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inactivewattpadauthor · 5 months

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Liu Kang x Reader: Friendzoned

A/N: Saw something like this a while ago and wanted to make my own version. I couldn't find it again however :')

Warning: Slight angst? ~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You're just going to get yourself hurt, you know." Kung Lao bluntly stated as he shoves another dumpling into his mouth using his chopsticks. "You know he's with Kitana."

You sat across him at the table, your fingers messing up your hair from the uncomfortable tension you had inside you. Of course you knew they were together... or possibly together, but-

"Yeah, well, Liu never confirmed it, actually. And don't you think Raiden would like, I don't know, not allow it?"

The monk swallowed his food and sighed. "It doesn't need to be confirmed. It's obvious. Denial doesn't suit you well, Y/n."

"I'm not in denial!" Your voice raised slightly. "I just..." Words and thoughts were scrambling all over your mind. You couldn't utter out another excuse.

"I'll tell him how I feel. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take, right?" You chuckled uneasily.

Kung Lao shook his head at you before eating another dumpling. "Okay, but don't come to me when your spirit gets shattered."

Standing from your seat, preparing to leave, you nodded at him. "I promise I won't. Thanks for listening to me... even though I probably am stupid for this."

After you rushed out the small restaurant, Kung Lao called the waiter over.

"Could I take an order of mochi and a bottle of sake to go, please?"

---Time skip brought to you by Fujin and Nightwolf braiding each other's hair, because I simply cherish the hell out of both of them---

Each step you were close to the Wu Shi academy, each ounce of anxiety swarmed over you, making your stomach hug itself tightly.

However, you really need to tell him how you feel before it's too late. You held it in from him for a while, and it started to tear at you.

Entering the academy, you located him, finding the champion meditating alone. Perfect for you to just approach and speak to him... right?

"L-Liu?" Slowly walking up to him, your hands mindlessly went to fiddle with your hair. A simple nervous habit.

He opens his eyes to see you. He greets you with a friendly smile, making you feel slightly giddy.

"Hey, Y/n! Here to train?"

"Oh... actually... I wanted to speak to you about something."

Liu's face started turning into one with concern, he gestures for you to sit in front of him, which you did.

"Is there something wrong? Go ahead, you have my full attention."

Taking one, long, deep breath, you forced yourself to talk. For a few silent minutes, you told him how you felt. How you were grateful for your friendship with him, how you enjoyed spending time with him, training or not.

And how most importantly, you always wanted to tell him how you wanted to be more than friends with him. For him to be your lover. Even with the chance that he actually has eyes for Kitana.

You finished your little speech and proposal, looking at him, waiting on his response.

He looked a bit shocked, and then... sorry?

"Oh, Y/n. I- I enjoy all the time I spend with you too. You are a wonderful friend and person."

Your heart felt fuzzy. Was this hope?

"But I can't be with you."

Your heart instantly replaced that hope with dread. "Oh... Maybe I came to you too late?"

"I supposed that since I'm with Kitana now, but I never really thought of you like that. Just a friend. Maybe a sister at most. I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends."

You looked away, tucking your lips, but nodding. "It's fine... I feel somewhat I still got to talk with you." You were just saying that. You stood up, not glancing at him.

"I shall leave you alone now. See you later..."

"Right." Liu Kang said awkwardly. "Again, I'm sorry."

You didn't respond. Just left feeling detached.

When you got home, you sat down on your couch and did nothing. Just thinking and moping. You knew the obvious outcome of telling him, so why does it still hurt?

'I'm stupid for even having hope. Who even wants to be with me? Stupid. Stupid.'

You gritted yourself and pinched yourself.

You jumped a bit as you heard a knock at your door. You gritted your teeth, feeling more irritated.

"Come in!" You yelled, hearing the door open at your invitation.

It was Kung Lao. Smiling sympathetically, carrying a bottle and small box.

"Heyyy, friend, I brought a little something in case you were feeling sad." He gestures to the items.

You sulked more on the couch at this kind action.

"Sorry, should I just leave these and go?" He slowly sets his gifts down and backs up.

"Stay." You commanded without looking at him.

"Very well." The Shaolin monk smirked and sat next to you on the couch, ready to make you feel better.

#mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat #mk imagine #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagines #mk headcanons #mortal kombat headcanons #liu kang #liu kang x reader #kung lao #kung lao x reader #kung lao x you #liu kang x y/n #goddesswritings

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sugarrrvenomm · 7 days

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can u do a fic where the reader is obi-wans padawan…… perhaps where he has to punish her for something …….. :D

ummm this got away from me ,,, anyway enjoy ,, ⭐️🐰🫶🧸💌

♡ having anakin as a padawan made obi-wan sterner the second time around. but also … softer.

♡ which is why his preferred method of keeping you in line is taking you over his knee

♡ hardly ever is it a “punishment” spanking, but that’s because his regularly scheduled “maintenance” spankings do the job just fine

♡ once a week, late at night, your master slinks to your quarters as the sun sets, telling anyone who asks that you’re meeting for meditation before bed. when he walks in, you are—sat on your knees atop a thin meditation mat like the good girl you are. he tells you as such, coming up behind you and petting a hand over your hair, “my good girl. are you centering yourself for me?”

♡ “yes, master.” you open your eyes and turn to look up at him, resting your head on his thigh and squirming in anticipation, even as his presence quiets your mind, turning your thoughts into a pleasing, low buzz of safety and arousal

♡ you weren’t sure when obi-wan’s hands on you became arousing. maybe they always had been. you just pray to the force he doesn’t notice.

♡ “come now, padawan. let’s get you all sorted out.” he walks over to the singular place to sit in your meager padawan quarters—a soft, ottoman-like piece that’s just big enough for him. he pats his thigh and you stand up, going to him and standing between his spread legs. he reaches up, stroking your padawan braid between his fingers reverently before tugging gently so he can plant his lips on your forehead in a soothing gesture, before he’s cooing, “over my knee.”

♡you nod, and do as he says. you’re still clad in your robes, only missing your belt and boots. you’re so used to this that you no longer shake when you bend over, settling yourself over your masters lap with his help, your ass in the space between his legs and your fingers barely brushing the floor. he tugs up your tunics, just enough to expose your backside. never once has he gone as far to pull your leggings down, despite how you dream about it.

♡ before he begins, he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, squeezing once to signal he’s about to start. obi-wan tries not to be affected by the way your flesh pillows beneath his fingers through your pants. he doesn’t know when this started becoming arousing either, but he desperately wishes it would go back to when it wasn’t. you’re his padawan, for force’s sake.

♡ the sooner he gets it over with, the sooner he can return to his quarters and stand under the spray of his cold shower until he can’t feel a thing. so, he makes sure he’s got you secured, with one hand on your hip, then swings the other down in a swift crack against the meat of your ass.

♡ “why am i doing this?”

♡ “to make me a better jedi, master,” you tell him, panting already.

♡ crack. another hit, on your other cheek. your pretty voice, combined with the way your ass ripples, has him gritting his teeth. “that’s right, padawan.” slap slap slap. you make a hurt little sound. “master does this because he cares about you. because he wants you to succeed.”

♡ you try to contain your noises, and curl your toes as the spanking continues. he’s not even hitting that hard, he never does, but it stings, and sends desperate lightning bolts of forbidden arousal to your pussy, which you can feel getting warm and wet between your legs.

♡ your cute little ass won’t stop jiggling through your leggings, and he has to distract himself. he strikes you, over and over again, in quick enough succession that there’s no time for him to see the way your backside moves, and the sound of his slaps overpower your muffled whines. soon, the pain in his hand is threatening to take over the heat pooling in his gut.

♡ what obi-wan doesn’t expect, is the way you react. you’re usually so well behaved during your spankings, so docile. now, you’re squirming in his hold, like you’re trying to get away from him. of course, he can’t possibly guess it’s because his flurry of strikes have gotten you feeling like you could come from nothing at all, like your cunt may start pulsing in orgasm any second now just from being spanked by your master.

♡ “padawan,” he chastises, grabbing your hip even tighter and bringing his hand down. with the way you’re wriggling, it doesn’t land quite right, and hits dangerously close to your center. “what has gotten into you?” he grits out through his teeth as you kick your feet. you don’t seem to be reacting well to his strong-arming, so he settles his voice into a coo, even as he continues to spank you. “i need you to be good for me, little one. master can’t help you if you don’t let him.”

♡ his coddling only makes it worse. you thrash. “master,” you pout, and obi-wan cannot take it anymore. the irritation at your unusual outburst combines with his frustration at his own arousal and he growls, stopping his strikes only for a moment to grip the band of your leggings and tug, exposing your ass to him. your underwear are modest cotton, but pale pink—certainly not jedi issued. he’s truly lost it, because the only thing he can think to do in response to the obscenity of his own actions is to double down; slapping your exposed ass, and oh. this is is even worse. like this, he can see how his hand has already turned the skin pink like your panties.

♡ “master!” you cry out, sticking a hand behind you to block him, but he catches your wrist with his other hand.

♡ “no,” obi-wan says, sternly as he can, slapping your ass again and feeling his cock throb in his pants. he might be harder than he’s ever been in his entire life. “you know i do this because i love you.”

♡ you make a sound he’s never heard before, and this time when you thrash your legs, he can’t help looking where your legs part, and your panties cup the part of you he’s been thinking about for far longer than is appropriate.

♡ “fuck,” he suddenly curses. there’s a damp spot. you’re wet. his padawans pussy is drooling in her panties, just for him. from him. from his spanking.

♡ he forgoes the spanking, for now, forgetting himself completely and gripping your thigh tight, spreading you wider so he can get a better look. “oh, darling. why didn’t you tell me?” finally, you settle, and now you just shake, unsure of his reaction. “are you all wet from your spanking?”

♡ crying out, tears pool in your eyes as you’re stuck between arousal and embarrassment. still, you only feel yourself get wetter.

♡ obi-wan’s breath comes out in a shudder, and he slides his big hand up your thigh, and touches the damp spot with his thumb, just barely. “does it ache?” you don’t answer, only mewling, and he pushes his thumb against you harder, feeling his cock drool sticky pre-come into his briefs. “tell me, padawan. what’s worse? the soreness of your ass, or the throbbing of your little cunt?”

♡ “obi-wan,” you moan, finally looking over your shoulder at him, eyes big and wet.

♡ your master pumps his hips up, and against your hip you feel him, rock hard and rubbing on you. “it’s okay, honey, you don’t have to be embarrassed. look how hard you’ve made me.

♡ you continue to squirm, sweating in your robes. “hurts.”

♡ “mm, i bet it does,” he hooks a finger under the side of your panties and tugs it, exposing more of your ass. “you’re so pink.” he lets it snap back into place, then smoothes his hand over your ass completely, going down until he’s fully cupping your center. “and i bet this pussy’s all messy too, huh? is your cute little clit all puffed up for me?” he moves his hand in a big, sweeping circle over the whole of you, and it shouldn’t be as stimulating as it is. he’s just teasing you, watching the way the damp spot blooms and spreads.

♡ “what should i do with you, padawan?”

♡you suck in a shuddering breath, and gather your nerves, “i—i—,” you sniffle, and he slides his hand under your tunics to rub your back. “i need you to make it better, master.”

♡ obi-wan groans, and uses all the control he has left to gently lift you off of him, and get you settled the way he wants, on your back. he tugs your leggings all the way down, but leaves your panties. for now. he hovers over you, taking off his tunics and exposing his muscled, hairy chest. you whine at the sight, and he chuckles. “patience,” obi-wan purrs, before tugging his own trousers down just enough to free his cock, tucking the waistband under his heavy balls.

♡ overwhelmed, you have no idea what do with all the desire running through you, or with the sight in front of you. your master coos, settling down over you, lowering until his big cock nestles in the space between your thighs, pressing against your panties and throbbing against your cunt. he barely moves his hips, but moans like he’s sinking inside of you.

♡ “are you a virgin?” he’s a bit disgusted with himself for asking, but he can’t stop.

♡ “uh-huh,” you nod, trying to hump back up along his big cock.

♡ “ugh,” he groans, “of course you are. my perfect little padawan. master’s the only one that gets to touch you, isn’t he?” you make the same little uh-huh sound, and obi-wan lowers his head into your neck, holding himself up with one hand now so he can reach between your bodies and pull your panties down enough for his fat cock to slide along your wet cunt. padawans cunt. my padawans little, wet, virgin pussy.

♡“you’re perfect,” he mumbles into your neck, thrusting along you faster, breath hitching as he feels his leaking tip glide over your swollen clit. he brings his hand back up, and stuffs it under your tunics, until he’s cupping one of your breasts, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb over your nipple to hear the way you gasp.

♡ “master master master.” he covers you completely, and you’re drowning in the scent of him, so close that you can rub your nose along his neck and taste his sweat. “obi-wan,” you murmur as the tip of him nudges your entrance, “will you fuck me?”

♡ “oh, gods,” he pants, and fuck does he want to. he wants so terribly, so horribly, to sink his big cock in your pussy. no prep, no fingers, just the slick of how wet you are would be enough. he’d get so deep he’d knock your cervix, fucking right up against your womb until you were all swollen with his come like you should be.

♡ “i shouldn’t,” the reasonable part of him grits out, even as his hips pump faster and he imagines spreading you open, how cute you’d look as his come slides out of your used pussy, before he bends down to lap it up and suck on your clit until you squirt all over his face. “baby, honey, i can’t.”

♡ “please!” you beg, nudging your hips up and trying to catch the head of him at just the right angle to get his cock to sink in. “don’t you want to?”

♡ “padawan,” he hisses, letting go of your tits and bringing his hand back out to slap your thigh. “first, getting soaked from your master punishing you like a naughty little girl, and now begging him to fuck you? is that really what you want? for your master to take your virginity? you want master to own your cunt?”

♡ his words are too much, and you feel your pussy throb between your legs, pulsing as you’re sent over the edge by his voice and his weight and the thrust of his heavy cock against your soaked pussy and clit. it’s wordless, but you nearly scream, biting into his neck and bucking your hips to prolong the shaking of your legs.

