days as a result of whatever debauchery was sure to occur on this beloved holiday that went hand in hand with lowered morals.

“Nes said I wasn’t allowed to show up as off duty Batman again.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes as he finally addresses his best friend. “Apparently it’s lazy.”

“So you went out and murdered someone before coming here, instead? Is that why you’re late? Am I your alibi?” Cassian is very obviously three sheets to the wind. 

He’s also dressed as Hercules, which Azriel could say is a bit on the nose for his athletic friend but he decides to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I had a gallon of fake blood shipped to him this morning and told him to figure it out.” Nesta appears behind Cassian, dressed in the coordinating Megara costume to her boyfriend’s Hercules. Her long purple gown has a high slit running all the way up to her right hip bone that Azriel’s certain didn’t exist in the movie. 

“You look great, Az.” She reaches up to press a welcoming kiss to his cheek, carefully avoiding the splatters of blood on his face. “Terrifying, but great… a significant improvement to coming dressed as a slightly more goth version of yourself.

He's just about to give in to the temptation to deliver a snarky comment back but he’s too busy pretending not to notice the bounce of Elain’s ass as she walks out of the kitchen and past him without so much as a sideways glance in his direction.

Two minutes later, his phone pings with a new text message notification.

Cassian’s bedroom. Now. 

Azriel squints at his phone, the bright light of the screen is obnoxious in the dark kitchen. The number isn’t saved to his phone anymore because he’d deleted  it after an incident where he’d sent her a completely illegible apology while drunk in Italy, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have it memorised.

He reads the message again. And then once more for good measure just to make sure he’s reading it right. 

He’s not even sure what excuse he gives his friends before he’s on the move. He goes over a number of potential options for what she could possibly have in store for him in the minute and a half it takes him to navigate sweaty bodies and various costume props as he makes his way upstairs.

He knows she must be pissed at him, that she probably has months worth of pent up anger that has been simmering until she had the opportunity to unleash it on him in person. He almost shields his face as he lets himself into Cassian’s room out of fear that one of her fluffy heels will come flying at his head.

No shoes are launched at him yet he still feels like he’s been hit over the head because none of those imagined scenarios could’ve prepared him for this. For the reality of seeing Elain standing at the foot of Cassian’s bed, staring at him with a look that can only be described as trouble in her eyes.

She’s still in that ridiculous costume, but the little lace panties she’d been wearing underneath were now dangling from the crook of her index finger.

…

It’s one of the most vulnerable things she’s ever done. 

Probably one of the dumbest too. 

But there’s no room to overthink her decision as she stands half naked in front of a dazed Azriel, watching with a mix of nervousness and anticipation as he pulls his gaze away from her bare sex long enough to quickly and quietly shut the door behind him. 

He shakes himself out of his stupor. His entire demeanour shifts within a blink of an eye as he walks slowly towards her, flipping that blood covered blade between those beautifully bloody fingers. 

“What are we doing, Elain?” 

It’s been so long since she’s heard him say her name and the effect it has on her is unbelievable. It makes her knees go weak. Her heart pounds in her chest so loud that she’s sure he can hear it. Her brain goes all fuzzy around the edges. 

“Ideally, each other.” She fights the urge to slap her forehead the moment the words leave her mouth, knows she’ll think back on it later when she’s laying alone in bed and wonder why the hell she said that.

The corner of Azriel’s lips turn up with a hint of a smirk but he refrains from commenting on her awful attempt at humour.“We should talk.”

“The time to talk was months ago but you ran off to Europe instead. I’m not really looking to talk right now, anyway.” Elain collects herself enough to give him a pointed look. “But if you’re not interested, I’m sure I can find someone else to fu-”

Azriel doesn’t let her finish that sentence. He reaches forward, plucks her underwear off her finger and shoves them in his back pocket. He waves his dagger at what’s remaining off her costume, “Take that off.” 

She grins with the knowledge that even after all this time, she knew exactly how to get to him.

Elain reaches for the hem of her dress and peels it slowly up and over her head before tossing it on the floor. She moves to step out of her heels but Azriel stops her with a murmured instruction to leave them on.

“Tell me…” He steps closer to her, mindlessly tapping that blade against his palm. “Did you miss me like I missed you or is there something else that led to this?”

She doesn’t reply verbally, doesn’t trust herself to speak when she’s trying not to overthink that he’d admitted to missing her. Instead, she deliberately lowers her eyes and not so subtly allows her gaze to linger on his blood stained clothing, on the dagger in his hand. When her eyes return to his, she sees the surprise and understanding written clearly across his features.

“Interesting.” His voice is full of wonder as his initial surprise fades into curiosity. “I suppose bloodlust is a natural next step after you asked me to bite your neck when we watched Twilight.”

She can’t help but laugh at the memory but her laughter is abruptly cut off as the dagger in Azriel’s hand presses against her sex.

She has no plausible explanation for why the idea of Azriel covered in blood with a sharp object in his hands makes desire pool between her legs. For all the experimentation they’d done, for all that they’d explored together over the years, they had never crossed into territory quite as macabre as this.

Elain’s breath hitches as Azriel drags the tip of his dagger in a long, alluring line up her stomach and between her breasts. The plastic is unexpectedly sharp against her skin as it journeys up the column of her throat until it’s pressed firmly against the underneath of her jaw. He applies a little bit of pressure, just enough that her chin tilts upwards to look at him. 

“Is this how you want to play?” Azriel taunts, still holding the dagger to her neck as his other hand settles against the small of her back, pulling her against him in one rough movement. 

“Yes.” Elain moans when she feels the way he’s straining against the zipper of his pants. 

He increases the pressure on the dagger as his lips meet hers in a heated kiss. His teeth close around her bottom lip, pulling back slightly before his tongue slips into her open mouth. Elain’s fingers fumble with the button on his jeans, itching to feel the weight of him in her hand.

Azriel groans when her fist wraps tight around him, twisting and sliding as she pumps him. She turns them around, walks him backwards a few steps until he’s seated on the bed and then she’s clambering onto his lap. Each of her knees find their place on either side of his thighs. 

It’s rough and rushed but not a single second is wasted as she grinds herself against his length, coating him in her arousal before she sinks down on him in one hasty movement. She buries her face in the crook of his neck to muffle her scream just as his teeth close around her shoulder. She hears the soft thud of the plastic dagger hitting the wooden floor a second before his fingers are gripping her ass. 

