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thedepthsoffandomminds · 2 months

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The guest - PT 7

Masterlist

It didn't take long for you to find Jack and Fagin sitting together in the cat and bagpipes.

"I found the money." Fagin says to his friend.

" Brilliant. We'll put it back and make all this disappear." Jack's words make you smile involuntarily.

"Put it back? I've heard some guff in my time, but that really puts the pickle in the biscuit jar." Fagin protested.

" Where's the money, Fagin?" Jack sighed.

"I had to hide it from the redcoats."

" Where?"

" Near Tinkler." You interject.

"Tinkler's dead." Jack says to you, then turns back to Fagin, " Did you hide it in his coffin?"

" Close to his coffin."

"Where did you hide it?" Jack was getting exasperated.

"I told ya. Near Tinkler."

No. Where?"

"In Tinkler. Inside Tinkler." You say looking between the two. Jack rolls his eyes at Fagin. He takes your hand.

"What do we do?" He asks.

You tell him to go to the graveyard and follow the two men out.

"He could be in any one of these" Jack groans seeing the several mounds of new graves, "Do you know which one?" He turns to you.

"Oh, um...it was..." You shake your head, "no I can't remember." You sigh, "I'm sorry." Jack steps up close to you, taking your hand once more.

"It's alright, you know so much, I can't expect you to know everything." He smiles. You hear a scoff not too far away and you both look over at Fagin.

"If young love could take a moment, we do have a predicament here." He said.

"We need to find Aputi. He'll know where he buried him. Help us dig him up, too." Jack said not leaving your side. You would admit only to yourself how nice it felt.to have his hand hold yours.

" It's not right, Dodge." You hear Fagin say.

" What?"

" It's against me principles."he explains

"And since when do you have principles?" Jack asked.

" I do about this. Life's hard. These people have had their tribulations. They've had the worst of times, the best of times, and now, they're at peace, so, it's better not to disturb them." Fagin seemed almost truthful in his words.

" They're not people anymore, are they? They're just worm-raddled meat." Jack scoffed.

"Don't say that" you and Fagin say together making the older man glance at you.

" This is no time to get squeamish, Fagin. Gaines, he's just a breath away from scraggin' us. What's this really all about?" Jack looks betweent he two of you.

"I know I wasn't always a good dad." Fagin vegan.

" No, you were never my dad. You abandoned me, remember? Traditionally, dads don't do that." Jack's chest tightened with his hard breaths.

"I did and I didn't."

" I was 13 years old and you left me in a cell!" Jack's voice broke at his words and his hand squeezed yours tighter.

"I know and it rots me heart, but I was trying to help ya." Fagin faught back.

"It's a funny way of showing it. I'm asking for your help now." Jack begs, you stay quiet beside Jack.

"And I'm telling you this is the one thing I will not do. These are people. They've got mums and dads who try not to think about what they look like now."

" How would you know?"

Because I lost a loved one. I lost my Agnes. She was the joy of me life. Barely six-"

"Oh enough, Fagin." You interrupt, "Agnes was a dog." You say. Fagin frowns at you and Jack scoffs.

"Of course it was." He turns to you, "you really don't remember?"

You shake your head.

"Okay, go home, we'll do this." He saysm

"I can help." You begin to protest.

"No, I won't have you have close to this. We need you to be as invisible as we can, until we work out your other problem." His eyebrows raise and he looks at you intensely.

"Okay."

*_*_*_*

That afternoon you find Belle in the kitchen at Government house, she has a large pig carcass strewn across it.

"What's going...oh carbolic acid." You say and slip onto a wooden stool by the table.

"Do you know anything about it?" She asks you.

"Not really, we don't use things like that, yet. Maybe you'll be the first to discover something that will work." You correct your language hoping Belle won't catch on.

She continues to mix the acid a vile, pouring it onto slabs of the pig meat.

"So, I cut open a body yesterday." She announced.

"Oh, you did?" You know you have to pretend you know nothing.

"Yes, I found a cloth on Tinkler's body. It was used to clean the morgue, it had carbolic acid on it. There was no rot under the cloth. Jack and I cut it open and there was no rot under the skin. No infection." She smiled wide and excitedly.

"That's amazing! It could change everything." You agree.

"But he won't let me use it until I can stop it burning." She admits capturing her lip between her teeth.

"Probably a good idea." You laugh, "Jack is a lovely man don't you think?" You say.

"hmm, he is agreeable I suppose." She scrunches her nose, "I know who I would rather spend my time with." She smiles at you, her eyes twinkling in the sunlight seeping in from the high windows.

"You could do a lot worse than him, Belle. Imagine if Sneed asked you to marry him." You let out a laugh and Belle follows you. Both of you are unable to control the laughter. You laughed so hard Noether of you noticed the vile being placed on the edge of the table. Nor did you notice the way it wobbled with every bump, until.finslly it tipped over, spilling on to your leg. You let out a gasp.

"Oh my gosh, Y/n!" Belle jumped to your side, grabbing your hands away from your leg. The acid had burned through the wool of your trousers and into your skin.

"Belle, It will always be too strong like this. Use a perfume bottle, so it disperses. I'm going to go to the hospital and get this seen to." You say through gritted teeth.

"A perfume bottle? You should change first, your leg is exposed." She calls after you.

You had hoped you wouldn't have to put a dress on again for some time so it was an annoyance pulling the heavy material on to your waist. You chose to forgo the birdcage crinoline and rushed off to town. By the time you had changed Belle was waiting for you.

"I need some things from town to finish this." She explains joining you on the walk to town. Once there you broke off to go into the hospital.

"Rainsford." You called out to him. The doctor stopped his confident stroll to look at you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, seeing you grimace against the movement of your leg.

"Not really. I need your help." You say. He jumps into action taking your weight against him with an arm around your waist and leading you into a private room.

"What on earth happened?" He asked when he saw the burn on your leg.