♡ “fuck, fuck, oh, sweetheart, my pretty little padawan, let me feel that cunt throb, mess my cock just like that,” obi-wan stares down between your bodies, watching the wet pink of your pussy gliding along his cock, the sounds getting nastier and wetter and so fucking dirty it sends him right over the edge too, and your cute little pussy is getting painted white.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #🐇

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secret-smut-sideblog · 4 months

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Distances Between (Part 2)

18+ blood drinking, heavy petting, grinding, conflicting feelings, flirting, pining, (light) alcohol drinking

Astarion X F! Plus Sized Tav

listening to: Rain - Sleep Token, It Will Come Back - Hozier

Tav was pretty sure she'd fucked up.

Deft fingers twisted her still damp hair into a tight braid. Sitting in her tent, Tav's mind raced through their.. interaction at the water, glad to have a tactile task to keep her steady. She had taken things too far. It was too much, she was certain of it.

A mistake to have let her lust clouded mind take control. Assumed. Overstepped. Screwing up her face she decided she must apologize.

That night she walked on hushed feet, went to him. There was a faint glow from inside his tent, the vague shape of his silhouette against the canvas. She knew his keen ears had heard her approach.

Her hand hovered over the opening, but decided against it. She had already intruded enough tonight.

There was a tension thrumming through the air as they both stood on silence, the fabric of the tent a division. She took in a small breath.

"Astarion," the stillness from inside of the tent a bow pulled taut.

"I'm sorry. I overstepped and it wont happen again. I know how it feels to be-" She paused, no this wasnt about her. Gathered her words again. "If you want to leave I wont hold it against you.."

Quieter then, "But I hope you stay." She turned and walked back to her tent.

She had hid the joy in her eyes when she saw him at the mouth of his tent, meditating. The light of the morning gave way and he had stayed. She quietly passed, meeting the others at the hubbub of breakfast.

Karlach's hand clapping down on her shoulder in greeting, her bright smile infectious. "Morning, Soldier!" As they chatted she could feel eyes on the back of her neck but didnt turn. Give him time, give him space.

Though the morning had been promising the day had proved grueling, each battle scraping them against the stones. Each skirmish a barely won whirlwind. When night blissfully came groans and slumped bodies littered the camp. Still there were small victorious smiles shared and the wine that Astarion had swiped made the group loose-limbed and happy.

As the banter and spirit floated Tav spotted that ever distant shock of silver hair. She stood and went to him, her step sure.

He glanced up at her, she was pretty sure pretending to be engrossed in his book. "Yes, darling?"

"Care for a drink?" She raised her eyebrows, a cheeky smile edging the corner of her lips. Though she had only had a few sips she felt the spirits in her stomach give her a silly bravado.

He glanced up at her, eyed her empty hands. A slow smile spread over his face, catching on.

"Well, now.. you shouldn't have. What a gracious offer! You spoil me darling." He let the darling trail on a little long, bemused.

"I'll find you when the riff raff has finally gone down for the count." He gestured lazily with the tips of his fingers to the others gathered around the fire.

"I'll be waiting on bated breath my honeyed Drow.." he was laying it on thick now and she rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile.

She sat leaned back on her pack, eyes closed. Peaceful. Humming a tune softly, something she had heard in a passing tavern. Breathing in the quiet of the night air.

"Ah my favorite bard, wont you bless us with a song?" He said low in her ear.

She opened one eye in mock suspicion, squinting at him, "Yet I am no bard, gentle nobleman. I cannot offer you a shanty nor a hymn.."

She saw the glitter in his eyes, enjoying her banter.

"Nay, alas all I can offer.." she sat up slightly and pulled her tunic from her neck, long hair falling behind her.

"Oh you temptress, you siren!" His words were light and playful but his eyes.. She felt a thrill in her stomach.

He leaned in and cupped the side of her neck, his cool fingers gentle. Kneeling next to her his mouth only hovered above her pulse, his breath tickling her. He was so close. She was no stranger to this ritual by now but this felt.. different. The air crackled with electricity.

She could feel her heart beating hard.

He breathed it in, taking in her scent.

Finally he opened his jaws and oh so slowly sank into her.

She fought the moan that was forming in her throat but couldn't restrain the hand that trailed into his hair. Languidly scratching his scalp. He shivered under her touch and she was about to pull away, embarrassed that she had made him uncomfortable again.

But his long legs moved quickly, one thigh pushing between hers. They were so close now, straddled into eachother. The intimacy made her feel dizzy, delirious.

She pushed her face up into him as he pulled from her greedily, drinking her down. She held her hand to his clavicle, feeling the deep pulse of his swallowing.

Lust took to the front of her mind, losing herself. Pushing her small ragged breaths into his ear.

He hitched, a groan muffled into her flesh.

His hand wandered feather light, curious, down the curve of her hip. The other bracing her strong against him between her shoulder blades.

She twisted his hair in a small tug in response and felt the hand bracing her dig nails in, a growl deep in his chest.

In one fluid motion he hooked under her thigh and pulled her up to him, chest to chest, positioning her straddling over his hips. She let out a small gasp and resisted grinding down into him. Like he couldn't get her close enough.

She ran her hand down his lower back, intoxicated, revelling in the taut muscles there. She needed more. No she couldn't get carried away.��

He finally came up for air, a gasping whimper against her neck, and began eagerly licking her up in slow wide strokes. His tongue newly hot from her blood coursing through him.

She could see it in the tips of his ears and resisted putting her mouth there. She had to slow down.

He finally fully pulled away, releasing her. The sight of him, blood smeared on his perfect mouth, eyes dark and rolling, sated. Gods it made her ache.

"Did you have your fill?" She asked leaning back on her hands, looking up at him, awestruck. Failing at hiding the gasping in her voice.

His gaze suddenly focused and flicked down to her, staring. His chest heaving, eyes dilated.

She expected a smirked remark, maybe some practiced sweet nothings. Instead he leaned down to her again.

His lips hovered inches away from hers, blood-fucked eyes boring into her.

Her breath froze in her chest. A thrill of danger tickled her spine. She dared not move, though her nerves screamed to lean into him. To slide her lips against his.

They stayed in that heady limbo for what could have only been seconds but felt like an eternity. Breathing eachother.

He slowly pulled away, an emotion she couldn't place passing over his face.

Then he was gone, wordlessly rising. Disappearing into the overlap of the tents.

Still gasping for breath all she could do was watch.

Shaking hands opened his tent. Get a grip. He pulled his blood drenched tunic off. Breathe. Breathe you fool.

He had never lost control like that.

The unbridled desire he felt frightened him. Not just for her heavenly blood but her. He could still feel the little hot breaths she left in his ear. Felt a groan deep in his chest just from the memory.

Her question, "Did you get your fill?" Gods below. It had him about to do something very stupid, cross a line that he did not expect.

No, no this wont do at all. He would have to keep his distance from now on. Ran a still warm hand through his bloodflecked hair.

Part 3

#im having so much fun with these. get dranked girl #astarion smut #astarion x plus sized tav #astarion

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iicomet · 7 months

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(In which you share a calming afternoon with her.) (yoo iseol & reader) (fluff.) "Senior, can you teach me that?"

You feel yourself jump at the sudden voice, before looking up to see her standing before you with a monotone expression. That was how you would describe Yoo Iseol, if you couldn't see the slight glimmer in her eyes as she spoke, seemingly hesitant to ask this question but at the same time hopeful for a new learning experience. For some reason, the way she looked at you made your heart clench and you couldn't find a shred of rejection in your heart to deny her of her wants. "What do you mean, junior sister?" You smiled, tilting your head to the side. You wondered what she was referring to, since you were sure that you weren't doing anything but meditating underneath a plum blossom tree in the courtyard. Usually, your body would prefer a good training session in this pleasant weather, to train and exhaust yourself until you're completely spent with a satisfied smile; but your heart had longed for a peaceful solace underneath blooming petals, and who were you if not one to follow your heart? You were broken out of your thoughts when you heard her speak again. It was low, hushed in a way, but at the same time, brought a harmonious comfort to your ears. You couldn't help but sigh in content. "Your swordsmanship. I want to learn it, please." As expected from a disciple from Mount Hua. You gestured her over, patting the spot next to you with your hand. She was confused at first, but stood next to you a few moments later. "Iseol-ah, I meant you could sit here." "But how would that help me learn?" You almost let out a laugh if it weren't for the confused expression she had. It was cute, you thought. You could see why the other disciples had thought of her as a vain beauty. "Come sit with me for a bit, won't you? It would be a waste to not enjoy it." She thought about it for a while, before nodding and sitting next to you. You smiled at her, deciding to lean onto the tree with a relaxed expression. She continued to stare at you, quietly observing you as you relaxed under the tree. Moments continued to pass, before you remembered something and finally sat up. "Oh, I have something for you." You said, taking out a hair brush and a hair piece. You were out on a task when you spotted the hair piece being sold at one of the stores. The color and design of it was simple, but it reminded you of Iseol. While the both of you were warriors at heart, you couldn't help but wonder what your junior sister would look like if she dressed up a little. Even if the item may not be used in the future and will only collect dust somewhere in the dorms, you still bought it anyway for a single moment like this.

She stared at it, tilting her head to the side. "Will you let me put it on?" You asked with a smile, beaming with hopeful innocence. Iseol only nodded, turning around to let you. Your smile widened, not expecting this outcome, but quickly got to work. You couldn't let her wait, right? That would be rude. Softly, you took her hair into your hands, brushing her strands with utmost care. The comb tugged at her hair, but you were careful when undoing any knots and continued your ministrations. When you were finally done, you began sectioning her hair into several parts, before beginning to braid and style them with a technique learned from your travels. Iseol wasn't used to this. She was more familiar with doing her own hair quickly in the morning before heading out to begin her day. However, it didn't mean that it wasn't unwelcomed. In fact, she enjoyed the calming humming of her senior while they did her hair, the soft breeze and the faint scent of plum blossoms above them. It felt like she was being cared for by a parent, despite only being a little younger than her senior. (Or atleast, that was what she thought.) Her demeanor relaxed slightly as she closed her eyes, pleased with the soft moment being shared between two disciples. When you were finally done, she had fallen asleep. You held your voice, not wanting to interrupt her slumber. Had she been going up into the mountains to train again? You would've praised her for her diligence if she was awake, but perhaps you would have to wait for now. Instead, you allowed her to lean against you as the both of you enjoyed this peaceful afternoon, underneath the plum blossoms, underneath the aspiration of a growing future.

#return of the blossoming blade #return of the mount hua sect #rotbb #x reader #return of the mount hua sect x reader #gn reader #rotmhs x reader #rotbb x reader #iseolxreader #im sorry if i wrote her wrongly i love her and my delusions are speaking for me #shes so <333 #platonic or romantic? another day where i question my writings

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talechasertavern · 2 years

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Artist unknown, picture found on Pinterest

“We need to be patient, Obi Wan. Come sit with me.”

Qui-Gon waved his hand in a slight gesture, bringing a pillow cushion across the bedroom to his side. Obi Wan finished fixing his Padawan braid and walked across the room to sit with his master.

“I’m afraid, master.”

“I know. I’ve known of your fear for a long time, Obi Wan.”

“But nothing seems to be out of place.”

Qui-Gon chuckled to himself and fingered through his beard. Obi Wan noticed his master was already starting to grey. A few hairs stood out in his mustache.

“You need to give yourself a moment to think. To go deeper. Past your fear and into your feelings.”

“Is fear not a feeling, master?”

“Fear is an illusion and a distraction.”

“Have you seen something in your meditations, master?”

“There is always much to see. You should see for yourself, my young padawan.

Qui-Gon gripped his shoulder warmly, the way a father would to a son, and with just as much love as those bound by blood. Obi Wan felt most loved when he was alone in the presence of his master. He’d never told him, but that was the beauty of being one with the Force, and bound together by it. Qui Gon already knew, as the feeling was mutual, and had always been.

Obi Wan closed his eyes, wrapped his hands around his knees, sat up straight, and focused hard. He felt his muscles relax and his heart rate slow. At first there was only smoke. He forced as much distraction as he could from his mind and delved deeper.

“He is incredibly powerful,” a voice echoed from the darkness.

“Master Windu?” Obi Wan furrowed his brow and focused in on the Jedi Master’s muttering.

“Qui Gon knows better. That is our problem. He will continue to push for things we don’t approve of. He is continuing to teach in an opposing direction to that of the temple.” Mace Windu’s voice rang out with a flaming intensity.

Obi Wan felt fear rise again in his belly, and began to back out of his vision.

“Obi Wan!”

“Qui Gon!”

The young padawan felt his consciousness suddenly crash back down to the present, back to his room, back to his master, who appeared concerned. He shook his head and Qui Gon held his cheek in his hand, staring his apprentice in the eyes, searching for answers.

“What did you see Obi Wan?”

“I heard what I expect to be a meeting with the Jedi Council. Master Windu’s voice was the only one I could hear.”

“And what did Master Windu say?”

“That he doesn’t trust you? That…that you will continue to teach me your own way and not accurately to the teachings of the temple.”

“How does that make you feel, Obi Wan?”

“I’m confused.”

“Did he say anything more?”

“He says that you will continue to push for things the rest of the council won’t approve of. That you are incredibly powerful. Master I can’t help but to ask…do you believe the Jedi Council fears you?”

Qui Gon smiled. “They fear what isn’t their rule.”

“What does this mean?”

“If you learn nothing else from me Obi Wan, I pray you do that. The Order has always been corrupt. Any organization that holds a higher power is.The Jedi, the Sith, politicians…all of them.”

Obi Wan bowed his head. “Have you always known they feared you and your teachings?”

“They are not as good at hiding their feelings as they would have you think. They don’t doubt the good I stand for, but they do not approve of the way I teach you. The temple is a launch pad, not a binding holy script, and I stand by that.”

“Is there anything we can do, master?”

“You are strong and wise Obi Wan, and I am very proud of you. This is something you shouldn’t fear, but instead take in stride. We must continue to lead by example. Regardless of these things, we still have much to learn from the Order, just as they have much to learn from us.”

Obi Wan nodded and smiled softly at Qui Gon. “Thank you for being so good to me, and for being my master.”

“Hardly a master,” Qui Gon chuckled, “We are in this together Obi Wan.”