She’d forgotten how it feels to have him inside her body. Has to pause for a full minute to breathe through it, giving herself a bit  of time to adjust to the stretch of him before she’s able to move again. Her fingers clutch at his shirt, the red stained fabric scrunching in her hand under the force of her grasp. She rocks back and forth on his lap, her hips rising and falling as she finds her rhythm.  

“Talk to me.” Elain’s words are breathy, she’s distracted by the feeling of Azriel’s hands as they move to her breasts.

“Thought you didn’t want to talk?” He challenges. His fingertips pinch her peaked nipples, drawing out a sound from deep within her belly.

“You know what I mean.” She hesitates for a second before she gives him a teasing grin and continues, “Just don’t accidentally say something you don’t mean this time.”

Azriel glares at her, his eyes darkening as his hands leave her to  reach behind him. He lifts his hips slightly to retrieve something from his pocket. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Elain listens, pausing her movement to bring her hands behind her. He takes hold of her wrists in one of his large hands, lace chafes against her skin as he binds her hands together.

“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t use those panties to gag you.” He huffs, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you like all the attention? Did you like the way all those guys downstairs were staring at you in that little outfit?”

She’d noticed, of course, the way some eyes had leered at and lingered on her throughout the night, surprised that the most timid of the three Archeron sisters had showed up to her sister’s Halloween party in literal lingerie.

Elain hadn’t cared, hadn’t paid them any attention. She hadn’t put on that costume for any of them. 

“Everyone thinks you're so shy, so quiet. But I know you.” His hands travel back down her body, pausing to gently press into her throat and then pausing again to palm her breasts. “Don’t I, Elain?” 

Azriel wraps his hands around her torso, his thumbs trace over her ribcage while the rest of his fingers splay out against her back. 

“I know just how loud and filthy you can be.” He watches her carefully, makes sure she’s okay with this before he continues. “Since you want to dress and act like a slut tonight, you can get fucked like one, too.”

His fingers dig into her skin when he lifts her up until only the head of his cock is inside her before pulling her back down, over and over again, with more intensity each time until the sharp sound of her ass slapping his thighs fills the room, synchronising with the increasingly obscene noises he’s drawing out of her.

“Who else fucks you like this? Who else fills you like I do?”

“No one. No one fucks me like you.” She fights to keep her eyes open, knows that he has a proclivity for eye contact while he’s inside her.

“That’s right.” Azriel nods. “Let them try, I’ll fucking kill them before they even get a hand on you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I killed for you?” 

Elain looks down and sees that some fake blood has transferred from his skin to hers, staining her pale skin with light red streaks and splotches. She can’t help but picture Azriel killing one of those men downstairs before coming up here to fuck her with blood still warm on his hands. 

She’s playing along when she answers him but a small thrill does race through her at the idea of him  being so possessive that he'd kill someone for even thinking about touching her. “Yes.”

Elain rolls her hips against him, seeking relief for the pleasure coiling low and tight in her stomach. She reaches to touch herself, forgetting that her hands are currently confined behind her back. 

“What is it, Elain?” He bucks his hips up into her. “Use your words.”

“Azriel.” She pleads. “Touch me… I’m so close, let me come.” 

“I think you forgot your manners, El.” 

“Please.” She mouths quickly, desperately. “Please touch me. Please let me come.”

She knows he’s close too because he gives in entirely too easily, bringing a hand in between her legs and lightly flicking her clit just enough to make her cry out in frustration. “Here? Is this where you want me to touch you?” 

“Yes. Fuck . Please.” 

Azriel rubs her clit, his fingers moving in firm, tight circles that have her tossing her head back as she arches further into him in search of even more pressure. He gives her what she needs, expertly caressing her exactly how she likes until her walls flutter around his cock, clenching tight around his rigid length until she’s breathless and slumped against his chest. 

“That’s it, Elain.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, kisses her throat. “Always so good for me.” 

Elain rises off of him and Azriel’s hands immediately return to her hips, steadying her as he helps to guide her off. 

Between her loose muscles and restricted hands, she somewhat clumsily settles onto the floor in between his legs and lowers her mouth to his cock. Her tongue runs along the length of him, tasting the proof of her release on his skin before she hollows out her cheeks and takes him between her lips until his tip prods the back of her throat. 

“ So fucking filthy . ” Azriel groans, wrapping her ponytail around his fist. “You love having me down your throat, don’t you? My pretty little slut.”

He’s not looking for an answer and she isn’t interested in giving him one as she takes him into her mouth again, relentlessly working him until she feels him start to throb against the inside of her cheeks. She pulls off of him and settles back on her heels.

Elain watches, half in a daze, as Azriel takes a second to appreciate the view of her kneeling in front of him with her arms tied behind her back, her breasts presented to him. Her sinful mouth is open wide, pink tongue out and ready.

He takes ahold of his cock, smacks it against her waiting tongue and then begins to swiftly fist himself until he finishes with a quiet shout of her name. She keeps her eyes on his, greedily waits until every last drop of him decorates her tongue, before she brings her lips together and swallows. 

Azriel pulls her back up against him, holds her close and kisses her slowly before he reaches behind her and unbinds her hands. He takes hold of her red wrists, carefully rolling them out before bringing each of them to his lips and pressing his lips gently to the delicate skin on the inside of each wrist.

Elain takes advantage of this quiet, intimate moment where she’s still propped on his lap as their breaths steady to properly look at him. 

She quietly counts the new freckles that grace the bridge of his nose, notes his slightly darker complexion. She runs her hands through his hair - slightly lighter from the summer sun but the length is about the same as the last time she’d seen him.  She runs her fingers along his strong nose, his sharp cheekbones. Traces the lines of his neck and skims along the neckline of his shirt, fingers dipping underneath the fabric to trace over his skin. 

She almost sighs in relief when her fingertips graze the cool metal of the thin gold chain circling his neck. 