"An accident with a misplaced bottle of carbolic acid." You explain. Sneed nods and runs off for a moment grabbing a round tub filled with a white substance. You assumed it was a mixture of petroleum jelly, pip and wax.

"If you don't mind?" Sneed asks for permission to touch your leg. You nod. The salve is cold but soothing against the burn. He gently rubs it into your inflamed skin, one hand holding the underside of your leg. You watch him, knowing fully now that whilst you may have grown feelings for him, there was no way you could whilst another person was in your vicinity.

"y/n, I wanted to apologise for this morning. You were right, I was rather forward. The proposal was far too quick." He says.

"No, please. There is no need to apologise." You reply.

"perhaps, there is hope that we may instead spend more time together?" He looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Oh, I think, perhaps, we should continue a friendship only." You say, your hand rests on his shoulder in hopes that it would comfort him in some way.

Sneed's smile falls from his lips and he stands , stepping away from you.

"Very well." He leaves the room and you look up to the window seeing Jack looking in on you. Shame fell over you and you quickly pulled your dress down over your leg. Jack blinks a few times, takes in a visible breath and walks away.

"Jack! Jack please." You call after him, limping to keep up with him.

He spins round to face you almost knocking you back.

"You and Sneed." You're not sure if his words are a question or not.

"No, Jack please-"

"What was happening in there!" He asked.

"I hurt my leg, with the acid from Belle, he was just helping me." You try to explain.

"No, she said she's sorted it." He clenched his jaw, the tiny muscles moving below his skin.

"Before that, it was an accident, the bottle fell. Jack, please, there is nothing between Sneed and I." You are almost bleeding with him to listen to you.

"Why go to him?" He asks.

"he was just the first person I saw when I came in. It's nothing." You say.

"I don't like it. I don't like him being that close to you, touching you." Jack admits. You sigh and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry Jack."

Jack grabs your hand and pulls you into a secluded corridor. His hands come up, one to your jawline, his fingertips touching the back of your neck and the other around your waist.

"I don't like it." He repeats a little more sternly, "I want to...to be the only man who touches you." He face had come close to yours almost touching. Every part of your body longed to let him kiss you, to have you in every way a man could have a woman. Though your mind quickly took over.

"We can't." You whisper.

"Why not?"

"Belle."

"What?" He was still close to you, with your arms resting on his chest.

"Jack, I told you, I'm not from here, there is a whole story that needs to play out." You explain. A low growl arose from Jack's throat.

"I don't care about that." He says.

"But I do, I can't change things. I've tried and it always ends up going back. Please. I'm sorry Jack, I just can't. You and Belle are supposed to...she is so smart and so good."

"She's insufferable." He brushes his nose against yours, lips only millimetres from your own. You can feel his warm breath fanning out over your lips. His thumb gently rubbed your jawline and his other hand squeezed your waist.

"Just kiss me, then you'll know that I'm right. We can be together, please." He begins to move his chin angling his mouth to yours and though you long to do it you pull away from him, sliding out of his grasp.

"No, you are meant to be with Belle. I won't do this." You say before ruining away as fast as your leg would allow you to.

Masterlist

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon

#jack dawkins x y/n #jack dawkins x reader

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xirayn · 9 months

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Stonathan Week Day 4: Fantasy AU - Jonathan's Great Aunt Darlene told him stories about their ancestors becoming ravens to guide warriors who fought as wolves, but they were just the ramblings of a mentally ill woman - right?

written by @xirayn

@aibhlynn and I do have a screenplay for an urban fantasy DnD inspired AU that can basically be summed up as 'Jonathan accidentally takes Steve as his (still human) animal companion to save his life', but I was unable to edit any of it in time, so have a ficlet

I'm on the Hunt, I'm After You

Getting driven from his pack meant a lean year. Hunting down large prey became scavenging, grabbing desperate mouthfuls from a carcass before the grizzly that had come moved in on the wolf's former territory arrives to chase him off. He trots through the brush in search of a meal. On occasion, he is quick enough to grab a rabbit or other small game, but his strength is better suited to harrying moose or holding down an elk while his pack tears into it.

The scratchy call of a raven catches his attention. The black bird peers at him from a fallen log, then swoops a bit ahead and calls again. He follows until the raven is standing atop a deer carcass at the bottom of a small drop. It's neck is twisted and some bones broken from the fall. When he tears into it, however, there are still traces of warmth in it's bowels.

The raven watches as the wolf eats his fill. Eventually, he swoops down to take his pound of flesh and the wolf keeps watch in turn.

Then, in the dreamy gold of the setting sun, the raven looks at the wolf and says, "You need me, so why haven't you come to me?"

Steve wakes up from a different reality. He feels the satisfaction of a full stomach and the safety of another watching his back. It fades as he wakes up more to be replaced with a longing he has felt his entire life. He knows what it means now.

He goes to the Byers' house the next day. Jonathan seems to be waiting for him.

"I had a weird dream last night," he starts awkwardly.

Jonathan nods in understanding and steps outside, closing the door behind him. For a moment, they don't do more than look at one another.

"Me too," Jonathan finally says. His eyes go to the woods. "My great aunt use to tell me stories from 'the old country'." He laughs softly. "I never actually learned where that was. They were basically rambling tales about us being descended from druids or some nonsense. Our ancestors would become ravens to guide warriors who fought as wolves. She said it was a deep bond that kept the warriors from losing their humanity."

Steve swallows. Something deep inside of him similar to instinct knew it wasn't nonsense.

"Did she say anything else about it?" he asks. He isn't surprised when Jonathan shakes his head.

"Dad didn't like us visiting her and Mom tried to keep her from sounding too crazy. I was pretty young, too. Will doesn't remember her at all."

Jonathan steps closer. His head is bowed slightly is the way he does to make himself seem small and non-threatening. It irritates Steve, and for the first time he realizes that feeling isn't directed at Jonathan, it is directed at everyone who has ever made Jonathan felt he needed to be less.