#star wars #fanfic #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn

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writersblockcansuckmyballs · 2 years

Text

Rahni

Name/s: Rahni, Lady Fate

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: Approx. 2.4 billion years

Species: Faerie, Seer (Dreamer)

Abilities: Can't Travel, Has visions of possible futures when she sleeps or meditates, Can fly, Can control wind and weather

Place of Birth: Eagle's Roost, a small mountainside village located on the outer rim of the Well of memories, traditionally home to faeries, seers and the occasional airborne dragon

Home: Eternity's Court, the ruling seat of Ri'ath in the centre of the capital

Lives with: Allastair, Lehra, Styxx

Occupation/Story Role: Queen of Ri'ath alongside Aliss, Goddess of Air and Destiny

Sigil/Stone: Amethyst, Snowy Owl

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Romantically attracted to women and feminine people, Sex indifferent

Relationships: Married to Allastair, Adopted Lehra, Mother figure to Favien, Shiara and Finnegan, grandmother to Kait, Thalia(dec.) was her childhood friend and later, business partner

Spends Most Time With: Allastair, Shiara, Marrietta and Kait, Lehra

Mentality: Prefers to always be doing something, whether that be giving counsel to those in need, a personal project, or even going for a walk or flight, She meditates every evening, with Allastair if they're together, to help her sort through her days and the tasks ahead of her

Speech: Rahni speaks at a moderate pace and volume, Adopted slightly exaggerated enunciation to accommodate Finnegan's deafness and this has become a permanent part of her speech pattern, Swears casually

Gestures and Walk: Likes to keep her hands moving, resulting in very animated hand-speaking, Walks with long, even strides, Matches her speed to the slowest person with her, If walking alone, usually very quick

Eye Contact: Rahni usually maintains eye contact when addressing someone, though will not go out of her way to make eye contact if something else has her focus

Temperament and Manner: Rahni is known for being patient, calm and always composed, She does not hold grudges or lash out in anger, though she does not tolerate cruelty for cruelty's sake or those who would presume to deceive her, She is fiercely protective of her family and her people, Essentially 'Do no harm but take no shit'

Outlook: Very much a realist, Does not like to be overly optimistic or pessimistic, Tends to look at most situations logically from a neutral standpoint before making any judgements or assumptions

Biggest Fear/Phobia: Rahni cannot stand prolonged silence or stillness

Dress/Presentation: Formal, Put-together, Noble, Wears low-backed clothing to accommodate her wings, Fond of intricate handmade corsets, long skirts, detailed embroidery, and long, straight sleeves, For flying, tight-fitting clothing is best, so she often makes her dresses in separate pieces, wears long pants under detachable skirts, and makes her corsets non-constricting

Resting Expression: Peaceful, Happy, Content

Eyes: Dark brown, with a golden ring around the iris, almond-shaped

Hair: Dark brown, almost black, Straight, Falls to the small of her back, Often worn braided over one shoulder

Height: 5ft 11in, 181cm

Skin Tone: Chestnut brown

Build: Lean, Broad shoulders, Narrow hips, Average bust

Unique/Species-specific Characteristics: Rahni has Large, feathered wings that are warm brown where they sprout from her back, but white otherwise, starkly contrasting her otherwise dark features, This is somewhat of an irregularity, as faeries' wings are usually a single colour, with variations in shade at the most

Memories;

-Earliest: A story teller had come to Eagle's Roost with a merchant, he was making his way to the Well and stopped by the markets to tell tales of ancient heroes, the gods of Ri'ath and bizzare magicks. The children gathered around the baker's stall and listened raptly as he spoke of Autumn, the Goddess of the Wood, and how she regrew a ten thousand year old forest and returned the rampaging molten wyrm that had caused the devastation to its home without harm. As the sweet smell of spiced pastries filled the air, he spun a tale of a two hundred year old tome in the library of The Heart that could read your destiny and tell you if you'd met a soulmate. Finally, as the baker's daughter Thalia brought him his meal, he told the story of a talented talismanic sorcerer who wove blessings of good fortune into their garments and fell in love with a handsome baronet who frequented their boutique. Rahni and Thalia simultaneously let out a longing sigh at the end of the story and soon became close friends

-Saddest: Rahni's mother was a scryer and often took trips to the Well to read the waters for the weather and harvest conditions. One night, Rahni awoke feeling a gnawing sense of dread after waking from a dream that she couldn't recall. On instinct, she woke Thalia and they went to see her parents, her father was sleeping soundly but her mother was nowhere to be found. Thalia looked to the sky and saw death. With a sickening feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, Rahni looked towards the pass that led to the Well and thought about her mother's visits and the poisonous water of the spring. Sure enough, there she was, knelt down beside the water, gazing into the depths, with her hands cupped to her face, frozen forever as a calcified statue. Rahni let out a heart-wrenching wail that woke the whole village as she clung to her still form.

-Happiest: After a few hundred years helping their parents with their businesses and learning everything there was to know about tailoring, Rahni and Thalia decided to move to The Heart and open their very own boutique. They built their store in the outer edge of the trading district and named it the Feather and Star. It wasn't long before they had made a name for themselves and they became quite busy.

Favourite Place: Rahni likes to visit Eagle's Roost whenever she can, even though she's outlived most of the people she knew from home, she goes to teach young faeries how to fly and control their magick, to pay respect to her mother's shrine that was built near the Well, and she still loves to soar through the mountain peaks as she did in her youth

Hobbies/Talents: Rahni is an accomplished seamstress and embroiderer, she likes to cross-stitch, knit and crochet as well

#Oc Profile #a guide to the gods #Oc - Rahni

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kmackatie · 3 years

Note

Intimacy+ 28/58/72/101?

I hope you have a good day!

Hello! I am thank you, hope you are too! Here we go with the first one of these. I'm sure I will get around to the others eventually I am sure!

Thank you to @mllekurtz for reading over this one prior to posting, it is a little longer than my 1k limit.

request a prompt from this list here

28 - brushing the other’s hair shadowgast, post canon, 1495 words, cw: non-sexual nudity

His fingers worked soap through the ends of Caleb’s hair, massaging gently and lathering up in the damp. Caleb sat in the large tub, water dripping down his back while Essek perched on the edge, feet submerged and tucked around to keep Caleb stable. A bit of dunamancy was helping him stay upright, with his pants rolled up to knee to protect them, tunic gone with his arms bare dressed in just his sleeveless undershirt.

“Tip your head back for me, sevgilim.” It was accompanied by his fingers gently guiding, carding through the damp strands.

Caleb did as he asked, eyes still closed and breathing deeply. Collecting the small bowl from the floor, Essek dipped it into the water before lifting it and tipping it slowly over Caleb’s hair. Working his hand through it, Essek methodically repeated the process, until all the soap had rinsed free.

“There we go.” Essek was talking to himself as much as he was Caleb, voice deliberately soft so as to not affect the calm peace Caleb had settled into. “First one done. Hmm, lavender, or your usual one with honey? Do you have a preference?” He leaned down, hands still in Caleb’s hair and placed a kiss against Caleb’s forehead. “It is more than fine if you don’t.”

He paused for a moment, to see if Caleb would respond, hands gently massaging through the strands.

“Lavender. Want to smell like you.”

Essek’s lips quirked into a brief smile, before he extracted one of his hands and tipped Caleb’s head forward.

“Lavender it is.”

This one was the closest Essek could find to his favourite conditioner from Rosohna, similar in scent though his was sure made with different plants. Lavender was a luxury, a symbol of status due to how difficult it was to grow. This one was sold for an exorbitant price in Nicodrans, reported to actually be from the Dynasty. It reminded him of home, a pang in his chest he couldn’t quite get rid of every time he opened it, and was the one indulgence he kept with, even now.

Scoping out some of the cream, Essek got to work, hands combing through and massaging into the roots. He moved methodically through it, making sure to capture each of the strands, before repeating the rise motion. There were little words between them, just the sound of Essek’s movements and water splashing, with the odd hum or subconscious muttering breaking it.

Before long, Essek was encouraging Caleb to rinse, and he took the moment to submerge fully while Essek rinsed his hands.

Breaking the surface with a gasp, Caleb leaned backwards and connected with where Essek’s knees were resting inside the tub. His head tipped back against them, and Essek smiled, shifting slightly on his seat to widen his legs to give Caleb more room to sit comfortably. He can’t help but return his hands to Caleb’s hair, enamoured as ever with the multitude of colours buried in there.

Even soaked and dripping, it was still stunning, the hues darkening to a deep russet and ochre that was found in some of the caves near Asarius. Some would call it muddy, and not a colour worth noting, but those people had not seen Caleb Widogast in a tub of water. It had gotten longer in the last few months, rivalling the length of Essek’s before he cut it off.

“Have you ever braided your hair?”

There was a huff of what Essek assumed was confusion or surprise as Caleb shifted under his hands, head twisting around slightly to look at Essek.

“Hmm?”

“Braiding. Have you ever let anyone braid your hair?”

Caleb blinked, processing the question before nodding.

“Jester, once. I never learned how.”

“May I?”

It was posed as a question, even as his hands started to divide the hair, designs and ideas in his mind. It would always be a question, the asking of permission to cross boundaries, to check in and make sure it was welcomed. It was something they had come to agree on, the need for consent and for it to be checked in on frequently.

Caleb nodded, eyes flicking closed as he sunk down a little further in the bath.

He lost himself in his task, hands that were a little out of practice finding their rhythm.

Section, weave, join. Pass over, pass under, join.

It was meditative in it’s own way, as his mind focused on getting the patterns right. He paused, one hand with sections of hair cradled between each finger as he carefully turned Caleb’s head, checking on the progress. This style, it was that screamed Dynasty, and was a modification on one he used to weave into Verin’s hair, before they fell out. More intricate than normal, it was difficult to achieve on your own. There were a few strands that he gathered, tucking back in before continuing.

Section, weave, join. Pass over, pass under, join.

The style when complete, included four separate braids: two in a lattice style from the front center of Caleb’s head with the ends weaving into the traditional Thelyss-waterfall style, before morphing into smaller intricate braids that joined in a knot at the back of Caleb’s head. He fussed with the ends, tweaking a few places to get it to sit just right, before he sighed, hands dropping down to Caleb’s shoulders and squeezing gently.

“It’s done?” asked Caleb, voice low and rumbling.

“Mmm, canım, it’s done.”

“You seem practised at that.”

“It has been a while, but it seems there are some skills you do not forget, no matter how long it has been since you used them,” said Essek, hands now rubbing small circles into Caleb’s shoulders. “I used to braid for Verin. Back… well. It’s been many years since I’ve done that.”

A hand raised and covered his, squeezing his fingers gently.

“You are welcome to use my hair at any time, Schatz.”

He chuckled, flipping his palm over and linking his fingers with Caleb’s.

“Thank you. It’s nice to know I still remember them.”

“Explain them to me?”

Lifting his free hand, Essek tapped lightly against the first braid, before drawing his finger down and back against it.

“This one, this style is called ışık, it’s one unique to Den Kryn, though I have cut it through with a general Dynasty style. Very traditional, used by high-ranking officials, generals, members of the nobility.” He felt Caleb nod under his hands, following the explanation. “It honours the Bright Queen, and you’ll find most of the Dens use this one day to day. These ones here though”—he drew Caleb’s attention to the lower two, tapping gently and drawing his finger across them—“these ones are Thelyss braids, unique to our Den. Each one has them. Mostly special occasions, formal dinners, religious ceremonies, weddings, that’s when you see these ones.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment, his thumb running circles into the back of Essek’s hand.

Essek tapped his hand on the delicate knot that draws the braids together, considering. He had been indulgent, when he wove this one in.

“This one, mmh. It’s, well. It is considered a kur yapmak, a gesture of courtship and intention. With a few adjustments, it is what I would have expected to be wearing—if I had the hair to do it with—when a marriage union would have been finalised.”

There was heat in his cheeks as he finished the explanation, and a sudden lurching of his heart. How would Caleb read this, the liberties he had taken?

Maybe Caleb felt something, his fingers still wrapped around Essek’s and brushing against his wrist, but he moved from between his legs. Water splashed over the sides, and Essek would have been annoyed if he hadn’t already sacrificed these pants to being drenched, but as it was he just leaned back and waited for Caleb to settle.

They were eye to eye now, Caleb kneeling with water running down his chest between Essek’s legs, hand still grasped in his hand. There was a look of quiet joy on his face, a light that danced between his eyes as he reached a hand out to cup Essek’s cheek. He can’t help but lean into it, Essek’s eyes dropping closed for a moment.

“That is an elaborate way to ask, Liebling.”

Essek chuckled, fondness colouring his tone as he smiled.

“You haven’t yet said no,” he pointed out, turning his head to kiss Caleb’s palm briefly. “But it is not a proposal. I… if that is something you are interested in, then we can talk about it.”

Caleb leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose, his cheek, before leaning in and capturing his mouth. Essek raised a hand, covering Caleb’s where it still rested against his cheek. It was a slow kiss, gentle and patient, and Essek savoured it.

They drew back, foreheads pressed together, and Essek felt Caleb smile.

“We can talk about it.”

#shadowgast #critical role #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role fandom #the mighty nein #my writing #my fic #non-sexual intimacy prompts #hwinia #katie replies #ask katie #ficlet #cr: fanfic

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happy-beeeps · 2 years

Text

Jogan Fruit (obi wan x reader)

Summary: Obi Wan has been sneaking off in the mornings to go to a meditation class taught by a certainly lovely instructor. He begins to think it's no longer his passion for the craft that keeps him coming back.

Pairing: Obi Wan x meditation!reader

Warnings: none but this is also like way more sensual than I intended oh my god

WC: 1.6k

A/N: This isn't my new fic (yet) just a fun character I made up, I wanted to try and push myself out of the usual character types! I very much vibe with her, let me know if you want to see more of their story!

Obi Wan Kenobi wakes earlier than normal for a day like today. There’s been a slight halt in the fighting, diplomatic talks from his understanding, leaving a fair bit of desperately needed rest for the Jedi, and the clones. It’s early in the morning, sun just starting to make its way above the horizon. Perfect. He wakes and dresses, opting for a looser tunic and flowier pant than his normal wear, pulling his brown cloak over his shoulders before heading out of his quarters.

There isn’t so much of a mess hall in Jedi Temple, he’s been to the GAR mess before, and he feels quite spoiled. Older, retired knights often stick around and lend a hand in the kitchen, cutting produce and smiling at the younger generation while they help the droids. It’s on one of these mornings that Obi Wan stops in, gratefully accepting a sliced jogan fruit from a tall, loud woman bustling around the kitchen. “Bright sun Master Kenobi!” she smiled as she extended the container in front of him. “To you as well Master Satwile.” Sopbrya Satwile was an older human woman, who wore her silvery-black hair in a tight braid that hung long down her back. Where Jocasta Nu had a tendency to be firm with her students, Master Satwile had always been a favorite of Obi Wan’s. In fact, she had been a favorite of Qui Gon’s as well, he had long told Obi Wan of the stories of her chiding Dooku for being too harsh on the young padawan. In turn, she would lecture Qui Gon to ease up on Obi Wan.