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #elriel smut #kinktober #my writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #mine #acotar #azriel x elain fanfiction #knifeplay #degradation kink #blood kink

[the-sun-falls-like-a-guillotine]

admittedly, I just love feedism content in general, but the reason I love it so much in TMA fanworks is because The Magnus Archives is about hunger.

it's about thirst — bloodthirst (MAG112, MAG176), thirst for knowledge (MAG92, The Eye) — and hunger — hunger for power (Jonah Magnus), statement withdrawal (MAG148), feed your patron or it will feed on you (MAG89, MAG184). Any food and drink mentioned are often corrupted, whether literally, by memories, or by paranoia, like the human teeth apple from the anatomy students in MAG34, or the oolong tea offered by Also Martin in MAG186, or when Martin offers Jon a sandwich and Jon is so suspicious that he actually comes to the canteen to make sure it isn't tampered with (MAG53).

one of the only actual physical descriptors we get of Jon is scrawny (MAG185), so there's something very satisfying to me about relationship weight; about him recovering from years of deprivation and neglect; about a squidgy little belly in the palm of Martin's hand when he spoons in behind him. the thought of Jon and Martin safe and happy and healthy and together delights me, be it curled up on the sofa with tea and a bun, or making soup, or going out for ice cream.

I love the idea of Jon's much-improved appetite still not quite stretching to finishing his plate and he always insists that Martin finishes it without so much as one guilt-tinged word because he looks so ridiculously gorgeous when he's full, one big broad hand resting contentedly on the crest of his belly; or that scene I still have to work in somewhere where Martin catches Jon engrossed in their own reflection, studying the little roll of chub that now swells out over the waistband of their boxers, and Martin begins to panic because when he does that, his mind is loud and swarming with the voices of his mother, of other kids in the school playground, of the shitty men he settled for because he just wanted to be touched: oh, don't wear that top, Patricia, it makes you look fat; my mum has big tummy like you but there's a baby in hers; sorry, I don't think I can go through with this. I don't like girls and your hips are just... too wide. but Jon just turns to him and smiles with sparkling eyes and says I look... loved.

I'm also working on a polychives au where the worm bites across his back and shoulders restrict Tim's movement so working out isn't really an option anymore, and one by one all his coping mechanisms fall through leaving only food. the weight begins to pile on, stretch marks spreading like lightning across his belly, his chest, his hips, and for a time he feels so horribly conflicted about it because it feels good, but it doesn't feel like himself in any way that he's used to. then Sasha tells him in no uncertain terms how much she likes it, and once a miscommunication is sorted with Martin, and Jon begrudgingly agrees to try the four of them being together, he starts to love his swelling belly, his puffy little tits, every bit as much as they do.

I love love LOVE picturing Tim with this big lovedrunk smile, absolutely boneless in a cuddle puddle as he jokes that he should get a ouija board planchette tattooed around his belly button because of how often they each have a hand on his pudgy belly, like they all do now.

just... the softest of soft recovery and comfort against the cruelty of the original work.

#the magnus archives #tma #polychives #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: Hey, I just wanted to say I love your work so much! I did have a bit of a small request: How would the RE8 ladies react to their s/o getting their crest tattooed on themselves? (I.e. getting the family crest, or for the Dimitrescu sisters, getting the tattoo they share on their forehead) You don’t have to do this request, I just thought it was kinda a neat idea since we’d get to see who gets kinda possessive and stuff, lol.

I like this prompt! Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

You had been thinking about it for a long time, and finally, you decided to get the Dimitrescu family crest tattooed on your arm. As Alcina’s significant other, you knew how much her heritage and lineage meant to her, and you wanted to show your love and respect for her by getting her crest permanently etched on your skin.

When you showed Alcina your tattoo, you could see a range of emotions flicker across her face. At first, she looked surprised, then her eyes widened with delight as she recognized her family’s crest on your arm.

“Impressive,” She said, her voice low and smoky. “I’m going to take this as a sign of your loyalty and commitment to me.” She jokes.

You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate. You had been worried about how Alcina would react, but her approval made you feel like you had made the right choice.

“I’m glad you like it, babe,” You said, smiling. “I wanted to show you how much you and the girls mean to me.”

Alcina took your hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve done more than that,” She said. “You’ve shown me that you’re willing to go to great lengths to honor and respect our family’s legacy. And that, my dear, is something I will always appreciate.” She tells you and kisses your forehead.

Bela:

You nervously show Bela your new tattoo, the same one that adorns her and her sisters’ foreheads (Although, you got it on your arm instead). You know that she takes her family’s traditions and legacy very seriously, and you hope that she will appreciate your decision to display your loyalty and commitment to her and her family.

As she looks at your tattoo, you can see a mixture of emotions on her face. She seems proud of you for embracing this aspect of her life, but you can also sense a hint of possessiveness and protectiveness over the tattoo and what it represents.

You wait anxiously for her reaction, wondering if she will approve or disapprove of your decision. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she speaks.

“Baby… I’m… Happy that you’ve chosen to display your loyalty to the family in this way,” She says, her voice low. “But you must understand that this tattoo is not something to be taken lightly. You represent us all now that you have this tattoo.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her words. You explain to her that your decision was made out of love and respect for her and her family, and not for any superficial or attention-seeking reasons.

Bela nods, her expression softening. “I believe you, Y/N,” She says. “I am so grateful for you and your commitment to the family.” She smiles and kisses you.

You are relieved that she has accepted your tattoo and your intentions behind it. As she takes your hand and leads you away, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride and belonging, knowing that you are now a part of the legacy of the Dimitrescu family.

Cassandra:

You nervously glance down at the freshly-inked tattoo on your forearm, feeling both excited and anxious about what Cass will think. You had gotten the same design as the one that she and her sisters have, thinking it would be a romantic gesture to show your commitment to her and her family.

As you enter the grand halls of castle Dimitrescu, you can feel your heart racing with anticipation. When you finally spot Cass, you can tell by the look on her face that she’s noticed your new tattoo.

At first, she seems taken aback and slightly offended that you would get the tattoo without consulting her first. You can feel yourself shrinking under her piercing gaze, feeling like you’ve made a terrible mistake.

But as she takes a moment to fully process her emotions, you can see her expression relax. She starts to see your tattoo as a sign of your love and loyalty, the way it was intended. As she walks towards you, you can see a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She gives you a gentle hug, a silent gesture of acceptance and appreciation.

In that moment, you feel a rush of emotion and love for this beautiful, strong woman who has captured your heart. You’re so grateful to have her in your life, and you know that your new tattoo is a symbol of your commitment to her and her family.

Daniela:

You nervously show Dani your new tattoo, hoping she won’t be upset with you for getting it without her approval. As she looks at it, you can see her eyes light up and a wide smile spreads across her face.

“You got the family tattoo! I love it!” She exclaims, clapping her hands together in excitement. You let out a sigh of relief and feel a wave of happiness wash over you.

Dani examines your tattoo closely, comparing it to her own and pointing out any differences. She playfully teases you for getting a “Copycat” tattoo, but it’s clear that she’s just goofing around and is thrilled that you share her love for the design.