Steve reaches out. He tucks some hair behind Jonathan's ear and moves forward. A deep bond. It formed the night he went back and saved Jonathan from the demogorgon, when Steve picked up the weapon made by Jonathan's hand. He answered the call of the raven and made himself the wolf, if that hadn't been what he was all along.

Steve ducks his head to catch try and catch Jonathan's eye.

"I need you," he states, "so I came to you."

Jonathan's gaze meets his suddenly. He searches for any hint of uncertainty only to close the distance between them when he doesn't find it.

The embrace and kiss that follows embeds the bond impossibly deep in their psyches.

That night, the wolf runs through a field of wildflowers. There are howls in the distance, young wolves looking for a protector, but he doesn't hurry to reach them. For now, his raven is all the company he needs.

#stonathan #stonathanweek2023 #steve harrington #jonathan byers

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40sandfabulousaf · 2 years

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大家好! Life might be busy but once in awhile, I remember to appreciate our country's progress and modernisation. Skyscraping offices as well as gigantic government housing projects have appeared on our landscape over the years. The increasing use of digitalisation means visitors at office buildings scan their passes at the gantry and the lift takes them to their designated level without having to press any buttons. Some lift lobbies feature a virtual button panel where we tap the level we want to go and are directed to the coming lift.

youtube

For our most recent treat, Grace, Douglas and I had chirashi. We shared our orders so we could sample more options. Portions of fish, seafood and roe were generous and the vibrant colours indicated freshness. Each chirashi cost $27 - $38++ excluding delivery charges, and what we got in return was high nutrition. Grace loved it so much, she suggested we try the hot donburi next time and she already decided what each of us will have! 😅

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Instead of gloomy news, I've decided to take a break from all that and share just how diverse our food is. Strictly Dumpling did an amazing job of sampling as much as he could and I really enjoyed the impromptu moments when he just couldn't contain his enthusiasm for something ultra delicious. Also, he got it right; if there's a long queue, you just know the food will taste great. The only part I cringed at was when he ate.......... DURIAN 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 I mean, it's a popular fruit (if it can be called that when it smells like rotting carcass) in this region, but I wouldn't touch it with a 10 foot pole.

youtube

Strictly Dumpling reminds me of our very own KF Seetoh, a connoisseur as far as local cuisine is concerned. He slurps noodles with gusto, he knows what makes Hokkien prawn noodles win our hearts and he brings different vibes to each video so they don't become boring after awhile. It helps that both Strictly Dumpling and Seetoh seem to be genuinely likeable people. So I'm really glad that he visited our country. I'm also thrilled that he went beyond the usual touristy local fare and tried some other popular dishes.

youtube

Whilst it's important to keep abreast with what is happening in the world, at times I just need a break. If you love food, you'll definitely wanna catch some of Strictly Dumpling's videos. I can totally relate to his impromptu moments when I taste something utterly delicious, whether it's a ridiculously tasty chicken rice, laksa, xiao long bao anytime anywhere, la mian, rou zuo mian, sushi, pho and the list goes on. Actually, I feel hungry right now thanks to these videos so Imma grab something to eat. 下次见!

#Youtube

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

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WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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highwriter42069 · 3 years

Text

Not Deer

Does anyone here know what ‘Not Deer’ are?

I only recently found out what they were. One of my friends is really into supernatural things. She told me about the ‘Not Deer’ and Skinwalkers after getting onto me for whistling at the end of my driveway before she left my house the other night.

Anyways-I think we have some on our property. Or did have some.

When I was 12 I went hunting in the back part of our property,it was overgrown and we didn’t really go back there unless my brother and I wanted to explore.

Dad figured it would be a great hunting spot since we didn’t frequent that area,so the deer wouldn’t really be expecting us to be there I guess .

Dad dropped me off at the gate that was close to the road and walked with me halfway,then trusted me to get there on my own. It took me maybe five minutes to get there.

I can remember sitting in the stand that my dad put up for me. I stayed for a long time,he always told me that deer move close to dark. He Usenet to get so annoyed when I’d tell him to pick me up early. He’d always tell me I’d get more deer if i just stayed till it was dark.

I don’t think I ever ended up staying till dark. Like ever. I was and still am terrified of the dark.

I messaged him and told him I was ready to be picked up,he said he would wait for me at the gate.

Just as I was starting to unload my gun and head down,I heard an animal walking a few yards away.

I looked up and saw the deer. She was facing away from me grazing around.

I slowly and quietly as I could,raised the gun to my shoulder,and was getting ready to take the shot.

I was looking through the scope,and I saw her raise her head,and swivel it to look right at me.

If you’ve ever seen a deer in real life- you know their movements are normally quick and jumpy. Always on alert and ready to run.

She didn’t move quickly,when she turned to look at me it was slow,deliberate.

We sat and stared at each other for what felt like forever,but was probably only a few seconds.

I had my finger on the trigger,getting ready to shoot,she still stared at me.

The fucking deer growled. I’ve never heard a deer growl before,they make this blowing noise when they feel threatened. It sounds like someone spitting something nasty out of their mouth,but they don’t fucking growl.

I shot her and she just stood there,fucking staring at me. I thought I had missed and was getting ready to shoot again,but dad called me.

He had been waiting for me to come to the gate. He thought I had an accident. He didn’t expect me to fire the gun since I told him I’d be walking back.

He told me he’d walk out to me,and to stay where I was so I could point where I shot at her to track her,just incase I hit her and she ran off.

After I hung up the phone I looked to the spot she had been standing. She was down.

I still didn’t get out of the stand until dad arrived,I was kinda creeped out.

We took her home to clean her.

Okay,so it was super cold out. Like lower 40s. When you clean a deer when it’s cold,you normally see condensation coming out of the carcass from its body heat.

Now- it wasn’t too long after I shot her,that we got her to the barn. Maybe 10 minutes. My dad is a big man,and the deer wasn’t too heavy for him. So it wasn’t like he had to drag her out. That would have taken longer. We got her home fairly quickly.

She should have still been warm.