“Where are you off to this early? I was under the impression you were resting.”

“You know me, can’t quite sit still.” She sent him a knowing look as she walked around the counter, handing him another container of jogan fruit. “To the plaza, I suspect?” he looked at her, one eyebrow raised, before slowly accepting the container. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” was all he said, and Sopbrya smiled. She would, she knew this well.

* * *

Master Kenobi was a fan of meditation, a side effect of being Qui Gon’s padawan, he presumed, and something he could not quite pass on to his own pupil. He remembered walking through the shopping district so many moons ago with Anakin, when the younger man pointed at a small holo ad outside of a transport station. “A meditation and exercise class? You couldn’t pay me to meditate more.” Obi Wan had stopped and looked closer at the ad. Early in the mornings, nearly weekly, hosted by a name he was unfamiliar with. “It’s specifically for clones and military personal,” he read, “for relaxation.”

This is how he began to drag Cody with him to these sessions, much to the grumbling of the clone. It began out of curiosity, when was the last time he meditated for the purpose of relaxation? Looking at Cody, he couldn’t remember the last time the man relaxed at all. Slowly, more of the 212th had come along, and it wasn’t uncommon for Kix to be standing outside the headquarters with the small group. This morning, Obi Wan approaches the men, all quietly chatting and sipping their caf, greeting them warmly. “I suppose that’s not for me General,” Cody chides, shooting an elbow into Obi Wan’s side.

“No, Master Sitwale suggested we bring it for our teacher.”

“Sure she did, a totally authentic thought.” And Gregor gestures towards the growing crowd in the plaza near the headquarters. “We better head over there, Waxer won’t keep his mouth shut and now the Wolf Pack is trying to take our spots as vaar’ika’s favorite.” The men move with a sense of urgency at that, and though he won’t admit it, so does Obi Wan.

He can say curiosity and a passion for the craft brought him to the meditation class in the first place but it’s his… aesthetic appreciation that keeps him around. That much is abundant to him every week as he walks up and assumes his usual spot near the back of the class. The clones are already seated, chattering with one another on various GAR issued towels, and there’s one or two medical facility workers, even a cruiser pilot, spread throughout. Obi Wan, being the only Jedi, doesn’t like to attract attention to himself, and sets his rob down at the back, removing his shoes before he pads over to you, jogan fruit in hand. You’re hunched over a datapad, a small canvas bag full of various oils and ribbons at your side. You turn over your shoulder and beam up at him, eyes smiling just big as your mouth. “Master Kenobi!” you breathe, standing to face him. He laughs every time to himself, you stand nearly a foot shorter than him, and he stands a few inches below the clones, earning you the endearing nickname vaar’ika, or pipsqueak, as Cody had told you. This morning, your hair is twisted around the crown of your head in various tiny braids, the bottom section of your hair hanging loose around your shoulders. Everything about you always seems breathless, from the way the loose fabrics you dress in move, to the airyness your voice rings out in. He reaches out, extending the container of fruit towards you, “If I barely have time for breakfast, I’m certain you wouldn’t mind a snack.” You grin at him suspiciously, opening the clear container to get a smell. “Temple fruit? For me? I don’t know if I deserve your kindness, Master Kenobi.” You swat his hand away gently before mouthing ‘thank you,’ and shooing him towards the back of the group. “Good morning everyone! Shall we start?”

* * *

You lead them through a variety of breathing and stretching exercises, guiding them through a simple meditation as you walk. You bring a hand up the back of a clone's arms, guiding his wrists for a more comfortable stance. Now, you walk towards the medical worker, a woman named Thuvi, whispering something in her ear before she nods excitedly. You move quickly to your bag, grabbing an oil and rubbing it on your hands before heading back to Thuvi, hands running along her shoulders and neck. Obi Wan can feel her Force signal practically hum at the sensation, and he smiled at your compassion. Thuvi is midway through her pregnancy, and started to come to these sessions when the stress got to her head. You’ve always been so compassionate, not just to Thuvi, but to everyone. Even offering these workshops is a testament to your kindness, from his understanding your studio you work out of is quite expensive, and this is the only way to get this service to these men who desperately need it. In fact, your own Force signal is so light, feels so warm, Obi Wan cannot help but just feel like a better Jedi in your own presence. He lets his thoughts linger on you for a moment as you work at the togruta’s upper back, admitting the way your exposed skin glitters in the pastel light of early morning Coruscant, how nimble your fingers move around her body, he can practically imagine you early mornings, winding your hands in and out of your hair. He wonders how it feels, to have a hand in your hair-

“Master Kenobi,” you murmur, surprising him with how quiet your approach is. “It’s not like you to slip out of meditation, is everything alright?” you whisper behind him. With how close you are, he can smell the jogan on your breath, sweet and ripe, and the herbal oils on your hands. “Just, distracted I suppose.”

“Battle stress?” you ask, and he honestly hates to lie to you. “I suppose so, a battle of sorts.” You hmph at that, before walking away, guiding everyone to a seated position for their final meditation. You come back to him as he’s seated, rubbing your hands together, smelling distinctly sweet and warm, vanilla perhaps. “May I?” you ask, and he tries to resist how eager he is. He’s never been on the receiving end of your care, opting to let those who need it go first. He’s surprised by the strength you hold in your hands as you work your fingers along the tender flesh at the base of his neck, running your pointer fingers up to his scalp. “I may not understand the force as well as you,” you whisper, voice low to not disrupt the clones, who have now all finally settled, “but I do know what it feels like to be cut off from it. You’re a good Jedi, Master Kenobi, you help people,” your hands slip to his shoulders, and your words and motions seem to physically pull his stress out of his body, he can feel his own signature lightening by the moment, “it is simply my job to help bring you back to your center.” You pull your hands off of him after what feels like both a breath and an eternity before he turns to face you. “Obi Wan, please. Call me Obi Wan.”

Illuminated by the rising sun, Coruscant just now starts to wake, slowly but surely life breathes back into the system, the class, and into you. “Ok, Obi Wan.” you smile, and at his name he beams like he has just tapped into the most tantalizing holocron, unlocked the sweetest secrets of the light side. He will be back the following week, he will blame it on Cody and his stiff back, but he knows why.

And he’s starting to suspect you know too.

#obi wan x reader #obiwan #obi wan #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #sw imagine #sw fic #obi wan kenobi ric #tcw fic

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spideymarvelws · 3 years

Note

ooo!! no pressure but- #9 in random with in-game!techno? (i hope ur day's been alright!!)

my day has been decent lmaoo but your request definitely made it better😊I hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist / Prompt List

Prompt : “I want to try something,” “Oh god, please no.”

Warnings : just cute floof, mentions of killing, the voices being pricks

Word Count : 1.6k

Flowers Coated In Colour

Technoblade x GN!Reader

Techno let out a small sigh as he saw his cottage come into view. It was a long day for the piglin, with the sudden betrayal of Tommy, doomsday happening tomorrow and the extensive preparations for whatever dream had in store, it was safe to say that he was burnt out for the day.

His backed weighed heavy with supplies and tools, along with all the voices who just repeated the same thing over and over in his head.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

He ended up killing a lot more animals and mobs that necessary in hopes that they might calm and decrease his aching head ache but nothing worked. They only grew more violent, frustrated with him that his sword met the body of a sheep and not the neck of a member of L'Manburg.

Which is why he rushed home, reaching the snowy biome earlier that anticipated. The sun was close to setting as he rode Carl into the stables, feeding him a little bit of hay and renewing his water before stepping back out and closing the fence shut.

He trudged to the front of the house, opening the door and slamming it shut, cursing that he might've woken you up. You often fell asleep in his arms and today was no exception. After returning home from the event at the community house (well, what was left of it), you both comforted each other by the fireplace, keeping each other close while whispering sweet and reassuring words.

It was one of the rare times the voices went silence, completely replaced by your presence. No wonder they were so rowdy now, pounding in the back of his head like splinters digging into his skin.

They must pay for there crimes

They have no chance against us

Manburg with fall

Dream seems sketchy

He might use you too

He will use you too

He fell back against the wooden doors, his rough hands slapping against his face, scratching at the scared skin. He wants to destroy L'Manburg, he wanted to watch as the country fell under his wrath, destroying the land it stood on.

The only thing keeping his back was you, was Phil, was all his pets and memories he held at his now joke of a secret home. Quackity and the rest of the butcher army had gotten to them once, used them against him and almost had him executed and you killed if it wasn't for Dream and Punz interfering. Phil had been put on house arrest and Carl stolen from his grasp.

Whose to say they wouldn't do it again? Whose to say that his efforts would lead to nothing but a stronger country that might end up a bigger threat to his cause.

Techno didn't have much weaknesses, some may argue that he had none at all. But he knew from the very beginning that his weakness was his relationships with a select few of people on the SMP and knowing that others were figuring that out as well, he was putting everyone he was close with at risk.

He felt unhinged, the small control he’s been holding on to for so long unraveling by the seems. He trying to keep it for tomorrow, but the voices only started to convince him more and more that he should walk into L’Manburg by himself and take out everyone in their sleep.

That wasn’t what his motives were. He wanted to take down the country, not the people.

But the voices demanded blood.

Suddenly, he felt the soft touch of hands on his, closing around them and prying them off his face, breaking him out of his internal conflict. He hesitantly opened his eyes, meeting your worried, glittering eyes.

And suddenly, everything went silent.

“Everything alright their Tech?” you asked, squeezing his hands for comfort.

He blinked, mustering a small smile for you, “Yeah, yeah everything’s... perfect.”

You nodded, letting go of his hands and moving them to his neck.

“Phil’s already asleep if that’s what you wondering,” you said softly, helping him take off his massive cape and resting it to the side.

He hummed in acknowledgment, carefully prying off his skull mask over his face and taking off his crown with a huff and setting both items down besides his red cape.

“Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” you smiled up at him, taking his face into the palms of your hands. He sighed at the warmth, melting into your touch. He engulfed your small hands in his, finding comfort in your soft skin.

“Long day?”

“You wouldn’t believe.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, sending a wave of pink up his face and his large ears to wiggle in delight. Usually, he would shake his head, move away from your affection. But in recent times he’s learnt to accept it and reciprocate it in the best way he could.

“Then come on then,” you cooed, taking his hand and pulling him to the carpet in front of the fireplace that had a mountain of pillows and blankets. You loved to snuggle into them, sometimes reading stories to Edward or just watching the flames slowly disappear.

You fell back against blankets, crossing your legs and placing a pillow in the middle. You raised your arms, gesturing for him to join you. He gave you a questioning look but gave in quickly, dragging his body and settling down on the floor, letting his back fall and his head bounce on the pillow in your lap. One of his legs were bent, the other laid out on the ground, his hands clasped together on his stomach.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, eye brows raised.

"I want to try something," you mumbled, passing your hand through his hair.

"Oh god, please no." he grumbled, but his tone contrasted to his movements. His eyes closed with his head tilted backwards, snorting in appreciation at your touch.

You rolled your eyes, tugging harshly at his hair changing his happy noises to a playful growl, "It's nothing bad Techno,"

"Well knowing you, that statement means nothing."

You scoffed, "Glad to know you think so highly of me,”

He whined when your hands felt his hair, glaring up at you. You looked down at him with a playful smile, squeezing his cheeks and making him pout, “Who knew the blood god was such a softie,”

His nose flared while you giggled at his reaction, reaching behind you and grabbing something he couldn't see.

“Now relax... I won’t be doing anything bad I promise.”

He was about to protest until he felt your fingers entangle themselves in. his hair once again, lulling back into a meditative state. You hummed as you worked on his hair, sometimes he would feel something thin and sharp poke at his scalp but he payed no mind to it.

As much as he loved anarchy and chaos, he would give up anything to stay like like with you forever. It was hard for him to trust people but when he did, he took advantage of the love and you gave him and held everything you did together to his heart, valuing it more than money or strong tools and gear.

After a while, he started to doze off on your lap, eyes fluttering shut while you continued to work on his hair. After a few minutes, you finally finished.

“Done.” you whispered, shaking him out of his light slumber.

“I’m scared.” he mumbled, snuggling further into your lap.

“Hey, hey, don’t move.” you stilled his head with your hands, “You’re going to knock them out.”

“Knock what out?” he questioned, only to have you wave a mirror in front of his face.

He bit his lip at the sight, grumbling under his breath. In his hair held various flowers, shades of blue, purple and pink standing out against his light pink locks. You gently tucked a rose pricked of its thorns behind his ear, leaning down to quickly peck his forehead.

“Now that you have short hair, I wanted to see if I could still decorate your hair without braiding it in,” you said shyly, “It’s not the most secure but I made it work..”

Techno chuckled, “You really miss the long hair don’t you?”

You nodded, twirling a loose piece of pink between your fingers, “More that you imagine... but- I think it’s growing on me.”

“That’s great,” he yawned, “Yeah, that’s great.”

You laughed, caressing the side of his face lightly, “Get some rest Techno, you got a big day tomorrow,”

He hummed, letting his eyes flutter shut, “Yeah... I do don’t I?”

You nodded, “Blowing up a country does call for rest,”

“Why yes-” he yawned once more, “Yes it does,”

With that he started to doze off, his cheek pressed against the cushion beneath him as his head lolled to the side. He wasn’t expecting to get any sleep tonight, he was ready to stay up all night, doing mindless tasks to distract him from the voices that never shut up in his head.

But while your touch faded from his mind, his breath lengthening into an even pattern, he knew everything would be alright.

As long as he had you...

Everything would be alright.

BONUS :

“Hey, what’s that in your hair techno?” dream asked as he sat comfortably on the obsidian grid, pointing to behind the anarchists head.

“Heh?” he sounded, his hand shooting to his hair and pulling out a small purple flower, slightly withered and blood coating the edges of the petals.

He smiled softly, letting his thumb pass on the delicate flower. Pocketing the plant, he kept his head high, adjusting his hold on his sword. He knew that it would further deteriorate in the small enclosure but he wanted proof to take home to you to say that your new methods of decorating his hair was more effective than you thought.