As you both chat about the history and significance of the tattoo, you can’t help but feel grateful to be with someone as passionate and enthusiastic as Dani.

You feel connection and belonging with Dani as you bond over your shared love for the tattoo. You realize that you’re lucky to have someone who accepts and supports you, quirks and all.

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #bela dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader

[chaotic-super]

The Contract

Long, sharp fingernails tap rhythmically against the ornamental arm of the throne the Demon Queen is currently seated on. She’s leaning back into it like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s a lie though; something is bothering her.

Using her free hand, the Demon Queen pushes her dark, raven hair out of the way and tucks it between her ear and her crown, which is black and spiked yet still glistens in the light of the raging infernos surrounding her throne room.

Her green eyes pierce down at the woman sitting in her lap, somehow relaxed despite being in the arms of the Demon Queen.

“Does the black one or the red one look better?” The blonde asks, tilting her phone screen towards her. “I think the red crest looks extra sinister, but you can’t beat a good depressing black either, so I’m not sure.”

Internally, the queen panics, her eyes wider than they’ve been since she was last in battle over the southern hellscapes. “Red.”

“Hmm, thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Supergirl.” The queen hisses out, gentle with a hidden bite beneath it, a threat that is either not picked up on or completely ignored. In fact, the fallen hero simply starts humming a happy little tune that makes the demon wish that she had the ability to deafen herself at will.

She’s brought many a hero to their knees, ground them into dust and then remoulded them into weapons for her to use, but none have even been this…willing.

None have ever become one with the darkness with a smile on their face and a wag of their metaphorical tail. It’s frightening.

“You must pledge your soul to me. That way, if you ever betray me, you’ll truly pay the price.”

“Ok.” The blonde shrugs with a smile. “Hey, that’s actually kind of cool. Do I get to sign something?”

“Uh…”

“Do you sign it too? Do you just write ‘Demon Queen’, or do you have an actual name?”

She clears her throat, unnerved by the questions. “If you wish for a physical contract, I will allow it.”

With a wave of her pale hand, adorned with swirling tattoos of snakes which glow gold in the firelight, a scroll appears and floats beside them, uncoiling with a second flick. It shimmers slightly, just enough to make Supergirl stare at it in wonder.

“Do you have a pen?”

“You need not for a pen.”

Reaching out slowly, Supergirl presses her finger to the dotted line at the bottom of the scroll, smiling when her name appears as she traces her fingertip across it.

Humming, the demon floats the scroll towards herself and reads the name before her. Kara Zor-El. If Supergirl is using her name, she has no reason to hide hers either. After all, she’s now bound to her, her soul now in her grasp for the rest of eternity.

This time, she merely lifts one finger, and her name writes itself beside Kara’s.

Lena Luthor.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

“You too.” Kara grins, wiggling back into her and resting herself against Lena’s front. “So, when do we start doing evil stuff? Can we kill my old boss? He was a real asshole.”

“Better yet, we’ll take his soul. He can burn for all eternity.”

Kara frowns for a moment before her expression lightens. “You know what? That works for me too. He was a real jerk.”

For more content, check out my Patreon!

Check out the Supergirl May-hem event for all Supergirl WLW ships here!

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #fanfic #cw supergirl #supercorp endgame #supercorp fanfic #chaoticsuper

[eorziapple]

FFXIV Write 2023 Prompt 9: Fair

(Character: Apple Silverberg, Setting: WoL & GA Apple, Sprout Safe)

She sighed happily as the wind swept through her hair, feeling the light bob of her vessel over the waves. Sailing wasn't typically advised for house boats, so her mother had spent a considerable amount of time drilling in safety, and thankfully her child was nothing if not a good study.

Conditions were perfect, not entirely unusual for La Nosca around this time of year, warm summers, warm waters, light wind, and limited waves in the middle of the day when the tide was not strong. She eased the wheel a few degrees northward, heading towards the Villas of Costa Del Sol, nestled in a bay a mile or so from the main resort.

Gage had thankfully approved the mooring costs, apparently enjoying the idea of her converting her vessel into a company party barge for Moonfaire.

There were times where she wondered if she'd followed up with her mother's profession, rather than fixating on arcane studies. She loved sailing, to be sure, just her and the wind and the waves, enjoying the thrill of travel and control of her ship. She'd even based her aetheric tattoos on Lymlaen, in retrospect probably not the goddess she felt closest to, but it felt like a nice way to take a bit of her mother with her wherever she went.

A pod of dolphins crested suddenly off both bows, she always considered it an invitation to play, and she was happy to oblige, turning the rudder to follow them as they weaved through the currents. She smiled, it was hard not to smile out on the sea.

#apple silverberg #ffxiv write 2023 #summoner

[thevikingwoman]

one more for @wayfarer-week, this time for prompt 6: flirt

Fandom: Wayfarer IF | Words: 669 | Read on Ao3

Illia Strand x Aeran Kellis (pre-relationship) | after Karth, pre game rating: T. Flirting, bad habits, hoping for the best

Flirt

“So, you’re new here?”

The voice is melodic and Illia turns towards the man next to her, even if she almost laughs at their obvious conversation starter. She’s done worse herself, and she does look like – is a mercenary, and doesn’t look like a local in any way.

“I’m just passing through.” She looks the man up and down, lifting an eyebrow at his shimmering silver wings and teal crest sparkling on his forehead like little raindrops. Altogether it’s quite stunning. “And you? You don’t look like you’re from around here either.”

He laughs, and his laugh is lovely too.

“I’ve settled here some years ago. It’s a nice place here and there’s enough to do for me.” He takes a drink from his glass. “Name’s Elen.”

“Nice to meet you Elen. I’m Illia. What do you do here?”

“I make and repair instruments, there’s enough musicians here. Requires a deft hand, you know.”  

He winks and heat rises in Illia’s cheeks. It’s an easy enough thing to fall into, grinning and running and hand through her hair, flexing her arm. Once they seek her out, she found that most people like the tattoo, and she’s happy to oblige, even if she hasn’t done this lately. She looks at Elen’s hands, but her gaze is drawn to his wings. He notices, and they shiver and fan out a little.

“You look like you’ve traveled far, Illia, I don’t doubt you’ve met an Aeda before,” he goes on, “but if you’re curious perhaps you’d like to touch them?”