#skinwalker #not deer #woods at night #don’t whistle at night #don’t whistle in the woods #supernatural #ghosts #creepy #creepy things #don’t go into the woods at night #please send help #does anyone else see it #have you experienced something like this #creepy animals

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [7]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, broken bone, origami and paper planes

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!!! ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!! also gif is somewhat related except steve isn’t there sorry to crush any hopes

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Is there a reason you’re back so early?”

Both of the men nervously glanced at each other, silently urging the other to talk. A quiet form of encouragement.

“We chec- we checked all the neighbouring towns. All your safehouses,” one of them finally sputtered up after his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

“And?”

“We coordinated with all our guys across the country to look for them-”

“All I’m hearing are a bunch of excuses,” they twirled the gun on its barrel like it was a plaything. “Get to the point.”

“No one knows where they’re hiding,” he finished, swallowing thickly. “We’re still looking though. We just thought-”

“What?” their voice was surprisingly calm. “That your little status update would impress me? That I’d feel sorry for you for working so hard?”

“N-no boss,” his partner finally pitched in, saving face for his companion who opened and shut his mouth wordlessly. “Just keeping you in the loop. We’re close, I can feel-”

“Do you remember what I told you the last time you were here?”

Both of them shut their mouths immediately. Knuckles white, nails digging into their skin as they clenched their fists shut.

“That you wanted them dead,” the first one said with faux confidence. A waver in his voice gave it away.

“Yes, but you’re forgetting the important part,” they tsk’ed, shaking their head, eyes downcast.

They didn’t give anyone a chance to react. They slammed the gun down, swiftly picking it up before taking aim at his partner’s face.

“I said I’d blow your brains out.” They pulled the trigger.

Bits of bone fragment and blood splattered across the first agent’s face. He inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling haphazardly. He had his eyes shut tightly, face away from the carcass slumped over next to him..

“I want every fucking part of this country searched,” they roared, throwing the gun to the side carelessly, leaving someone else to scurry after it. “And since it’s so fucking hard for you to finish two tasks, just get me their location.”

The agent barely nodded, looking like he was about to throw up. His partner’s blood trailed down the side of his face like sweat.

“I’ll kill them myself.”

Hugh Grant was starting to look less appealing on your 6th rewatch of Notting Hill. In fact, he was starting to blend together with the characters from Die Hard and it was becoming difficult to differentiate which part belonged to which movie.

Sam sat opposite to you at the dining table, a set of papers assigned in front of him. The TV was left on, serving as background noise and occasional fillers to substitute the lack of conversation.

“That movie is not making sense anymore,” he stated objectively.

“It stopped after the third time for me.” Your words were hushed, your focus remaining on the swan you were trying to create from scratch.

“If I hear her say ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy’ one more time, I actually think I’ll projectile vomit.” You could tell that his eyes didn’t shift from the screen though. “I can feel the bile. It’s going to happen.”

You only hummed in agreement, more interested in his lamenting than the actual movie.

Although origami wasn’t one of the skills you picked up in the fucking mafia, you still knew a few basic things. The rest you just folded with confidence and prayed it would work.

What other options did you have when you were stuck together in a house with no WiFi?

Sam had made a paper bowl to hold the car keys and the few dollars you picked up from Pierce’s place. It looked like it would fall apart at any given moment, its structural integrity questionable at best.

You had made a small flower that rested on the table in front of you. You were sure it would go missing the minute a draft entered the room.

He had given up after his contribution of the bowl. Apparently his creative expertise extended only towards that and paper airplanes, not that that stopped him. He was folding and manufacturing them with a vengeance.

“How is this supposed to help, Wilson?” you questioned, unable to contain the smile that grew on your face at the sheer number of planes he was making.

“Just because it’s not a decorative marvel-” he shot back in its defence, “-doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

“Oh, yeah? What else can it do other than not fly?” You watched as he launched one of them. It did a loop before falling miserably to the floor.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left. “Besides, your thing won’t even lift off the ground.”

“Yeah, but this one can float.” You held up the swan that you had created. That about concluded your knowledge of origami.

“That’s actually… pretty cool,” he admitted. “Teach me how to make one.”

“A true master never reveals their secrets,” you eluded, placing it on the table.

“I dare you to make another.” Sneaky bastard. He knew you wouldn’t be able to replicate it. He saw you struggle the first time.

“Why, so you can just copy off of me?” you dodged, and Sam narrowed his eyes at you. You followed the same.

Neither of you blinked for a while.

“I’m out of paper,” he finally relented, gesturing to the fleet of planes that littered the table.

“I’m out of ideas.” You paused, looking down at how you’d spent the last hour. “Do you wanna go test these outside later?”

Sam looked up eagerly and you could just tell he was intending on getting competitive. “Hell yeah.”

“I’m going for a run in some time.” You got up to stretch your limbs, shrug off the fatigue that was setting in. Along the way you left the swan and one of the paper planes on top of the mini fridge alongside the car keys. It was cute. “We could do it then?”

“Sure,” he affirmed. “What time?”

“At around 6-” your eyes landed on the clock on the wall before widening, “-shit, shit, shit, I didn't realise it was five thirty. We have a call with Ransone.”

“Phone’s on the couch,” he mentioned to the living room, sitting up straight. “Why are you freaking out? We still got a few minutes to go.”

You pushed yourself away from the table, forcing yourself to shakie off the drowsiness that had begun to set in.

“You wouldn’t get it,” you mumbled, “He gets pissy if I don’t do things his way.”

You grabbed the phone, punching in the buttons and having it at the ready.

You noticed Sam focused on you with knitted eyebrows but not voicing whatever he had on his mind.

“Ready?” you questioned, but more as a formality. You had to do it regardless.

He simply nodded, looking on as you let the phone ring. If he had noticed your antsiness towards the call, he didn’t bring it up.

Ransone picked up on the last ring, not skipping a beat in answering, “Y/N.”

“Hey Ransone.” You switched the call to speakerphone.

“Are you alone?”