“Nothing Dream...” he finally mumbled, biting the inside of his lip to hide the smile forming on his face, “nothing at all...”

...

I like to think that techno lets out piglin noises when he’s happy🥰

Permanent Taglist (Dream SMP) : @ossinsworld @lunarinnit @chaosofsmarty

Technoblade Taglist : @hyumiid @whenpugzfly @sammyxn

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade x y/n #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

Text

Invisible hero - Part 2

So, here's the update for this one as well!

-> Part 1

Words: 3,4 k

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, nudity, oral sex...You know the jist...

“Well, yes,” Ori admitted, “it seems to make sense to stay at your disposal, should you require any kind of assistance during the night.”

The expression of amused patience on her face made it – once again – very clear that she did not expect any situation to arise that would make such an intervention necessary, but she seemed touched and entertained by his readiness.

“Is there nobody who shall wait for you?” she asked, letting her palm rest on the smooth blanket for a second before extending her hand into the room.

“My brothers know that I’ve gone out to seek any kind of work,” Ori explained, threading his own fingers – fleshy and much too broad compared to hers – into the waiting gesture, a jolt of pleasure chasing up his arm as the warmth of his skin dispelled the coolness of hers.

Ila did not reply to that; she could hear in his breathing that he had not finished his sentence and she desperately wanted to hear the rest of it.

“My older brothers do their best,” Ori began, “but money is tight, and as the youngest, I try to contribute as much as I can.”

There was shame in his voice, Ila noticed, a quiet, almost resigned sense of failure that she understood only too well; she was the ‘weak link’ of her family, a constant drain on their resources, even though her needs were rather linked to time and emotional investment than to pecuniary worries.

As he dragged the comb meditatively through her hair, she sighed: “You have been a great solace to me tonight, Ori the dwarf, and I shall petition my father to make it worth your while.”

“That is the worst part,” he whispered tonelessly, “if I could, I would forego the payment for you are a lovely person to be around. I wish…”

Ila believed him; she knew not why, but – in her heart of hearts – she trusted him to speak the truth. It had been a long time since last she had talked to someone so freely and she realised just Nohow much she enjoyed this strange creature.

He had asked questions others recoiled from and it was strangely freeing for her to be questioned soberly and respectfully about her eyesight; it was so obvious an impairment that she often loathed people for shying away from addressing it directly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ila replied, her fingers sliding along the intricate braid he had fashioned absent-mindedly, “my father can easily afford it. It is well worth the pleasure of your company.”

Ori was relieved that she could not see him blush to the tips of his ears; he had not been lying, Ila was an agreeable person to sit with.

“Let me lend you some clothes,” she then said as her hand brushed his naked forearm, “I’m sure we’ll find something in my father’s wardrobe.”

Following her sure steps along the corridor, one hand brushing along the wall ever so lightly, Ori wondered what she would make of Dori and Nori.

Somehow, he really yearned to show her his world and introduce her to his king and his kin in hopes that it would give her pleasure; she had the most amazing smile, so pure and open as if she didn’t know shame or reprimand.

“You may have my father’s bed as well,” Ila said as she entered a dark room and went to the wardrobe without hesitation.

“Oh no, Mistress,” Ori cried out, “I shall stay where I can hear you call.”

“Where would that be?”

In the dim light of the moon and the stars, he saw her smile broaden into a feline grin that vibrated with hilarity.

“Oh no,” Ori repeated, heat painting his face a crimson hue, “I meant outside your door.”

“On the floor?” Ila cocked her head questioningly.

“Yes,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation; it would not have been the first nor the last time that he would spend the night rolled into a blanket.

“Who do you take me for?” Ila asked in a serious tone, “I am immensely touched that you’d want to stay close to me, but I wouldn’t let a dog sleep on the cold floor outside my door and I certainly shan’t ask that of a friend.”

Friend? By this time, Ori was sure that his head was about to explode; since meeting Ila he felt as if the treacherous blush that she couldn’t see hadn’t once left his face and the constant heat was slowly but steadily cooking his brain.

“Where do you propose I watch over you then?” he wondered aloud, almost afraid of the answer she might give; she had undressed rather freely in front of him, and he did not know what impossible plan she might come up with.

Tossing a tunic over at him, she extended her hand again, confident that he would take it and let her lead him to whatever place she had in mind.

When – a few moments later – he found himself back in her room, Ori expected the worst to happen.

“Come on,” Ila grinned, making her way back to her bed and slipping under the thick, warm covers that she held up for him.

“Oh no,” Ori stammered, “you cannot be serious. Have you forgotten what I told you? I do not think that your father would much appreciate it if he came back early and found you – literally – in bed with a half-naked dwarf.”

That idea seemed to amuse Ila greatly for she laughed open-mouthed and much louder than he had ever heard a human woman guffaw; she was evidently used to being alone and unchecked, blissfully unaware of the punitive and disapproving stares of the well-bred people observing their absurd manners.

“It would teach him,” Ila wheezed, “but I do not think about my father in this.”

What was she thinking of then? Ori could not tell.

“Tell me more about your people,” Ila invited, her blurry gaze coaxing him ever closer until he sat on the edge of her mattress, his bare feet soaking up the coolness of the floor.

“They are…good souls,” he smiled, letting the movement of his face warm his voice in a way he knew now that she registered and – promptly – she gave him an answering grin.

Slowly, word by word, second by second, she drew him in until he lay – cushioned on the softest pillow he had ever touched – beside her, talking about how deaf Óin was and what a marvellous sight the princes were to behold.

“Fí,” Ori explained with a vague smile, “is like the sun at noon, radiant and warm, and, by Mahal, I swear that you’d love Kí…he’s mischievous to a fault but the best friend anyone could have.”

Ila found that she liked listening to him; she had never met any of his kind before this evening and yet, she couldn’t remember ever having been so interested in anyone before.

“Did you mean it?” she asked suddenly, “When you said you’d take me to meet them, did you mean it?”

Her hand slid across the space between them unerringly until it alighted on his arm again, gauging his reaction by the small shiver crackling like static on his skin.

“Of course,” he chuckled, looking down at the frail hand that reminded him of a beautiful, exotic, fragile bird that he was afraid to startle into flight by any sudden movement, “if you really care to come.”

“I’d love that,” she replied vehemently, scooting closer to him until she could feel the heat of his body radiate into her clammy skin. It was an unorthodox reflex, but she felt drawn to this stranger and to his honest face with that amazing relief that made her fingertips tingle.

“Do all the others smell as good as you?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” Ori replied awkwardly, “what do I smell like?”

“Warm stone,” Ila replied immediately, “you smell like warmth and comfort and…there’s something else that I cannot identify.”

A discreet sniff into the general direction of his armpits told Ori all he needed to know; between the heavy blanket and her naked body, he was sweating profusely.

He had never wondered how and to what extent his race would be different from mankind; the thought had not occurred to him for he barely ever interacted with humans, but – in this painfully embarrassing second – he wished he had a better answer to her question.

“I wonder what you taste like…” she mused beside him, and his head snapped around.

“You wish to consume me?” he uttered in surprise and disbelief; she was a dainty woman, and he could not imagine her devouring a grown dwarf, try as she might.

“Only a little,” Ila chuckled while her fingers trailed up his arm to the ridge of his collarbone on which they danced ever so lightly.

Ori didn’t quite know what to say to that as he was still not entirely sure what she had in mind; he knew that his was a people who were strong in battle and feared more often than actively hunted, but he was also aware that there were dark magics and tricks that could bring a dwarf to his or her knees easily.

“Will it hurt?” he asked, horrified to find that he’d be willing to sacrifice a morsel of flesh for her enjoyment.

“I hope not,” Ila laughed and – moving faster than he would have thought her capable of – covered his body with hers as her fingers tightened around his chin.

Before he could process what was happening, her lips – soft and warm – were pressed against his own with such conviction that the words of protest and caution died in his throat.

He tasted warm, Ila thought hazily, like hot chocolate and winter spices; not being able to see him, she homed in on all the other sensations flooding her: the way his body – soft but unyielding – shivered under hers, the surprisingly soft texture of his beard under her fingertips, and the slow blossoming of his awareness into this kiss.

“You, my friend, are a thing of beauty,” she sighed, letting her forehead drop against his head as she came up for air like someone having dived for too long a stretch.

“You don’t even see me,” Ori croaked, humour and confusion thrilling in his voice.

“You feel beautiful,” Ila replied cockily, “you smell amazing, and you taste like you’re gorgeous.”

“Are you sure?” he teased, himself staring up helplessly at the ceiling and wondering what he had gotten himself into and why he couldn’t back away, “Don’t you want to double-check?”

“Ah, a scribe, that’s right,” Ila snorted, “double-check I shall.”

And with that, her fingers found the corner of his mouth again and – a heartbeat later – her lips were moving – caressing, teasing, inviting – over this unseen plain of pleasures once more.

He couldn’t help slinging his arms around the small of her back, pulling her closer still and sighing into her mouth which made her promptly part her lips to breathe in the sounds of his overwhelmed delight.

“We should not be doing this,” he tried to reason with her even though he couldn’t imagine anything better than to lie here with her in his arms while she lavished blandishments on him that he had never expected.

“I think we definitely should,” Ila contradicted as her hands moved down to his shoulders slowly while her body slid over his further until her thighs rested heavily on his.

Despite his best intentions, Ori bucked up into the solid, warm weight of her flesh grinding down on him while the sweetness of her lips made it impossible to string together a coherent thought.

“And it seems like you agree,” she chuckled, letting her mouth wander down the slender curve of his neck, while she basked in the almost exotic aroma of his skin.

“Oh, Ila,” he sighed, “you don’t know what you are doing.”

He was wrong, Ila thought, she knew exactly what was going on; she was blind, not dumb. She had heard the tales of her childhood friends with unabated jealousy, knowing full well how improbable it was that any man would ever saddle himself with a wife who needed to be supported throughout her life.

It followed – evidently – that, under her father’s constant supervision, she could not taste the forbidden fruit either when it was clear that she could not keep the plant alive.

This was different though; he would disappear back into the shadows of a world that only overlapped from time to time with her own; there was no pity in his voice and the way his body shivered under her own made her feel powerful in a way yet unknown to her.

Ila knew that she could easily have grown addicted to that sensation as much as to the fragrance of his body and the melody of his breathless sighs.

“Let me see you,” she pleaded and – accepting that he’d regret it forevermore if his cowardice kept him from giving in to her – Ori discarded the tunic she had retrieved for him.

Suddenly, he felt insecure about all the ways he was different from the men she might have known before; had she known men before? Had she taken other men to her bed?

It mattered not, he decided, as she let her fingers dance and slide over his skin, tracing his collarbone and following his sternum before circling around his navel for a long, torturous moment. And yet, he wanted to know.

“Have you done this before?” he asked shyly, wondering if he would be the one to introduce her to body parts that would be strange and unfamiliar to her.

“Never,” she admitted, lifting her face bearing a sunny smile radiating curiosity and confidence.

“Oh,” Ori made, unsure if he was well-equipped enough in knowledge and bravery to teach her about these things; this was not the moment either to let her know that if he went through with this, he’d wait for her to come back to him until the day she died.

She was most probably human which meant that her life would be much shorter than his own and – while his head left the pillow to follow the sweet kisses he so craved now – he was already mourning her – to him – untimely death.

“Show me,” Ila demanded and extended her hand to him in literally blind faith.

He wrapped his own fingers around her narrow palm and guided her hand ever down until her fingertips quirked upon encountering the thicket of coarse hair trailing down from his navel to that unexplored space between his legs.

“Talk to me!” she exhorted, letting her cheek rest against his chest, and listening to the erratic drumming of his racing heart.

“I…You don’t have to do this,” Ori stammered, a million cautionary tales flooding his memory about how other races would never find beauty in dwarves which made him afraid to be repudiated and rejected.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Ila laughed, turning her head to breathe a kiss upon his heated skin, “and I really enjoy this so far. You feel warm.”

As his hand let hers go, she pushed on and found heat – smooth as a blade and throbbing as a fire – encased in an oblong appendix of such girth and length that she had to twist and turn her wrist to palpitate its whole extent.

A sound halfway between a strangled cry of pain and an airy sigh of relief gusted through Ori’s gritted teeth as Ila proceeded with her meticulous exploration of his body; he was more than willing to be the object of her discovery – still and impassable – but her hands on his skin kept drawing the most undignified sounds from him which seemed to amuse her greatly.

“Interesting,” Ila commented, “I expect this is supposed to do something…?”

“As far as my studies can be trusted,” Ori replied, “it’s supposed to be introduced into another body.”

“In this case, mine,” Ila nodded, propping herself up on her elbow without releasing her loose grip on him, a dreamy smile on her face, “where exactly?”

Oh Mahal, Ori thought desperately, for someone being paid by the word, he sure ran out of them rather quickly in this situation; when Ila scrabbled to her knees beside him though and presented him with her other hand in a wordless bid for him to showher, he didn’t hesitate nearly as long as the first time.

“Here,” he whispered, directing her hand between her own legs and biting down on his moan until he could taste blood in his mouth when his fingertips brushed against the warm, wet heat of her lust.

“Oh…” Ila cocked her head, “I am not sure it will fit.”

Again, she clasped and unclasped her fingers around him and let her digits roam slowly to gauge the dimensions of this organ she had evidently never beheld before.

“I don’t know if it is supposed to,” Ori confessed; she was of a different race and there had been but very little scripture accessible to him detailing these things.

“Hmmm,” Ila hummed, “can you trust me, Ori the dwarf? I…It is not poisonous, is it?”

“No?” Ori didn’t know what exactly she had in mind until she bend down over him and shortly brushed her lips across the head of his member before taking it into her mouth tentatively.

Fighting down the feeling of choking, Ila let the heat and the weight settle onto her tongue while she focussed her whole awareness into that spot where his body and hers were joined.

A low, keening sound resounded above her, and she flinched back immediately.

“I am sorry,” she said hastily, “did I hurt you?”

Ori was – once again – happy that she could not see his dumbfounded expression; never in his life had he ever experienced a sensation half as entrancing and paralyzingly pleasant as the moist tenderness of her mouth.

“No,” he whispered, “no, that was…Oh Mahal, that was amazing.”