Her throat is suddenly dry, and she drinks again before she answers. She knows what next and it always matters, whether it’s one way or the other.

“You might prefer me not to,” she says, “I’m a magianis.”

That’s all she wants to say for now, though part of her bristles against it. Wayfarer, Wayfarer, but it’s better to leave it be. She should stop and leave regardless, but she waits instead.

Elen startles slightly, and looks her up and down, taking in her sword and armor and dusty travel clothes.

“I see. I’ve heard that is quite an experience, Illia,” he draws and leans closer. “Maybe we can find out in private?”

She can work with that, and perhaps pretend that this time the morning after will be different. He’s pretty enough that she might not care what happens, how much she’ll hate that he’ll be gone before she wakes.

“Illia, there you are!” a voice calls across the inn.

Aeran.

She turns to him and smiles automatically as he makes his way towards her. She remembers why she’s not doing this anymore.

“I have to go, Elen. It was nice meeting you – perhaps some other time.”

Elen reaches for her, and he doesn’t startle all – perhaps he’s more well-traveled than she expected.

“Are you alright,” he says in a low voice.

“He’s my friend, it’s fine. I hope you have a great evening.”

He sighs a little and leans away from her.

“You too, Illia. Safe travels.”

She gets up and meets Aeran, leaving Elen at the bar.

“What was that about, Lia?”

“Nothing. Just a guy.”

She shakes her head. She’s stopped doing this, after she met with Aeran on that fateful afternoon in Karth. She’s no need for the empty feeling when someone eventually shies away, once they’ve had their curiosity sated. She’s spent too much time hoping some quick romp will fill the emptiness inside.

“I’ve inquired about the giant rats,” Aeran says. “Apparently, they spit fire. He’s offering 25 crowns to get rid of them.”

“So, we’re doing it?”

Aeran grins, and nods.

She wants to reach for him, and she knows he won’t shy away. He’s right there, like a bit of sunshine in her life; some days, he’s the only happy thing in her life. A familiar comfort, tugging at her heart. She isn’t sure if he feels the same, but they’re here together and right now she doesn’t need anything or anyone else.

#wayfarer if #wayfarer #wayfarer fanfic #wayfarerweek #wayfarer week #ahh I wanted to show some of Illia's backgorund #she did flirt a lot #okay she mostly is just on the receiving end here #but consider I'm terrible at flirting and I did my best #this is sort of angsty #when you consider she never really gets together with aeran #thank you wayfarer week for a fun week! #I got to write about all three of my babies #illia strand #writing about illia #viking writes #published 6/2/2023

[thegreatobsesso]

Word find tag (show, tell, explain, and describe)

Tagged by my dear dear friend @winterandwords :D :D :D

show

Callie POV

"Did you get it?" she asked Anka, who stood behind the cash register as usual, her tattooed hands busy loading what looked like rusty nails into tiny plastic bags.  "Maybe. Show me the goods."  She cast a downward glance at her own chest, covered by a skin-tight turtleneck. "Come on Anka," she pouted, "it's freezing in here."  Anka swept the remainder of the loose collection into a drawer and met her suggestive gaze, trying not to grin. "Keep your tits in your shirt, princess. You know what I mean."  Callie did, reaching into her purse and offering up the glass bottle of what'd pass for water to the naked eye. Anka took it and swirled the liquid around, appraising. "It works?"  All flirtation was gone from her tone now - she was all business, and waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't give it to you if it didn't." 

tell

Riley POV

“Is mom angry you’re spending Christmas with me and not her?”  “She might be,” he shrugged. “Or, I’m sure she is, but she knows better than to try and get between you and I. She knows I’ll pick you every time.”  How did he do that? Peter could just open his mouth and tell somebody they were important to him, like it weighed nothing and cost him nothing. When she tried to do it, the words just dried up and flaked away on her tongue. 

explain

Callie POV

They told her it was a tiny metal thing smaller than a dime, but she never got to see it for herself. They stuck it in her neck while she laid on her stomach, and they explained impassively that, should she attempt to pass through Downing Bay’s wards, the chip would not. The wards surrounded the compound and laid flat just above the water’s surface in all directions. In other words, if she jumped, the implant would tear itself out during the fall like a bullet shot from the inside.  For the dullest place full of the dreariest drones Callie'd ever seen in her life, it was a surprisingly creative, colorful deterrent.

describe

bb!Riley POV

“That’s three hundred dollars out the door! Look at me, young lady," her mother demanded. “All you had to do was stick to the script, is that so hard?”  It didn’t seem like it should be but Riley couldn’t find her voice to say so and even if she could, she could never string together the words to describe it. Being pulled down into ground. Dirt in her eyes, spiders in her throat.  All she had to do was go deep enough to gather some real details - what the ghost wore, something they always said, something they carried - anything personal, to prove she and her mother weren’t running a scam. After that, it was always the same: They’re happy. They’re at peace now. They love you. They forgive you. Everything’s alright.  Simple: first the truth, then lies, and then people left their incense-soaked drawing room with lighter hearts and thinner wallets. But this one hadn't wanted to talk, it wanted to kill, decades of malice backed-up and putrified with nowhere to go and Riley held on for something more than I hate I hate I HATE until she couldn't breathe anymore, and whatever that process had looked like on the outside sent their client running from the house.

Tagging @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @sleepy-night-child, @avrablake, @ashen-crest and @diphthongsfordays with the new words above, below, within and without :)

#tag game #writing snippets #writeblr #my WIP #the insuppressible callie ray #oc: callie #oc: riley #oc: peter #tw: language #tw: spiders #tw: death mention #tw: surgery

[artdecosupernova-writing]

15 OC Questions

Thanks for the tag, @druidx! I, too, used a randomizer for this, and the wheel told me I should have Guetry answer...so here we are lmao

tagging @drippingmoon, @sleepy-night-child, @ashen-crest, @zmwrites, @oh-no-another-idea, and @pertinax--loculos to do this too! no pressure, obvs.

▽ Guetry Danon Sympa —

Are you named after anyone?

Nope. Well...actually, I think Danon comes from a great-great-great grandfather on my dad's side. Yeah. Danny Sympa—the founder of our vineyard, actually—was Danon, I believe. My mom came up with Guetry because she liked it.

When was the last time you cried?

I don't cry that often, believe it or not. But I think the last time I really let loose was after watching that stupid movie Alec made me watch about the twins that died on separate planets. Something about twins, man, I've got, like, a soft spot for them or something, I swear.

Do you have kids?