You glanced at Sam. He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, edging you to continue with the arrangement you had planned the day prior.

Ransone trusted you more. He was more likely to communicate openly if Sam wasn’t around.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Where’s the other one?”

Sam silently scoffed.

“He’s taking a nap.”

“Ah,” Ransone’s tone was condescending. “How have things been?”

“It’s fine.” You press your lips into a straight line, not elucidating. “What’s the update out there?”

“Everything is a mess. We’re trying to figure out who attacked you but since there wasn’t anything left behind or any kind of trace, it’s proving to be... inconvenient.”

“Is it safe to travel?”

“What, with your face on national television?” he laughed. “Nah, I’d say it’s a little too early to be thinkin’ of a road trip. Just stay where you are, I’ll tell you when you can come out.”

Your fingers were thrumming at the table rhythmically, peeking at Sam every now and then for anything he found suspicious or wanted you to ask about.

“Listen, we’ve paid off every big guy to keep this under wraps as much as possible but Pierce was an important person. All the higher ups want this to be solved as quickly as possible. They don’t care about sacrificing a player here or there.”

Pinning the blame on you was easy enough. The faster you were put away, the faster they could stage an “accident” in prison so that none of their secrets were exposed. Wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before.

“Others in the business aren’t likin’ us accusing them of attacking one of our own. Our best bet right now is Serpentine but we haven’t gotten anything to prove it.”

You doubted they ever would. Even if they did do it, Serpentine was notorious for being cunning and stealthy in their operations. They made sure there would be no tracks leading back to them.

“So, we’re at a dead-end,” you verified. There was no telling when this would end, your exit looking further and further away. “We’re fucked.”

“No. We’ll just- Y/N, listen to me,” Ransone called out, drawing your attention back to the call.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve always protected you,” his voice was noticeably softer. “Don’t you trust me?”

You felt the temperature in the room drop.

“You said there would be no one there!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ransone scoffed. “I never said that.”

“I walk in there and there’s four people, completely armed.” Forcing yourself to recall it was making your head spin. Maybe you could ask the nurse for a painkiller. “It was supposed to be empty.”

“I think the blood loss is making you delirious,” he chided, looking at the bag of drips hanging above your bed. “It wasn’t even that bad-”

“You’re lying.” The words slipped out before you had the chance to think it over.

“Excuse me?” he tilted his head, tone suddenly sifting to that of warning.

You knew he was. You had agreed to this mission because it was supposed to be easy. It was a break.

“Ivan was there when you briefed me.” You lifted your good arm to point at him shakily. “He knows you’re lying.”

“Does he now?” Ransone quirked an eyebrow, studying his aid who stood in the corner of the dingy hospital room.

A beat of silence passed where Ransone stared at Ivan, waiting for a reply of confirmation.

Ivan only lifted his shoulders in unawareness. “I don’t remember you sayin’ that.”

Your mouth fell agape but you quickly rushed to shut it. Fucking liars. You shouldn’t have expected anything better.

“Told you.” Ransone shrugged. “You’re a smart one, Y/N, so I’m going to let that slide this time. But next time you accuse me of something I didn’t say…”

He trailed off, resting a hand on your broken shoulder. You flinched, jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might break. You tried to imagine yourself somewhere else, desperate to reduce the quivering of your body when he squeezed it lightly.

“You know I’ve always tried to protect you.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your head to meet his eye. “Don’t you trust me?”

A beat passed before you responded.

“I do,” you said through gritted teeth, pulling your face away from him.

“I’ll ask them to up your dosage.” Ransone took a step away from you, dropping his hand. “I’m going to need my best player on the field as soon as possible.”

You didn’t acknowledge his statement. Every part of your body felt like it was going to combust.

Did he really say that no one was going to be there or was it just the injuries playing with you?

“Get well soon,” he offered, one step out the door. “Buttercup.”

“You trust me, don’t you Y/N?” he repeated when you didn’t respond.

“Yes.” You swallowed, gaze falling to the floor.

“And I trust you. You wouldn’t do anything to break that, would you?”

Sam raised his one hand questioningly as if to ask what the hell he was talking about. An intimidation tactic. He had been using it for several years to reinforce your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t.”

There were things you weren’t telling him, of course. Details about that day or where you and Sam were hiding right off the top of your head. More if you thought about it deeply.

“Good,” came his response. “So if there’s anything you need, let me know. I’m always a call away.”

“Thank you.”

“Talk to you soon.” He ended the call there.

You stood there blankly for a while before dropping the phone to the ground and crushing it. Usually you wouldn’t have to do that; removing the battery would be enough. This time you wanted to.

Your chest rose and fell heavily. You loathed him. Yet, you couldn’t fucking leave.

“Hey.” Your eyes snapped back to Sam. “We still going on that run?”

The wind felt good.

Your muscles were burning and you could feel the constriction of your lungs but you liked it. The endorphins were working their charm.

Sam was right beside you, not questioning why there was so much aggression in your movement. You had lost track of how long you had been running. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus on that.

The path was paved with fallen branches and roots sticking out, forcing you to hop over some of them to avoid falling. It only annoyed you further.

You wanted to punch something. Or someone. The tension was rolling off your back in waves, and if someone saw you the’d probably believe you were going to commit an act of violence.

It was a while before you felt your steps begin to falter, the need for a proper breath taking precedence over the want to run more.

“Timeout?” you asked Sam breathlessly, slowing your pace to a jog.

“Sure about that, Usain Bolt?” he huffed, slowing his pace to match yours.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed it. “T’was fun.”

Now that you had slowed down, it forced you to come to terms with how much energy you had just burnt out.

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind or ignore it?”

“Rather not talk about it for now.” The more you thought about him, the angrier you got. And as of late, you had realised that your method of dealing with that anger wasn’t the best.

The air was getting colder. It was getting harder to see what was in front of you, relying on the few rays of sunlight that shone through the treetops. You took a roundabout at your self declared checkpoint, changing course back to the house.