“Good news is, I think it will fit,” Ila declared, “maybe not so good news is that I thoroughly enjoyed this, and I’d like to do it again?”

“All of this is wonderful news to me,” Ori exclaimed and chuckled when she beamed at him before returning to her oral ministrations.

Warm and smooth, the twitching organ tasted like the pebbles her father had let her suck on for the minerals when she had been a mere child: salty and slightly musty.

“This cannot be right,” Ori panted, consumed by the contradiction between the indescribable sensation and the awareness that they were exchanging things they’d never be able to retrieve.

Ila’s face tilted up in sudden worry, painted so unequivocally on her pretty face, and she let go of Ori almost instantly.

“I do not wish to trespass on your moral rules,” she assured him, ready to quench the fire within her veins; she was well aware of the reasons why her own kind kept away from her, it should not have come as a surprise that, for another race, there would be even more prohibitions in place.

“It has nothing to do with morality,” Ori barked, harsher than he’d ever spoken to a lady before, “and everything with faithfulness.”

This, Ila could not understand.

“I know that you don’t tend to take these things as seriously as we do,” he went on, “but if we are to go through with this – and Mahal knows, there’s nothing I desire more in this second – it binds me to you.”

Sitting back on her haunches, Ila frowned; she wished – desperately – that she could see his face to understand the undertone of deep sadness that vibrated like violins in his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“If,” a moment of silence, a deep, shuddering breath, “if I take what you offer, I’ll have betrayed the way things are done. I am not destined to be betrothed – what with two older brethren yet unmarried – and even if that blessing was to be bestowed upon me, I’d have to follow certain rituals.”

Ila’s head spun as warm, sticky drops rained on the back of her hands, resting almost coyly on his shivering thighs now; marriage, an idea that was an open wound in her heart.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “of course, I do not seek to entrap you in an unfortunate match.”

Psych...IDNMT cannot shut up and I tend to write shorter chapters...so there will be a third installment for this one as well...

🙈🙈🙈

I hope you liked this <3

-> Part 3

Taglist:

@blairsanne

@narniaandthenorth

@fizzyxcustard

@laurfilijames

@myselfandfantasy

@legolasbadass

@linasofia

@lathalea

@midearthwritings

@clumsy-wonderland

@fckmini

@otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

@schrodingerspenis

#the hobbit #fanfiction #ori #ori the dwarf #ori propaganda #writing #Ori x OC #blind OC #spice #intimacy #secrets #stupid ideas growing into fics #*NSFW #slight citrus feels here #*SMUT #you know...dirty things

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swbumblebee · 3 years

Text

Plo Koon entered the rooms he knew almost as well as his own and allowed the serene Force presence he’d been projecting hard to fall away, with a sigh he felt down to his very bones.

It was Dhikraa; the Jedi day of mourning. Of course, each departed friend, comrade or sibling received their own funeral, and were mourned and missed dearly by those they left behind. But on this day, one day each year, time was made to acknowledge and remember all those they had lost, to embrace the grief for a short while and to take a moment to be grateful for all they given to their brothers and sisters and to the Galaxy.

It had been a long day. He couldn’t imagine how Mace was feeling. As Master of the order the expectations on a day such as this were high; His presence was expected at every ceremony and gathering, at all the different species-specific rituals and the various meditation sessions.

Plo was sure his friend would much rather have hidden in these very rooms, with a few nice bottles of something expensive and the privacy to let his shields slip, just a little. Force knew that’s all Plo wanted to do.

Sure enough, the Korun Master was sitting quietly in the dimly lit room, on a cushion on the floor. His back resting against the sofa and eyes still closed, despite Plo’s presence.

He knew better than to ask if he was alright. Simply making his way to the kitchen Plo exchanged his mask for one that allowed him to drink and took his time pouring two glasses of their favourite.

Neither said anything as Plo quietly sat down next to his friend and handed over the glass.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la” he said softly after a moment, raising his own drink in a toast. Not gone, merely marching far away. It was something he’d picked up from the clones, that first time around. And whilst those they missed weren’t exactly dead (some hadn’t even been born) they were very, very far away.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la” Mace repeated, his voice a little horse.

Wolffe, Ahsoka, Comet, Sinker, Adi, Nahdar, Qui-Gon…the list of those he missed was almost too long.

In a rare slip of shields from the man next to him, Plo received a vivid image of young Caleb Dume sitting on a familiar kitchen counter, skinny legs swinging in excitement. And then a blink-an-you’ll-miss-it flash of Depa, grinning as she braided the boy’s hair.

Plo put a hand on his friend’s knee, projecting understanding into the Force around them. It wasn’t only those who weren’t with them they missed, it was the people they were by the end. It was almost unspeakably difficult to be around people, yet still miss their older selves. People changed a lot in thirteen years.

Mace signed, visibly pulling himself together.

“Sorry, long day” he explained, taking a long sip of wine.

“I know” Plo shrugged. “Its over now.”

Mace nodded slowly.

“Have you seen the boys?” he asked, with an air of breeziness that didn’t fool Plo one bit. He shook his head.

“Obi-Wan is very private, he may have wanted to stay away from all the activities. And Anakin is very young” he dismissed.

His heart ached for the two. Both had lost so much this year.

Mace shook his head tiredly.

“Maybe we should-“

He froze mid-sentence, frowning in confusion, and Plo did the same.

There were two very familiar presences on the other side of the door.

Mace made a slightly delayed move towards it when it appeared to open of its own accord.

“Anakin you can’t just-!”

“Master Mace? Master Plo? It’s us!”

Both Masters blinked in confusion and stood up as an excitable ten-year-old barged in, swinging a bag of vegetables around as his slightly harried Master followed lugging a huge container that smelt like gravy.

“Apologies Masters, we- we hope you’re not too busy” the twenty-three-year-old Knight Kenobi managed to somehow keep hold of the vat whilst yanking his charge back by the tunics before he had the chance to run any further into the room.

Plo felt himself grinning.

“No of course not, you are both very welcome” he gestured to Anakin, who was let out of his Master’s grip to run in for his customary hug.

Mace hurried to take the large container out of Obi-Wan’s hands

“Obi-Wan Kenobi did you hack my door?” he asked in mock outrage.

The serious young Knight shook his head.

“I did not.”

Mace’s eyebrows rose skeptically.

“I did!” Anakin chirped happily from where he was depositing the vegetables on the kitchen side. Plo could almost feel Obi-Wan’s urge to facepalm and chuckled.

“Really Masters, if you are busy we can come back another time” Obi-Wan looked at them unsurely, a slight hint of trepidation in his face.

Plo opened his mouth to reply when he was beaten to it.

“Of course not Obi-Wan”

Plo struggled to keep the surprise off his face when Mace actually patted the young man on the back as he led them into the kitchen. The container floating cheekily next to them, to Obi-Wan’s clear amusement.

“What have you brought with you?” he asked conversationally. Plo hung back a little, content to watch the all-too-rare appearance of Mace Windu; Grandmaster. Caleb would be a lucky boy indeed in a few years.

Anakin was already laying out the various root veg on the side, carefully getting them in order and looking around at the various tools hanging on the walls of the tiny kitchen. Obi-Wan caught his wrist with lightening quick reflexes as the boy reached for a carving knife.

“We thought you might like some stew” the Knight explained as if nothing had happened. He looked at the huge vat that Mace had placed on the counter (still with a firm hold on the pouting child’s arm) and gave the Masters a wry smile. “Bant was kind enough to make it for us and well…there’s rather a lot.”

Mace smiled, a genuine happy smile Plo saw all too rarely, and he felt a bubble of happiness in his own chest.

“Yeah there’s loads, and todays like, a really…” Anakin paused and glanced at his Master “significant day” he finished, clearly concentrating on his words “and we just thought maybe you miss Master Qui-Gon too. And your own Masters” he added hurriedly “and maybe we could be together and like, help each other miss…him” the boy was flushing a little by the end of his sentence, clearly embarrassed by the halting explanation.

Plo glanced towards Obi-Wan, feeling durasteel shields locking down over a turbulent Force presence as the young man swallowed subtly and looked away, focussing intently on the vegetables.

“That sounds very wise Anakin” Plo commended softly, nodding encouragingly.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Padawan” Mace joined in approvingly.

Obi-Wan offered them a rather shaky smile as he felt both of them reach out with fondness in the Force, and to Plo’s immense pleasure, began reaching back ever so carefully.

Finally! He could’ve cheered at the shy but definite response.

Mace clapped his hands together, breaking the moment.

“Well, stew sounds excellent. Anakin why don’t you set the table and then run and fetch Master Plo’s other mask” he instructed “Plo if you could get the pudding out of the freezing unit we’ll start defrosting it, and I will supervise the chef.” He paused. “And get the emergency teams on standby.”

“Yes Master Mace!”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I have prepared many a meal with no injuries or property damage!”

“Fibbing is not the Jedi way, young Kenobi.”

Plo felt as if he’d had a heavy robe removed from his shoulders, a lightness had entered the dark rooms. He stood back and allowed himself to bask in the suddenly gloriously chaotic atmosphere, banishing all other thoughts as he ruffled Anakin’s hair as the child dashed back and forth creating a centrepiece out of all manner of things.

“Master Mace can I put this candle on the table?”

“What are you doing? It’s this in first”

“What? No I’m sure it’s- Master Plo which goes first?”

“Plo would you grab the pudding?”

---

It was, of course, important to keep those who were marching far away in their thoughts. To remember the lessons they left and to look forward to a time when they would meet again. And undeniably, they had all lost a lot. But as he looked around the now crowded, noisy, messy flat, Plo was nothing but infinitely grateful for everything they had right here, in this moment.

#Space Dads Go Time Travelling #plo koon #mace windu #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Bby anakin #jedi family #fluff #Obi-Wan finally accepting his new Dads

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whatanoof · 3 years

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Cal Kestis Headcanons that No One Asked For

So I’ve slowly been going through story mode of Jedi: Fallen Order, and I’m about to go to the Fort Inquisitorius so I haven’t even finished yet but I’m absolutely in love with Cal Kestis, so here are some hc about him, romantic and non-romantic.

SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER

Cal x female!reader

You both love it when you play with his hair. The first time was almost an accident on your part, because you were just sitting behind him on the bunk while he’s tinkering with his saber and staring at the back of his head. It’s so red, and you’d honestly rarely seen such a bright color naturally occurring, much less growing out of a human head? Your hand brushed a strand almost of its own volition, and you both just froze. He slowly turned to look at you, and you almost stopped breathing because Did you just mess up did you just fuck up the relationship oh shit shit shit--. And he just whispers, “Uh, could you do that again?” And you’re in such a state of shock and relief that you just scoot back on the bunk and gesture at your open lap. Cere walks in on the two of you later, him dopey and almost asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers running through the silky strands. She doesn’t say anything, even when Greez points out the two small braids that you left at the nape of his neck.

He’s so competitive. Like come on, this man refused to back down from two or three separate fights against fully-fledged Inquisitors and one insane Jedi Master while he was still technically a Padawan. So he won’t let you beat him. At anything. You’re watering the latest seed that he brought back from a planet? Bam, he’s got Greez’s special plant food and he’s giving every single one of them a five-course meal. If you’re a Jedi, and you’re meditating in the back of the Mantis? You open your eyes after ten or so minutes and he’s right there in front of you, doing that little concentration face that you fell in love with so easily. If you’re a Jedi, you’re evenly matched in almost everything that you do in terms of abilities, and you teach each other where you’re not. Greez is terrified of watching you two spar, because you don’t hold back, but you’re also so equal to him in skill that it’s a whirl of light and blocking known attacks.

Him and BD-1 were a package deal, but as soon as you were welcomed aboard the Mantis, Cal couldn’t believe how easily the little droid warmed up to you. Of course, BD sticks with Cal and is his right hand man on adventures, but Cal no longer occupies 100 percent of BD’s free time. You refuse to tell Cal exactly where, but you found a spot right behind BD’s “head” where if you scratch it, the droid is on the ground and kicking a leg in the air in happiness. If you’re a mechanic, you can usually be found in the back, tinkering with BD’s processor to make it run more efficiently, or oiling his joints again, or designing new paint jobs for the happy little droid. Either way, you’ve stolen a decent fraction of the droid’s affection, and none of the Mantis crew has any idea how you did it. It’s actually the first thing that urged you and Cal to start spending more time together, and you remember BD’s happy little hops after you’d finally kissed Cal for the first time.

There is absolutely no backing for this, but I think that Cal can sing. Nothing fancy, of course, it’s not like there are vocal lessons available on Bracca or in the Jedi Order, but he can carry a tune. It’s sometimes the only way you can fall asleep on the Mantis, because even though Greez and the crew make it cozy, it’s not home. But as soon as you’re curled up in the twin-sized bunk, and Cal starts humming to you, you’re out before he’s finished the chorus. Sometimes the songs are happy, but they’re often little ditties that he heard from the clones before Order 66, or mourning songs that fellow workers on Bracca would sing during the night when the rain was pounding on the metal and creating a natural rhythm and harmony for the tired mechanics. They’re songs of lost love, fallen brothers, and vague longings for newer, better lives. You fall asleep to his soothing voice, but you often wake with an ache in your heart for the suffering and pain that Cal has experienced and witnessed in his short life.

He’s ticklish. He hates that you know. He hates that you told Merrin, and now she can blackmail him into getting her favorite foods from supply markets. But you love the childish giggles that you’re able to pull out of him when you finally corner him and run your fingers over his neck. Tickle fights always end in make-out sessions.

+18 NSFW under the cut

So... Cal never had the chance to understand wanting intimacy before you, sexual and non-sexual. He was terrified the first time he looked at you and didn’t recognize that strange feeling in his chest. He’d never felt it before, was there something wrong with him? Was he sick? It takes a sit-down with Greez for him to figure out what’s going on, and it’s even scarier than the possibility of illness. Jedi were forbidden to love, it had always been a taboo in his mind, even if he had never had the opportunity to find out what it felt like.

He pushes it away at first. He ignores the flutters in his chest when you’re laughing with Merrin at dinner. He denies the complete shorting out of his brain when he accidentally brushes too close to you while trying to get to your shared bunk.