...I don't think I'm cut out to be a dad. A good dad, anyway. I've got too much baggage. What with everything I went through with my mom, and being an addict, and the fact that I could barely keep my poor sisters sane as they grew up, I dunno. I'm just not made of strong enough stuff.

Do you use sarcasm?

I think I'm allergic. [sniffs]

What's the first thing you notice about people?

The way they look at anything. People, things in front of them, me, anything. I can tell a lot by the way someone looks at, say, a sandwich. If you're looking at it like it's the best fucking part of your day, you're honestly so cool and maybe a little sexy.

What's your eye color?

Blue. I tried to have a color-changing procedure at the hospital after Scotty was put into my head, but the doc was not receptive to the idea. I said why the fuck not? All I can see half the time is purple anyway, why not portray that outwardly? They said no. And then they stuck me with a six-point-five-billion-credit bill and bullied me until I cried. Ah, that was the last time I cried. [laughs]

Scary movies or happy endings?

Hear me out...a scary movie with a happy ending. Turns out nobody actually dies and the blood-sucking murder clown was really the friends we made along the way.

Any special talents?

Yeah, but I can't talk about them in mixed company.

Where were you born?

Somewhere on the outskirts of The Void.

...Okay, Texas. I was born in Texas.

What are your hobbies?

Well, I've got a band to help maintain. That's Skywaste; I'm the guitarist/keyboardist/digital jockey and also a vocalist, and Alec is the other vocalist and the drummer. I don't really have any other hobbies as being a galactic superstar and an agent for the Consortium take up literally all of my time.

Have you any pets?

Nah. Unless you count the AI in my brain. [Guetry's tattoo and temple flash. He smiles.] Apparently he does not.

What sports do you play/have played?

I tried baseball for a second when I was in school, and that ended quite abruptly when I got pissed off at the pitcher and beaned the ball at his face.

How tall are you?

Six-foot-three, last time I checked. Though I have a pair of boots that get me closer to six-five, six-six. A friend made me try on her heels from her job once and I was near six-nine...the fact that I ate that look didn't scare me so much as just being so high up I had my own cloud system around my head.

Favorite subject in school?

Math. It's weird. Can't do math for shit, but I really enjoyed it.

Dream job?

I'd say I'm doing it now, but that's not entirely true. If I could retire from the 'Sort and just do music full-time, that would be the dream. As it stands now...I'll be lucky if I can squeeze out a week of retirement from their clutches before I ultimately kick the bucket at a hundred years old or something. [laughs]

#tag game #profile: Guetry #Darkspace Portent #WASTE

[vacantgodling]

comfortable

wip: uh doesn’t really have a name atm. supernatural dads lol

character(s): hue rvynwell & jihan. mentions of esther when she was a babie :’)

just a lil piece talking about how jihan really got COMFY around hue and how endearing he finds it. it’s p early in their relationship then like a year or so after they got married so like. nowhere near present divorce time lol. just sweet and sappy and 1am thoughts :)

It was around their third date when Hue started to notice.

Instead of a loose button up with rolled up sleeves, and hair dark and slicked with gel, Jihan entered the small diner in a sweater with what could only be described as fuzz clinging to it, with his roots beginning to show. A peachy brown. His hair wasn’t slicked back, just fluffy and mussed, and Hue felt his heart seize more violently than the first time they met.

He looked so comfortable.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jihan slid into the booth and their knees knocked together. Hue tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear and shook his head with a chuckle. “Too lazy to get dressed up for me?”

“Figured I’d start showing you my true colors.” Jihan’s fanged grin made his heart flip flop. “See if I scare you off.”

“You won’t.” Hue snorted. “You gonna get more than just a blood shake this time?”

“You payin’?” Hue gave him a pointed look and he couldn’t stop his smile when Jihan laughed. “Teasing babe, I already promised I’d treat you.”

“You better. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“Oh~?” Jihan cooed. “What if they card you for your baby face? Tell me you at least have your ID.” Hue kicked him under the table, eliciting another laugh. “Fuck you, geezer.” Still, he let the vampire snag a menu from him and they lapsed into easy conversation, to the soothing pitter patter of rain against the diner window.

#

Nowadays, Hue was so unused to seeing his vampire dressed up.

He took in the sight of his little family. Jihan, with his hair fully fluffy and brown and falling into his eyes, dozing with their tiny daughter curled like a little burrito on the center of his chest. The sweater he wore was especially soft fleece, the kind Esther like to nuzzle into. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, revealing a sliver of one of his many tattoos. The only noise in the room was dull TV static of some children’s movie he knew Jihan threw on to help their daughter sleep. Hue’s heart swelled. Their daughter. Theirs. His vampire. His.

Loosening his tie, he crossed the room towards where they were laid out, shrugging out of his suit jacket. Hearing his movements caused Jihan to stir, and he peeked open one eye to find him. The bright sliver of crimson was comforting in the dark room.

“Hue?” He whispered, and Hue was at his side, kissing the sleep off his lips and humming at the flavor.

“Missed you.” Jihan murmured against his lips. “Come cuddle.” Hue laughed softly, so as not to wake up Esther. “Let me change first.”

He felt Jihan pout against his lips, but he kissed it away until it smoothed out into a blissful smile. The sun was beginning to crest on the horizon, and before heading to their room, Hue drew the curtains tighter to make sure no light would bother his sleeping doves.

He quickly threw he suit across an armchair, deciding he’d deal with it later. Forgoing a shirt, he pulled on a pair of Jihan’s sweats, scratching his thick happy trail as he reentered the living room.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, letting it wash over him. Just how comfortable they were. How domestic. How much he loved—

“Get over here!” Jihan whined and Hue couldn’t help but laugh. He crossed the room and sidled up against his husband, tugging at a discarded blanket until it covered both of them.

He slung an arm over Jihan’s waist. He leaned down to peck Esther against her tiny forehead.

“Better?” He murmured. Jihan sagged into him. “Better.” He hummed.

“Comfortable.”

#s: supernatural dads #ren writing

[ferniliciousness]

Because of You officially has 100 reads! AHHH I am so happy. Thank you guys so much for looking at it. I know it's not a lot but I do this for fun so it really does mean a lot to me that people are looking at it lol. Anyway, I guess to celebrate yall get another chapter lol. Thank you for reading and pls enjoy my holiday toil lmao Preview under the cut.

"How did I know you were behind this?" The voice behind her makes Gaia smile, it's been too long since she's heard it.