Sam followed wordlessly, but his presence was strangely comforting. Warm.

“Thank you.”

“For...” he trailed off, prodding you on.

“I don’t know. This.” You gestured to the path ahead of you. “I didn’t think you’d agree to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyebrows knit together in puzzlement.

You didn’t have an answer to that. Probably because you weren’t used to people just doing nice things for no apparent reason.

“How are you so calm all the time? I’ve never seen him get under your skin,” you asked quietly. “How do you do it?”

He didn’t answer straight away. He mulled over it as he dodged broken sticks and upended roots on the ground. You would be fine if he didn’t answer either; as long as he knew that you appreciated it.

“I just realised that everything he put into me was destructive. Actively worked on unlearning it,” he replied after a while. “It took me years to even begin.”

You expected to hear that but it didn’t make it easier.

“I don’t even know how to start,” you mumbled. It was so tiring, even thinking of where and how it began. It was all you knew. All you were taught.

“If I could add something?”

You looked at him questioningly.

“You had a different relationship with him than all of us, Y/N. A deeper one. It’s not easy to forget that,” he pointed out. “But… you’re not him. That takes strength.”

These weren’t new revelations. It was things you had told yourself earlier to rationalise all your actions. You knew it on a surface level but it was difficult to convince yourself sincerely.

You didn’t say anything, just continued jogging with an eye on the ground.

It felt better to hear it from someone else. A starting point to maybe get to where he was, too.

“I just can’t believe anyone took him seriously enough for him to get this far,” Sam added, a tick of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t condone bullying but someone should have just punched him in the face as a child.”

It wasn’t even the funniest thing you had heard him say but for some reason it elicited a snort from you, soon giving way to a laugh.

His face snapped to yours at the sound of your laughter, a small smile growing on his face.

His brief moment of distraction was all it took for him to not notice the tree root sticking out in front of him. His ankle got caught in the wood, sending him stumbling to the ground face forward.

“Oh shit,” you cursed, halting in your place immediately, dropping to your knees to where he was.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, turning onto his back. “I think I broke my face.”

“That may be a bit excessive but your nose is definitely bleeding,” you knew this was serious but you were finding it difficult to control your laughter once you realised it wasn’t a life threatening injury.

“Just leave me here to die.” He covered his eyes with his elbow, refusing to look at you.

“C’mon, Wilson. Let’s get you fixed up.” You stood up, offering your hand. He grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up. “Can you stand up straight? Do you think you have a concussion?”

“World class assassin,” he grumbled, shaking his head to imply he was fine other than a possible broken nose.

“Promise I won’t tell. Your reputation is safe,” you said it humorously but with conviction, hoping to make it less embarrassing for him. Not that you’d let him forget it any time soon.

It took longer to walk back considering how far you had ventured out, along with the fact that you had to guide him as he held his nose in the air to try and control the bleeding.

You pushed open the door to the house, holding it open as he walked in. Sam made his way to the dining room after you told him you’d get the first aid kit for the second time during your stay there.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, grabbing an old t-shirt along the way, he had a single ice cube pressed to the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not going to be enough.” You dropped the kit onto the table, opening the mini fridge. You emptied the ice cubes from the tray onto the t-shirt, twisting it into a small ice pack.

“These are my battle scars.” You could tell that he was trying not to use his nose. He sounded ridiculous.

“Whatever makes you feel better, Sam,” you chortled. His mouth eased into a half smile and you didn’t get why until you realised it was the first time you had called him by his name. You didn’t acknowledge it, surprised by how easily it slipped out from your mouth when you weren’t actively stopping it.

You gave him a bit of cotton to wipe off the blood that had dried on his face.

“Look up,” you instructed, standing over him so you could assess the damage. He complied, letting you cradle his jaw softly, tilting his head to see if there were any signs of a fracture or anything worse.

It was a bad fall, but nothing he hadn’t been through before in terms of severeness. It wasn’t going to leave a mark.

“Definitely going to bruise but it’s not broken,” you concluded, going over it once more to make sure.

“Thanks, doc,” his voice came softly from below you. Only then did you realise how close you were standing to him. You could feel his breath on your wrist that was still caressing his face.

It felt like eternity, but he didn’t make an effort to move or shove you away. Your eyes flitted down to his lips for a second. If you just leaned dow-

“Right,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back. “Just hold this to your face for a while to reduce any swelling.”

You handed him the makeshift ice pack, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“Your turn to use the bed tonight, right?” His voice was significantly lower than what it had been a few minutes ago, something you weren’t acclimated to hearing. It only made your face feel hotter.

“Yeah.” You avoided meeting his eyes, using the time to close the first aid kid. “Unless you want it.”

“No, go ahead.”

It was too early to retire for the evening but suddenly you weren’t all that hungry anymore. Apparently neither was he.

“See you tomorrow, then?” you inquired, turning away before he could see you cringe.

“See you tomorrow,” he confirmed, “Good night.”

You just gave him a short wave over your shoulder and physically restrained from walking to the room, shutting the door and never looking at him again. You hoped he didn’t notice or at least never bring it up if he did.

You couldn’t do this. Not again.

Not when you knew the consequences.

Next part

213 notes · View notes

comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Best Friends Boyfriend - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

This chapter is inspired by @amourtentiaa ‘s Owlery which you can learn more about and access here.

Please read Part 1 if you haven't already!

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn

Warnings: Fluff.

You couldn’t get last night out of your head, the sound of George whispering to you, asking you out on a date, how his beautiful face looked from the amber tones coming from the flames that radiated against his face, the way he smiled and licked his lips.

Laying in bed wide awake you kept your hand over your mouth, trying to hold in your giggles so you wouldn’t wake up Hermione and your other dorm mates. You couldn’t believe it - you’re going on a date, with George Weasley, the lad you fancy more than anyone else in the world - the only problem, your best friend, George’s younger brother, Ron, wouldn’t approve and would do anything to make sure the two of you keep well away from one another.