He has his first wet dream, and wakes up absolutely throbbing with the memory of the dream that involved you and him and way too little clothes for his repressed childhood. He tries to grit his teeth and go back to sleep, but it’s too uncomfortable, and he can’t get the image of your body out of his mind. Jedi Masters always gave their Padawans the sex talk, and Jaro Tapal was nothing if not a good Master. So Cal knows basically what he has to do to relieve the tension so that he can get a little more sleep. He just doesn’t expect to lose control of himself to the point where he grunts your name when he comes. His heart just about stops when he hears the bed above him creak, and he yanks the sheets over his head until he’s sure that you’re not awake. He gets up early the next morning so that he can clean up without fear of you catching him.

After you get together, Cal is even more scared of the relationship. He had checked with Cere, and though she skews more traditional in her beliefs, she knows that Cal’s trauma and overcoming of it is more than she could hope to understand. Maybe this relationship could bring a stability to his life that nothing else could provide. She cautions him on the power of Dark Side, and how the fear of losing love dragged many great Jedi astray. But she also trusts you, and she knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. She hadn’t missed the lovesick puppy eyes you’d been sending his way.

You start out promising to take it slow. Neither of you had much experience in the areas of relationships and dating, much less sex, so at the beginning, you make sure to clarify that there’s no pressure to rush through anything. It’s mostly just spending more time together, slowly exploring each other. You both learn about each other’s pasts, and spend time talking through the different experiences, rationalizing and comforting each other. Before you even begin to experiment in bed, he’s become your best friend.

When you finally do, it’s short and sweet and perfect for two people who are trying to take their relationship slow. You teach him about what you like, and he gasps out in between moans what feels good and ohhh, what feels even better.

Okay, a bit of a time skip here, but after Cal’s more experienced, he is a sucker for you riding his thigh. He’s built and strong, so the ridge of muscle beneath you and rubbing against every single spot that sparks delicious warmth in your belly brings you to climax so much more quickly than you could have expected. He loves looking up at you, mouth open and eyes half shut in ecstasy as you chase your high, your heat leaving sticky wetness on his thigh that only serves to make him harder. He’ll grind his leg up if only to hear that heavenly little squeal and whimper that he can get out of you. You’re beautiful to him even on the worst days, but when you’re above him, sweaty and on the brink of coming all over his thigh? Stars, you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever seen, and he rode a shyyyo bird over the untouched forest of Kashyyyk.

Sadcanons. Don’t read if you don’t want sad feels tonight

There is no denying that Cal’s not a whole person at the beginning of the storyline. He definitely regains some of himself back, but there are parts of him that I believe died with the clones and died with Jaro. There are times where he has nightmares, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Even you. He’ll lapse into silence for hours and days at a time, staring at the blank wall while you try to get him to eat or drink something because damnit it’s been days and he hasn’t so much as moved. Your heart breaks at every sign of his damage, because you know that there is only so much you can do to help. This is a journey that he has to complete independently, though it doesn’t mean that you won’t be here for him when he wakes up.

You trace his scars to comfort him. He’s insecure about them, and is terrified of the memories that they bring back. But when you’re there, loving even his jagged edges, it’s all marginally better and he can bear to live with himself a little more.

He comforts you too. Whatever your background, the Clone Wars and the Purge gave everyone a little bit of damage, and you were no different. He holds you when you’re crying, and comforts you after your nightmares. He’ll purposefully pick a happy song to sing when he knows that you’re down, and he never fails to make you laugh through the tears.

His psychometry allows him to understand your trauma better than you could hope to understand his. Before you even allow him to sense your past, you make him promise to not internalize any of it. You know that he would, though it makes no logical sense. He promises.

Oops I made myself yearn. Now back to our regularly scheduled program of single life. School’s kicking my ass right now, but this made me feel better so I can’t complain too much.

But in all seriousness, I recommend this game 10/10. The Star Wars content is absolutely impeccable, the graphics are gorgeous, it gives me a thrill in my chest to know that every single second is canon. Cal is a beautifully written character, and even though his story breaks my heart, it’s written so well. He doesn’t lash out in anger, rather internalizing his fears and pain in a way that I can relate to, and he’s scarily powerful. It’s a feel good story for me despite the pain, and I’m looking forward to finishing it this weekend!

#cal kestis #headcanons #cal kestis x reader #smut #fluff #angst #cere junda #greez dritus #nightsister merrin #jedi: fallen order

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shaolin-spin-doctor · 3 years

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Midnight Terrors

Kung Jin is awoken by someone sneaking past his bedroom. Fearing an enemy attack, he gives chase, but finds out the intruder's identity and motives are completely unexpected.

Kung Jin jolted awake upon hearing the sounds of hurried footsteps outside his room.

They weren't loud at all - in fact, if the Shaolin monk wasn't so well-seasoned by the numerous sneak attacks he and his fellow Special Forces teammates had been subjected to in their visits to Outworld, he might've just missed them entirely. Whoever was out there knew how to move quietly, regardless of the evident panic in their uneven stride.

Someone with such skill sneaking around the temple in the middle of the night couldn't possibly mean anything good.

Kung Jin sprung out of bed, snatching his staff and wasting no time in darting out of the room. He was relatively unprotected, sporting only the plain tank top and shorts he usually slept in, but he couldn't afford to slow down and let the intruder escape; whoever was out there was fast, and there was no telling of what they might do if left unchecked... That is, if they hadn't already finished whatever job they were sent to do.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the dark thoughts forming in his mind, the Shaolin warrior continued to run through the moonlit corridor, the feeling of the cold marble tiles beneath his feet dispelling whatever traces of sleepiness still lingered within him. He could hear muted noises right ahead - they resembled voices, but they sounded distorted and out of sync; they had an almost sinister, yet desperate feel to them, and Jin had the disturbing feeling they were somehow familiar.

Slowing down as to avoid detection, the monk tracked the strange sounds to a huge, slightly open wooden door on one side of the hallway. He recognized it as one of the many meditation rooms in the temple - he himself visited it quite often, being the one closest to his own room and in relative isolation from everyone else in the temple. It was the perfect place to lock yourself in if you didn't want to be seen... or caught. Tightening his hold on his staff and channeling his energy until he felt the familiar heat of fire forming inside the metal dragon's maw, Kung Jin drew a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside, ready to confront whoever - or whatever - was on the other side.

What he saw caught him completely off guard, and whatever hostility he had felt died down in a split second.

A man was down on his knees in the middle of the room, pose askew as if he had carelessly - or perhaps, despairingly - thrown himself into the floor; his long, graying hair was a mess, free from the braid it was usually styled in, and his frame shook everytime he attempted to breathe, making it apparent he was struggling to do so. His warped, echoing voice recited a choked prayer, the ominous sound doing little to mask the sheer fright dripping from every word, and the faint glow cast by the pulsating yellow veins stretching throughout his ashen skin revealed trails of blood leaking from nail-shaped wounds in his arms. Kung Jin let out a light, anxious gasp, lowering his staff and staring at the figure in front of him.

"Lao?" He asked softly, failing to stop his voice from trembling at the end. The revenant flinched at the mention of his name and curled further into himself, his voice growing more desperate and desynchronized as he struggled to continue his plea - a chant used to purify one's spirit, Jin noted. The young Shaolin moved to his uncle's side, kneeling next to him to try and get his attention. "Easy there, old man," he murmured, moving his hands in a placating gesture, "It's me, Jin. It's okay."

Kung Lao turned to face the other warrior, blazing eyes wild with dread despite his nephew's reassurance. Whatever words he was trying to say died in his cracked lips as he frantically gasped for air, and Jin, recognizing the older man's struggle, placed a firm hand in his back in an attempt to ground him.

"Breathe with me," Kung Jin instructed, inhaling slowly and exaggerating his motions so they'd be easier to follow. It took a few attempts, but Lao understood soon enough and began following his rhythm, eventually managing to calm down enough to shoot him a grateful look. Jin nodded.

"You did great," he said with a soft smile.

Kung Lao shook his head, looking away. "I'm sorry. I... lost it," he whispered, bitterness lacing his words. The younger Shaolin frowned.

"What are you talking about?" He inquired. Lao drew in a sharp breath, refusing to look back at his nephew.

"I had a nightmare." The revenant stopped for a moment, running a hand down his face. Jin noticed traces of dry blood trickling down his blackened nails and into his palm. "I was beating your team up, really badly. I tried to stop myself, but the more I struggled, the worse it got, and then I..." he shut his eyes tightly. "I killed you, one by one. Cassandra, Jacqueline, Takeda... And you. I ended your lives with my bare hands, and I was laughing, and it felt so real, and I... I panicked. By the elder gods, I was terrified. I thought... I thought I had actually hurt someone."

For a moment, Lao looked down at his hands, studying the dried trails of crimson running down his fingers. He then huffed, his face twisting into a disgusted snarl.

"That doesn't change anything, though. I did hurt people - committed unthinkable atrocities. It doesn't matter how hard I try to hide it..." He drew in a shaky breath and clenched his fists tightly, long nails digging into his skin with enough force to draw fresh blood. "I'm still a monster. Am, and always will be."

The sinister, out of sync echo of the revenant's voice only amplified the vitriolic self-loathing present in his words, and Kung Jin's chest ached at how familiar the whole situation was.

"Is that all you think you are?" he asked quietly, tawny eyes locking with his uncle's fiery ones. Kung Lao was taken aback by the sheer hurt written all over his nephew's face. "You do realize it wasn't your fault... right? You were under Quan Chi's control. You couldn't-"

"I enjoyed it!" Kung Lao growled, interrupting the other warrior. "I tried to stop it, but it felt good. No matter how hard I fought, how much I tried to resist, it felt good, and I couldn't control it. I-"

"It wasn't you," Jin cut him off, a solemn edge to his voice. "It was never you."

The revenant let out a trembling exhale, a pained expression taking ahold of his face. He closed his eyes and curled into himself. "I should've tried harder. I... should've been stronger."

Kung Jin didn't think twice before wrapping his arms around Kung Lao's frame, pulling him into a hug. The older Shaolin was unsure of how to react at first, stunned by the sudden contact - he couldn't remember the last time he had been embraced like this, and the unexpected display of affection seemed almost alien to him. It took a while, but he eventually returned the gesture, allowing himself to give into it completely. Jin sniffled.

Despite Lao's unnaturally cold form, it almost reminded him of the last time they bid each other farewell all those years ago. Before the world came crashing down for both of them.

"No, Lao." The younger warrior said, finally breaking the silence. He felt like a child, clinging desperately to his uncle as if the older man would somehow disappear if he let go. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was." He broke away from the embrace to look at the other warrior in the eye. "Anyone else would've succumbed to the darkness, but you? You made a conscious effort to come back once you broke free. You fought to get your life back, and you did, and you're so, so strong for it."

Kung Lao opened his mouth to protest, but Jin shot him a warning look and raised a finger to silence him before he could say anything. "Don't blame yourself for things you had no control over. What matters is that you're here, now, and you're being true to yourself despite everything. You're not a monster. You..." The young Shaolin looked away for a moment, carefully considering his next words, and when he looked back at his uncle, it was with a fond smile on his face. "You're a hero."

Lao stared at his nephew as he processed his words. The other man's genuine expression filled his chest with an overwhelming feeling of warmth, and he forced himself to rub his eyes with the back of his hand in an attempt to hide the moisture building in them. "Just a hero?" he asked, shooting Jin a knowing look. The archer rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

"Fine," he huffed dramatically. "My hero."

Kung Lao chuckled. "I thought I was just another thing in your way."

Jin snorted and shoved him jokingly. "The only thing you're in the way of is my sleep schedule. C'mon, I need rest, and so do you." He punched his uncle's shoulder softly and gestured for him to stand up. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"Wait," Lao said , stopping Jin dead in his tracks. "I can't go out like this."

"Didn't stop you from waking me up," the younger warrior shot back, causing his uncle to pout. "Plus, I doubt your spirit can settle down when you're hurt and covered in blood." He shot the other man a devious look when he groaned. "Tough luck, gramps."

Kung Lao sighed dramatically before standing up. "You sure have a way with words."

Kung Jin shrugged as he picked up his staff and followed suit. "It's a Kung thing."

The two men approached the wooden door, and Jin was about to hold it open when Lao spoke up out of the blue. "Jin?"

"Hm?"

"... Thank you."

The archer looked back at his uncle, and they locked eyes. Gratitude was written all over the revenant's expression, and, despite his inhuman features, Kung Jin could see the soft smile on his face was genuine. He grinned back.

"You're such a softie. C'mon, old men first."

#yes kung lao only appears human when he's Chill and yes he also has trauma. dont @ me it isnt my fault nrs left all this up in the air #Kung Jin #Kung Lao #hat fics

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years

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The Ocean Meets the Sky

Chapter 3: Void

Please note: Every prompt for this Kataang Week connects into an over-arching story.

Prompt: Missing Scenes/Post-Canon

Story summary: After his battle with Fire Lord Ozai, something lingers within Aang's spirit. Katara is the one that pulls the seams back together. No matter what, Aang and Katara find each other.

Chapter summary: Around him was a peculiar material. It looked like constant twisting roots, like lodes knotting into themselves, making an impossible sculptured feat of wood and grain. The distinct scent of nature and wet soil after rain permeated the air.

“Where am I?” he asked into nothing.

Or, Aang sees what he couldn't before.

TW: implied/referenced suicide

Written for @kataang-week

Read on ao3 or ffn.

---

Aang was on the battlefield again. He stood atop a rock pillar in the Wulong Forest. The sky was a clouded cerise, harsh with glaring shadows and a raging streak that made up the tail of Sozin’s Comet. The same apprehension and anger stormed inside him, bubbling to the surface of everything.

And then, there was a pinprick of white light. Just a tiny star, and then it expanded so much that he had to cover his eyes.

His vision cleared. He found himself sitting with his legs crossed, his hands in a meditation pose. Around him was a peculiar material. It looked like constant twisting roots, like lodes knotting into themselves, making an impossible sculptured feat of wood and grain. The distinct scent of nature and wet soil after rain permeated the air.

“Where am I?” he asked into nothing.

There was a rumbling noise, and then an eye-shaped window appeared before him too, separating the bark. It was in the shape of an eye turned to the side. A purplish red barrier that he could see through blocked him from escape. Behind the barrier, he saw strange, oblong patterns and suggestions of shapes. A turquoise sky, unnatural poisonous clouds. Beyond that, a vivid river cutting through the earthen landscape. It had clusters of bobbing, luminescent algae upon the water’s surface that cast an unusual light.