"Dahler! Or should I say Private now?" Her Turian friend waves a hand at her, rolling his eyes. Gaia wishes they weren't in public or she would have hugged the shit out of him. "I see your crest finally decided to grow in. Was about time too."

"Ha ha very funny." He stands beside her, holding his hands behind his back. The artificial light in the room reflects off of his dark brown plating, melding into the yellow tattoos that cover his face. He's taller than Gaia remembers, much to her dismay. The height difference only ever grows between them between visits. He's just as skinny as ever though.

"So, what exactly did you call me over for? I was told I'm here to help you?" Accusatory eyes glance over at her and Gaia has to fight the grin spreading over her face.

"I did. And I do." She quickly points at him, a weak attempt to prove her innocence which Dahler sees right through. "I may, however, have lied about just how long... The help is going to take." She softly bounces on her toes with her hands clasped behind her back, doing her best to look oblivious.

"Uh-huh." His arms cross and he shakes his head. "Alright, let's get this over with. I can already tell you have some plan schemed up for later."

Gaia fakes a gasp and puts a hand on her chest. "Who me? Never!" Her face breaks back into a smile and she pats her friend on the shoulder, walking up the hall to the loading docks. "Come on Dahler, have some fun."

A long sigh leaves his lungs but he begrudgingly follows behind her. They reach the door to the docks and Dahler gently knocks on the top of her head, now covered by a helmet. He can practically see the playful scowl that he knows is on her face. "Alright helmet-head, you win."

"Pfft, please, your one to talk spikey."

#mass effect #gaia #fanfic #because of you #mefic #mass effect fanfiction

[wldfvres]

☽  —  ››  [  jessica alexander.  cis woman.  she/her.  nephilim.  ]  –– –– ––  look  over  there  !  isn't  that VERITY DAY  ?  you  know  ,  the  TWENTY FIVE  year  old  who  has  been  in  london's  downworld  for  HER WHOLE LIFE  ?? i  heard  through  the  grapevine  that  they're  DETERMINED  +  CHARISMATIC,  but  also  a  bit  CALLOUS  +  IMPULSIVE  !  they  also  remind  me  of  a coldblooded smile on the battlefield armed with red lipstick and sharp liner, there’s something so haunting about having your whole life splayed out in front of you without a say, screaming into the void to feel just a hint of emotion.  apparently  they  enjoy  ONE DAY  a  bit  too  much  !  and  they're  never  seen  without  their  ENGRAVED TWIN DAGGERS.  so  interesting,  right  ?  

BASIC INFORMATION.

FULL NAME: verity elizabeth day

NICKNAME/S: tba

AGE: twenty five

DATE OF BIRTH: december 25th, 1998.

BIRTH PLACE: alicante, idris

SPECIES: nephilim

SEXUALITY: pansexual ( unknown. this gal jus doesn't think. she too busy slayin demons )

OCCUPATION: shadowhunter

FAMILY: francesca ventimiglia ( mother ), alistair day ( father ), declan day ( twin brother )

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single and ready to slay baddies together <3

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES.

HEIGHT: five foot & six inches.

PIERCINGS: septum piercing that is flipped up when fighting/training, multiple ear piercings

EYE COLOR: blue eyes. sometimes wears contacts if going undercover.

HAIR COLOR: long blonde hair that's usually styled to frame her face.

NOTABLE FEATURES: twin daggers engraved with her family crest ; always kept on her at all times. a birth mark on her collarbone.

SCARS/TATTOOS: multiple scars from battles, the most prominent one running along the length of her back. multiple runes marked across her body, most prominently the silent, accuracy, and stealth runes.

DRESS STYLE: never a hair out of place, verity is very fashion forward. she wears skirts on a special occasion, loves a good sparkle or color combination, though on day to day business she dresses more smart, with black pants or leggings paired with a nice, expensive jacket.

PERSONALITY.

MBTI: esfj ; the consul.

ALIGNMENT: chaotic good

POSITIVE TRAITS: determined, charismatic, protective, flirtatious

NEGATIVE TRAITS: callous, impulsive, sarcastic, violent, non-committal

BACKGROUND. TW! death

born three minutes after her twin brother, and the world had not been as kind since. verity day was born into a legacy that took years for her to understand wasn't her right, but the weight on her shoulders felt all the same anyway. their father alistair was a prominent warrior within the shadowhunters - clawing his way to consul of the clave while verity and declan grew up on graphic, gory war stories of his glory days that were sure to scar any normal, mundane child. their mother, francesca ventimiglia was a well known, revered shadowhunter as the head of the vatican city institute, who had tried to instill her own, cold & hard values in her children. for the most part it worked. but despite the legacy their family held, verity remembers a somewhat happy childhood with declan by her side, growing used to the constant moves due to their father's job.

knowing there were wild expecations held by her parents, verity had spent most of her childhood trying to gain the approval of their mother. training twice as hard, studying just as much - verity started envying the children from less prominent shadowhunters because of the work she had to put in, and while declan understood the responsibilities the day twins were supposed to uphold, verity realised she couldn't care less about the politics of idris and cared more about the different ways you could dismember a greater demon, just like her father had talked about all those years ago. besides it was better to live without expectations, without worrying about the legacy on her shoulders than fall short of the dream she'd always had to be like her mother.

despite verity's aversion to politics and disinterest in joining the clave unlike her brother, her knowledge with weapons and agility had left her a great candidate for the shadowhunter academy, where verity was happy to accept - not for the prestigious academy that would further hone her skills as a shadowhunter, but more specifically to mingle with others her age. verity was nothing if not a social butterfly; always eager to talk to people while still keeping them at arms length.

upon graduating and being almost top of the class, the world was at verity's fingertips and she spent the next few months traveling to other institutes and learning from them, all while actively avoiding the vatican institute and her mother. she was just shy of twenty one when verity was on patrol one night with a fellow shadowhunter she had grown close with at the new york institute, when the pair had been ambushed by a plethora of demons wanting blood. one minute josiah was in front of her and the next he was crumpled on the ground in front of her, eyes vacantly staring back at her. verity knew not to hesitate, to compartmentalize her feelings and any sense of emotion on the battlefield like her mother taught the day twins; and yet she hesitated and it almost cost her her life; if not for the downworlders that helped her escape with her life that night, the only evidence being the long gash running along the length of her spine.