Throughout the whole day, you played it cool when passing George in the common room or the great hall, but as the day moved on and afternoon turned into evening, you couldn’t stop the giggles of excitement from bursting out, and the tint of pink to spread across your cheeks.

You had two hours until you were meeting George, for now, you sat in the common room with Ron and Hermione whilst Harry had Occlumency lessons with Snape.

“What d’you keep giggling about?” Ron hissed at you, scowling “you’ve been at it all day and you’re freaking me out.”

You covered your face with your hands, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the bubbling of nerves and excitement.

“N-Nothing” you replied, “I think I inhaled a dodgy potion somebody was brewing in the second-floor toilets this morning” you lied, avoiding eye contact with your best friend and his crush, Hermione.

Ron gave you an odd look and flashed his eyes to Hermione, who glared at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“Shouldn’t you go to Madame Pomfrey?” she suggested, knitting another hat for the house-elves.

Nodding your head, you got out of your chair and pursed your lips, “yeah, I think I will” you lied again “let me go and get freshened up, she might want to keep me in overnight if the giggles get worse” you smirked, chuckling.

Leaving your friends behind, you hurried off to your dorm room, getting your makeup, clothes, and shoes ready to put on after your shower, placing your clothes and makeup bag on the bed, kicking your shoes on the floor beside it.

“I dunno what's up with her” Ron huffed, slouching in his chair beside the fire.

Hermione continued knitting “Well, hopefully, Madame Pomfrey can sort her out, uncontrollable giggling can get you sent to St. Mungo’s.”

Ron focused on the bobble hat coming together in front of his eyes, trying to make sense of your behaviour today and if there was something else going on after his brother played Hero during the end of your horrific date.

Wearing your best black denim front pocket Pinafore dress over your red and yellow striped turtleneck and black tights, you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing slightly at the thought of George seeing you dolled up just for him. You pouted, deep in thought and unsure of what hairstyle to do, checking the time you were cutting it close and decided your go-to natural, no school but not overdoing it hairstyle would be best.

“Tomorrow night, where we first met” you reminded yourself, hearing George’s voice inside your head.

Thinking long and hard about when you first met George and where, you closed your eyes and tried to focus, all of your memories whizzing around in your head - you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter knowing that not only did George remember, but he also perhaps thought of that day often.

Hurrying out of your dorm and back into the common room, Harry now sat down with Hermione and Ron, they all seemed taken aback by your appearance, furrowing their brows at you.

“You’re a bit dressed up for a doctors appointment, aren’t you?” Hermione called out.

Ron looked at you from head to toe “I think you’ve overdone it, mate-”

“See you later!” you giggled, a spring in your step as you left the common room, going through the portrait hole.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged looks, none of them knowing what to think or say was becoming a reoccurring factor today.

“Something isn’t right at all” Ron muttered “she’s up to something”

Reaching the owlery, you felt your excitement and nervousness compete against one another inside of you, being a few minutes early, you had enough time to admire all of the owls around you who were getting ready to go out hunting. Each of them unique and calming to look at, stroke, and hear a hoot. The memories finally coming back to you more clearly.

Your first week at Hogwarts went more awful than you ever imagined, you had got lost on the way to your classes, got into trouble by Percy - your houses Prefect and due to your terrible potion skills Snape put you in a weeks detention, your parents were so angry you received a Howler before anyone else in your class.

Feeling lost, alone, and in need of a friend, you wrote out your worries, concerns and everything else you were feelings into letters, addressed to your friends attending other Wizarding Schools (like Ilvermorny) across the globe.

Writing about your feelings, life, and anything, in general, helped to make you feel better, heard, and less isolated from the impressive and promising classmates that surrounded you.

Walking up the long and steep steps up to the Owlery, your heart melted at the Owls, some sleeping, some bobbing their heads around, and others appearing to be smiling at you. You felt connected to them in some sort of way, and spending time with them, knowing they didn’t care about your house, or how well you could make a feather float in the air made you feel more at ease.

You stared and smiled at your Tawny owl named Penny, you approached her trying to avoid the owl droppings and rat carcasses and stroked her softly, handing her your letters.

“Please deliver these safely,” you told her, tears filling your eyes again “it’s taken a lot for me to write them”

Penny accepted the letters and understood how important this job was, and how much it would mean to you, she pecked at your cheek, little kisses against your tears before she flapped her gorgeous wings and took flight.

Not wanting to go back down to your Herbology class to be a laughing stock, you stayed in the owlery, falling to the floor and weeping.

“If these reports get sent home mum will kill us” once voice spoke out, panting up the stairs.

“Well” replied a similar voice, also panting “we need to change our grades and get one of these owls to send it to her for us, it's why I made a fake replica”

Their voices and footsteps came closer.

“As long as Errol and Hermes aren’t delivering it, we’ll be fine Georgie.”

Two tall twins with ginger hair walked into the Owlery shiftily, both of them stopping in their tracks, noticing you crying on the floor, drowning in your robes.

George’s face and heart softened, he mouthed to his brother ‘leave it with me, I’ll get it sent, let me see why she’s upset’

Freddie nodded and slowly left the Owlery, trying not to make a sound.

You missed Penny with all your heart, after many trips she became so sick and injured no magic, and no amount of Hagrid’s care and love was enough to fix her wings and bring her back to life. When you lost Penny, you lost part of yourself, the Owlery wasn’t the same without her and each time you visited, you would break down into tears.

“You made it, early” George called out, pulling you out of your trip down memory lane, causing you to jump slightly.

You blinked back the forming tears and turned around to face him, the moonlight illuminating his best features through the open arches. “Didn’t want to be late” you replied, smiling nervously, stroking one of the owls.

“You were so little” George chuckled “but even after growing up so much somethings never change”

You cocked up an eyebrow and smirked, slightly confused “what do you mean?”

“The owls” he replied “your love for them, the time you make for them, it’s beautiful”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, your heart rate elevating.

“They’re special to me” you replied, trying not to come across as too shy.