He gasped when his middle started to glow, white-blue designs appearing on his skin and through his clothes. The wooden bead necklace he wore lifted from his neck as if upon an invisible breeze. The fabrics he wore ruffled. A chill raised the hairs on his arms.

“Inside the Tree of Time,” intoned an echoing feminine voice. It felt like it was coming from inside him. Illogical, reverberating.

He blinked, clutching at his sleeves, searching for the source of the light. “Who are you? Who’s talking?” he asked in a panic.

“Raava,” said the voice, continuing unperturbed. “I am part of you, Aang. I am the spirit of light…the spirit of the Avatar.”

Immediately, it was as if all the pieces had fallen into place. There was a calmness about him that settled on his shoulders, his chest. He knew, without a doubt, that this Raava was telling the truth, that the voice was someone he could trust. It was as if he had reconnected with a long-lost friend.

“You are here because you have bended another’s energy…and that energy has corrupted you.”

Aang reeled backward, banging onto the hollow trunk of the tree. “What? But—”

“Let time show you,” Raava interrupted, and he could almost imagine a figure gesturing to the tree that surrounded him, a faceless spirit guiding him on this journey he did not want to take.

Images fizzled into existence around him, floating visions that surfaces upon the bark. They were blurred along the borders and had a quality to them that made them appear almost ethereal. The first he saw was of someone familiar.

It was Gyatso running away from his old room in the Southern Air Temple, the scroll Aang had left behind when he ran away clutched in his hand. His eyebrows were drawn together, features set into one of dread.

“Aang has gone!” he shouted into the empty halls. “We need to send out a search party immediately! Who knows what will happen in this typhoon!”

Another moving image popped near it, this time a courtyard full of elder monks, murmuring to each other, pointing at the deep red sky. He could not tell what time of day it was, for there were stars that peeked out from behind the Patola Mountains, and a glimmer of sunrays limning the edges of the valleys at the same time.

Another image, and it was fire. Screams, children he had known yelling through crumbling rubble. Dote, his friend, struggling to pull out his broken leg from beneath a fallen pillar. Blood cascaded from a cut on his forehead. Behind him, a great fireball scorched a group of lemurs into a crisp, and their corpses were left to fall with a resounding thud onto the blackened tile of what used to be Aang’s home.

“We have to get out of here!” bellowed a young adult monk with hardly a beard patch on his chin. He had a limp. An arrow had pierced his thigh and rivulets of red dribbled down his leg. “Gather the children! Quickly!”

Aang saw the tiles on the roofs come crashing to the ground, the silhouette of a couple clutching onto each other’s hands as they plunged together to their death in the crags below, a bison calf yowling for its mother who lay in a lifeless burning heap.

Aang’s heart hammered in his chest, hard and fast. Sweat pooled behind his neck when he realized what he was seeing.

“Scenes from your past,” said Raava, not unkindly. “Events that you missed, that you could not live through, because you could not save your people.”

Everything seemed to collide in on itself when he recognized Gyatso again in another image, this time in a falling apart structure surrounded by Fire Nation soldiers. The elderly man spun in a circle, an arc, lifting his arms and pushing them outward. The soldiers stiffened, scratched at their throats, and fell to their knees breathless. Some coughed, others struggled, a few of them writhed until they did not anymore.

Then, without warning, Gyatso fell as well with a look of listlessness in his gray eyes. He slumped onto the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, succumbing to his own suffocation tactic.

When Aang saw this, he grasped for his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He did not want to see any of it. None of it at all. The regret was already too great.

He wanted…

He did not know what he wanted, nor what he could want.

But then, like hopelessness itself, there came a foggy vision at last. A forgotten memory.

A man, elderly and ragged, collapsed against a boulder in a new image that took over the previous one. His armor was falling apart as he stared into the tempestuous sky above him. A pang resounded in Aang’s spirit, as if the man was calling out to him.

“I'm sorry, Raava,” the man rasped out, sagging ever further downward, “I failed to bring peace. Even with Vaatu locked away, darkness still surrounds humanity.”

Raava hummed from inside Aang in agreement. “You see Aang, your spirit must be unbendable to bend another’s energy,” she explained while Aang’s vision became more distorted with guilt. “The problem is there is no one with an unbendable spirit…not even the Avatar’s. You are human, and therefore there is a darkness, no matter how small, that resides inside you. There can be no light without darkness, and no darkness without light. Even if you were to eliminate one, the other would appear again no matter how long it takes.”

Aang did know, and he understood it. He wished that he did not.

He remembered the slight moment of hesitation, the cry for help he imagined Gyatso would exclaim as his and Ozai’s energies melded for that short, tumultuous moment. He remembered how he wanted more from Ozai than his bending. Just for that second before he righted himself.

He had thought of Katara. She was the one how had taught him how to hope again, and maybe he could think of her again.

When he looked up again, the tree had shown him another moving picture, another moment he had never witnessed himself.

It showed himself sleeping in a room made of planks of wood that swayed gently from side-to-side. He was laying on a pile of white furs, his upper torso wrapped with bandages, and a pair of tattered yellow pants.

Katara hovered over him. She had bags under her eyes. Her braid that rested along her spine was messy. Her hands were encased in glowing water, and she moved them along his arms and legs, pressing them onto his chest.

When she finished, she looked worn. The water snaked back into the pouch. There were shadows that darkened her face. “Please, Aang,” she begged in a low murmur. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do without you.”

The scene of the two of them shifted, melted, and then he observed her again but in a different light.

Aang saw Katara’s face highlighted and illuminated with a deep orange and blue as the two colors clashed against each other from across a vast ocean. A wall of light pushed up against another stalwart wall. They were two opposites fighting to maintain the balance he could not keep.

She stood alert in the Fire Nation palace’s courtyard where they had reunited, looking out over the horizon.

“Aang,” she whispered, “Don’t give up. I believe in you.” Then, even lower as she clutched her hands to her heart, she added, “I love you.”

Katara screamed for him afterward when the colors brightened and grew all the more intense. Her hands balled into fists, and there was nothing he could do but watch.

#kataang week 2021 #kataang week #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #katara #kataangtag #kataang #aang #atla #atla fanfic #avatar the last airbender #tw: implied suicide

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tickle-bugs · 3 years

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Some Things Never Change

Summary: Elsa visits Arendelle to plan her wedding. Like old times, she gets too invested in her work, and Anna helps remind her that perfection doesn’t have to come at the cost of peace. Anon: May I please request and Elsa and Anna fic where Elsa is working and Anna is either voter or just wants Elsa to pay attention to her,resorting to her using one of her quills to tickle her that turns into a huge tickle fight?

Spoilers for Frozen 2! DO NOT TAG THIS AS SHIP.

“...Elsa?”

“Hm?” Elsa didn’t look up from her parchment, just kept writing. Document upon document covered every inch of her desk, spilling over onto the floor. Sunlight streamed in through the window--thankfully she hadn’t gone full vampire and shut them.

“How’s it going?” Anna came up behind her and rested her hands on her shoulders.

“It’s going well,” Elsa muttered. She scratched idly at her chin and left a small inkstain. She tapped the tip of the quill on the parchment, leaving little dots of ink along the margins.

“How’s it going really?”

“Terrible.” Elsa groaned and dropped her face on the desk, narrowly missing her still-wet parchment. Her hair spilled loosely around her face and down her back in waves. Anna smiled and twirled some of the locks around her fingers. The little changes in Elsa’s style weren’t lost on her.

“Talk to me.” Anna gathered Elsa’s hair properly in her hands and started braiding, hands flying with practiced ease. They were making up for a lot of lost time nowadays.

“Originally, we were going to get married in the woods and stay at my palace for the honeymoon. Maren just told me that she wants to do a split culture wedding to, um, ‘reunify our people’.” Elsa hummed and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Maren said that? She was so excited for a Northuldra ceremony. She’s been looking forward to it since she was little.” Anna’s hands stilled.

“How’d you know that?” Elsa turned and squinted at her sister.

“Oh, y’know. Heard it from a little birdie on the grapevine.” Anna’s voice cracked and she looked anywhere but Elsa’s face.

“What?”

“We may have talked about the wedding. Extensively,” Anna breathed out her admission, holding out her hands in a gesture of peace. Elsa fixed her with the patented disappointed stare of an eldest sister, piercing directly to her soul.

“Don’t look at me like that! I just want you to be happy and I know how you tend to–“ Anna gestured at Elsa and her mess– “disconnect from everything.”

“I told you not to worry about it.” Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose with a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m not worried about it at all! I’m worried about you. You’re planning a wedding, not a funeral.” Anna poked Elsa in the forehead a few times.

“I’m okay.” Elsa smacked her hand away.

“Let me help.” Anna crossed her arms. She could see an argument forming in Elsa’s head and she was already prepared to shoot it down.

“Fine. You can write the letters to Corona and I’ll write to Denmark.” Elsa passed her a stack of parchment, a quill and an inkwell, making a noise of warning so Anna would show care in balancing the pile. After plucking a heavy book on Arendelle history from the bookshelf and precariously balancing everything in her arms, Anna situated herself on Elsa’s bed.

“On it.”

They passed the time in a meditative silence. Anna hummed a quiet tune while she worked and Elsa unconsciously joined in, their voices uniting to fill the room with lullabies. The soothing scratches of quills on parchment eventually quieted their songs, though Anna picked the tune up again as she signed the last invitation.

“Are you...almost done?” Anna stacked her bundle of letters on the far corner of Elsa’s desk, out of the way.

“Why?” Elsa mumbled, resting the feathered end of the quill against her lip. She crumpled the parchment she was working on and tossed it to the side. The paper ball bounced sadly into a rapidly-growing pile of letter rejects.

“We were supposed to visit the tailor, remember?” Anna rested her hands on the back of Elsa’s chair.

“I’ll just make a dress.”

“For your wedding?” Anna turned the chair around and forced Elsa to look at her.

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

“I’m offended.”

“Anna, please.”

“What are you gonna do in twenty years when you want to remember your wedding dress? Stick your hands in a puddle?” Anna knew that she was starting to sound like their father, but how could she not scold her? It was Elsa’s wedding--not a runaway trip to the mountains, not a birthday party, but her wedding. Yes, she could do some amazing things with her powers, but this was ridiculous.

“...you have a point.”

“Thank you!” Anna huffed and crossed her arms.

“After I finish this batch of letters, we will go. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Anna reached out her pinky, just like she used to when they were kids. She knew it was silly, especially now that she was queen, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Pinky promise,” Elsa linked her pinky with Anna’s, chuckling when Anna yelped at the coldness of her hands.

Anna flitted around the room for a while, skimming through random books on the shelves and admiring the paintings on the walls. One hour passed, then two, and Anna’s patience waned with the time. She really didn’t have the faculties to sit still for this long. When she turned to properly bug Elsa about leaving, she found her with her head shoved under her desk.

“What are you looking for?”

“My…” Elsa stood completely, pulling her chair out of the way to properly peer under the desk. She scratched idly at the back of her head, disturbing the swan-feather quill tucked behind her ear.

“Your…?”

“Quill. My quill is missing. I just had it, too.” She lifted her parchment and books one by one, brows furrowed, and Anna muffled a giggle behind her hand.

“What?”

“Nothing. You, um, really don’t know where it is?” Anna forced her expression into neutrality but her wobbly smile wasn’t doing her any favors.

“I wouldn’t be looking for it if I knew, would I? Just help me look.” Elsa frowned, revisiting her stack of books. Anna smiled, pulled the quill from behind Elsa’s ear, and all hell broke loose.

Elsa squealed and jumped, knocking her chair on its side. Two blasts of ice flew from her hands and painted frozen waves upon the wall, just narrowly missing the framed portrait of their parents. She bumped her desk with her hip, and if it wasn’t for Anna’s quick reflexes, all of their hard work would be drenched in ink.

“Oh, thanks. I’m finishing up now, so-” Elsa mumbled, reaching for the quill. Anna crossed her arms and stared her down until she sighed, righted her chair, and started proof-reading their letters--as if that was remotely what Anna’s knowing stare meant.

“No, you’re done. Up! C’mon.” Anna tugged on Elsa’s hand but she didn’t budge.

“Don’t make me do it.” Anna narrowed her eyes. Elsa didn’t blink.

“You leave me no choice, then. Get up and I’ll stop.” Anna tried not to enjoy Elsa’s confusion too much—’tried’ being the key word.

Elsa shrieked when delicate hands attached to her sides and stayed there, mapping out the subtleties of the terrain. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes squinted in newly-familiar mirth, and she doubled over to try and escape. She’d never been great at resisting laughter, but then again, neither was Anna.

“Get up and I’ll stop,” Anna repeated, fingers gently crawling to her ribs now, and Elsa’s laughter jumped far more than such a delicate action would normally entail. Anna so badly wanted to tease her for it, but it wasn’t Elsa’s fault that she’d never gotten even somewhat used to this. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Let’s go-”

“Not so fast.” Elsa huffed, a little pink and very out of breath. Strands of hair were already flying loose from her braid, and matched with her smirk, it gave her a sort of unhinged look—the kind that no younger sibling wanted directed towards them.

“Let’s be reasonable-” Anna backpedaled, hands raised in a surrender, but Elsa pulled her back by the wrist and used her momentum to wrap Anna in her worst weakness: tickly hugs.

“I-I’m gonna die!” Anna screeched, prying at Elsa’s wrists to no avail.

“You’re so dramatic.” Elsa rolled her eyes, squeezing Anna’s sides. Anna’s bones were all but jelly now—without Elsa’s mean hands holding her up she would definitely be getting acquainted with the nice hardwood floor. Anna’s hands flailed and occasionally found purchase against Elsa’s face, which, while objectively hilarious, was starting to get annoying.

Elsa’s fingers pressed into Anna’s stomach just as she ran her fingers over Elsa’s ear, and the two flew apart like magnets with opposite poles.

“Hey!” Elsa snapped her hand up to her ear with a silly smile. Anna recovered from her giggles a bit slower, but she was fast enough to see that Elsa’s playful smirk hadn’t gone anywhere.

Uh oh.

“Last one to the Tailor’s a rotten egg!” Anna threw open the door, already halfway to the stairs. Elsa’s footsteps were scarily close behind. What better encouragement to slide down the railing?

“Wh--Anna, wait up!”

#my fics #disney #frozen 2 #elsamaren #ticklish!anna #anna #elsa #....why don't they have last names.

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