its been years since that night and verity still cant believe that a downworlder had saved her, much less a group of them - all for a shadowhunter they didn't even know. to say that's changed verity's perspective on the downworlders in general is an understatement, and she had come back to the london institute with a rekindled fire inside of her. things have to change, verity knows it. she can feel the unrest within the community, and yet, can she really turn her back on the laws and rules she's known her whole life? especially when it seems like her brother's on the cusp of getting in the middle of it all.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

childhood friends ; the days are a prominent, well known shadowhunter family within the community, would love some childhood besties grown up into badasses with all the inside jokes and family runs deeper than blood vibes.

ride or die ; they would never take declan's place, but someone that verity can let a little steam off with without the watchful eye of her brother everywhere. if verity had wanted a parabatai, this person would have been the one! (alas, she does not have parabatai bc all she needs is her brother)

enemies ; i would not be surprised if more people hated verity than loved her. she's funny, she's hot and she knows it, and next to her brother she's lethal in combat. also spent years actively hating downworlders - a sense of prejudice comes with being a shadowhunter, she realises, so people who knew her and dislike her for her behaviour in the past would be so interesting !!! especially now that she's changed her tune on things.

downworlders ; whether they love her or hate her, i'd love some deep rooted connections with downworlders that verity wants to help in some way shape or form. also !! bonus points if they were one of the downworlders to help her when she was getting her ass handed to her <3

flings/crushes ; she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve, verity isn't stupid, especially after josiah. more often than not the people she sleeps with she doesn't like, so it could vvvv much be enemies to lovers <3 dont make me beg. also people she gets Big Dumb over because she cant regulate her emotions properly (thanks, mom)

#shadow.intro #( & intro ; verity day. ) #wow look at me go !

[notmaplemable]

I posted 1,272 times in 2022

That's 1,272 more posts than 2021!

227 posts created (18%)

1,045 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@howlingday

@noneatnonedotcom

@rwby-encrusted-blog

@thatorigamiguy

@mrrayneysstuff

I tagged 607 of my posts in 2022

#rwby - 551 posts

#jaune arc - 506 posts

#ruby rose - 425 posts

#lancaster - 395 posts

#yang xiao long - 350 posts

#summer rose - 321 posts

#blake belladonna - 288 posts

#weiss schnee - 287 posts

#nora valkyrie - 272 posts

#pyrrha nikos - 272 posts

Longest Tag: 39 characters

#now i just need to think of a cool name

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Big Reasons

Jaune and Ruby: *Somehow ended up traveling back in time*

17yo Willow: *Walks by*

Ruby: Is that Weiss?

Jaune: I don't think so.

Ruby: Why not?

Jaune: I can think of two pretty big reasons why that's not Weiss.

Ruby: What do you... *realization* Jaune! Don't talk about stuff like that! It's filthy.

Jaune: What? I just meant she doesn't have a scar and looks happy. What did you think I meant?

Ruby: Oh, I thought you were talking about her boobs.

Jaune: *Looks back at Willow* Okay, so there are two pretty big reasons and two huge reasons why that can't be Weiss.

335 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#4

Protection

Jaune: *Looking for a book in the libary*

Jaune: Hmmm, *Pulls out book* "Mating Habits of Faunus", that might work.

Jaune: *Sits down and opens book*

Jaune: Okay, here we go.

Jaune: "Wolf faunus are highly monogamous, and often develop quick bonds with a selected mate." You can say that again. "They will often become protective of their selected mates and try to be in close proximity, if not touching, whenever possible"

------

Jaune: *Humming, washing himself in the shower*

Jaune: *Feels something touch him* What the- Ruby!?

Ruby: *Covering eyes* I'm not looking!

Jaune: Why are you in here?

Ruby: I want to make sure your safe.

Jaune: From what? Soap?

345 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

#3

Jaune: What is- Ruby do you have my family crest tattooed on your inner thigh!?

Ruby: Nope.

Jaune: I could have sworn I saw it.

Ruby: Oh, how are you going to prove that I do? Maybe spread my legs and take a nice close look~

Jaune: ...Fuckin' maybe.

430 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

#2

Ghosts Of Summer: Too Much Information

Volume 1 Jaune: I don't know if I should trust prof. Ozpin. Something about him just isn't right.

Ghost of Summer: Well that's probably because he's an immortal, reincarnating, wizard.

Jaune: What?

Summer: Yep. And he's been leading an unending shadow war against the queen of the grimm for untold centuries.

Jaune: They have a queen?

Summer: Salem. Who is, of course, Ozpin's ex-wife. She's also immortal and has some really painful magic. Found that one out the hard way.

Jaune: I think I'm going to have a panic attack.

Summer: Oh, and Santa was real, but Salem killed him.

Jaune: That bitch!

439 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Tai 2.0

Summer: *Looks at Jaune*

Jaune, Ruby, and Yang: *Cuddling on the couch*

Summer: *looks at a picture of Tai*

Summer: Hey Jaune, have you thought about growing out your facial hair? I think you'd look really handsome with a little stubble.

461 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[crybaby-tarnished]

"..."

In the shadows of the Hold, a woman clad in travelling clothes plays an ornate pippa, a single eye closed as the other holds a scar beneath the binding implying its fate. With the subtle turns and flicks of her head as she plays, the Raya Lucaria crest tattooed into her forehead is more prominent, despite being littered with scars as though an attempt to bury it beneath. Magic glitters from her fingers to the strings, the melody holding remarkable similarities to Fyra's song.

Soon, she brings her playing to a halt, raising her head to look up at her from her cross-legged position on the floor.

"Greetings. I do not believe we have met, but, all the same I must ask you to forgive me. I was so beguiled by your singing I couldn't help but try to weave it into these strings." Her painted lips curl a bit with a gentle smile, cyan pigtails swaying with a minute cock of the head.

Standing up, she gives a proper bow. "I am Tristania, the Wanderer. Circumstances have required my stay at the Roundtable hold." She straightens her back. "T'is an honor to make your acquaintance. If I may say so, your singing is beautiful; it brings back blissful memories."

@eldenlordofdragons [Tristania!]

Fyra had stopped her singing suddenly, jumping at the sudden sound of music playing, then just watching her play for the short time she had.

"Oh music... I do not here that often here. Especially happy music. The merchants always play such somber melodies." Fyra curtsied to the new comer. "I am Fyra, Tristania. Its nice ot meet you."

She flushed at the complements. "Thank you..." Fyra said sheepishly, "I never really thought I sounded that nice..."

#eldenlordofdragons