George blushed too, his cheeks mirroring yours as he stepped closer, so close you could count each individual freckle across his face - something you had only done from across the halls or over the table.

“that’s why I asked for us to meet here,” George said softly, stepping closer to you, his breath brushing against you “because you’re special to me”

George took hold of your hand, tracing stars into your palm with his thumb, his eyes taking in your hair, your makeup, your outfit, and shoes. He started to lean in, as did you, your soft lips brushing against his cinnamon scented ones, but pulled away before you could share a kiss, smirking and winking at you.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said nervously “I’ve been trying to give her to you for a while now, but whenever I’ve tried, Ron always got in the way”

You rolled your eyes “he always does” you replied “he doesn’t like the idea of us being together” you frowned, looking away from George and lowering your head, deciding to examine your shoes.

George lifted your chin up with his thumb, smiling at you “he doesn’t have to know” he paused “stay very quiet and follow me” he whispered, still holding your hand.

George walked you over to a very tired looking owl, her wings and body covering something small underneath her. George whispered to the owl “It’s George, she’s ready now”

The tired owl opened her googly eyes, staring at George, slowly and reluctantly moving away from her precious possession underneath her motherly wings. Underneath the wings lay a tiny owlet, its large magnificent eyes opening wide and staring at George, then you.

“I know he’ll never replace Penny” George murmured, wrapping his arm around you “but I want you to have a safe space here, I know how much of that Penny provided for you and I know how much of that changed when she passed away.”

You reached out your hand to stroke the baby, “it’s okay” you reassured his nervous mother “I’m not going to hurt him”

You ran the back of your finger down the Owlets fluffy back, its face showing signs of enjoyment and comfort, something rare amongst owls.

George watched in awe, the memories of you when you were much shorter and quieter flashing before him, now you were a beautiful young woman, with the same heart full of love and nurturing.

Tears of happiness streamed down your cheeks, you leaned into George and cuddled him, your face pressed against his chest, the scent of the burrow engulfing you.

“George - I - thank you, he’s beautiful”

George closed his eyes, taking in your face against his chest, his hand stroking your hair.

“I care for you, Y/N” he spoke out again “I know we were never that close, but you’re not just my little brother's friend to me”

You pulled yourself off his chest, looking up into his gorgeous eyes.

“like these owls, you’re unique, you’re special” he whispered.

“What’s your obsession with these owls anyway?” the tall boy asked, fiddling with his fake report.

“They’re unique” you replied quietly, walking around “they’re special”

George looked down into your eyes, his nose poking yours softly, leaning in, you didn’t pull back and allowed him to pull you gently into him.

His heart and yours racing, as your hand rested upon his chest, and his arm around your waist, your lips grazing against each other, turning into a deep, soft kiss.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @slutforsebstan @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @xmalfoyweasleyx @freddiemylovelg

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #Weasley #ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley oneshot #ron weasley fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: Over there, buddy

Part two:You’re here right now. :)

Part three: Click here, pepperoni salami.

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

I separated with Gale and Katniss for a while, telling them I needed air. I sighed, leaping from branch to branch in the thicket of trees. Bread, not just bread, baker's bread. If I'm lucky I could get just enough squirrels for the baker, he had a taste for it but his wife was much of a witch, so he only buys it when she's not around.

I remembered how she found me stealing some burnt bread from the trashcan. I looked at her with wide eyes, frozen, I thought I was going to die, stealing was punishable for death, after all. But she just let me go, screaming about her frustration of Seams picking through her trash.

I got bread that day either way.

I landed on a sturdy branch, spotting a squirrel on the tree adjacent to me; it was quite huge, I'm sure he'd love this. Let's just hope the witch isn't home by the time I give this to him.

I crouched down, still as a statue as I watched the squirrel run up and down the tree. I pulled out the thin, glistening dagger, unwrapping its course, leather bindings, which became a makeshift thin rope. I felt my eyes unconsciously widen, watching the squirrel's movements.

My arm aimed, then with a simple flick, the dagger whistled through the air. The small creature was then pinned to the bark of the tree through its eyes. The dagger's blade was thin enough to not damage anything when aimed right.

I pulled on the rope, the blade coming back, dragging the animal carcass with it. A small smile tugged on my face, I can get bread.

Kunal was surely panicking, he was the type to worry about the smallest of things. He once stepped on a cat's tail, Buttercup, Primrose's cat and he bawled, nobody could calm him down. Until he was offered food, that is.

I chuckled at the memory, slowly pulling the blade off the head of the squirrel. I held it in my hands victoriously, a grin on my face. I whistled a small 3 tone song, the chirping mocking birds falling silent before they imitated the tone.

After meeting up, we went back home, passing by the Hob. It was sort of a black market, where coals are transported directly to trains. I disliked it here, the amount of coal dust always bothered me, so when I come here I tend to cover my nose.

We managed to trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for some salt. The lady who sells soup, the one that always glares at me because I've insulted her soup on multiple occasions, Greasy Sae: took half the greens we gathered, along with the dead dog meat that she calls "beef".

That's why I hate her soups, though it's not like I have much of an option, we can't afford luxury here. Unlike those obnoxious, entitled, privileged people in the Capitol. My jaw clenched at the mere thought of those scums.

We finish our business on the market, so we went to the mayor's house, who was particularly fond of strawberries. We knocked on the back door, his daughter, Madge opening it for us.

She's in Katniss and I's year sits beside us at almost every event because we don't really have groups of friends. For being the mayor's daughter you'd expect her to be an entitled brat or maybe a snob, but she was alright, she kept to herself.

I like that, I hate noisy people, They'll scare away the game, that and I've never really liked loud noises. I still remember the explosions in the mines, it was traumatizing, even though my father didn't meet death there. I really wished he had.

Madge didn't wear her usual attire, instead, she wore an expensive white dress, her blonde hair up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. I felt my face scrunch up, that day was supposed to be a form of celebration. It's more of a way for the capitol to show who's in control.

We were being punished for the crimes of the people who failed, disguised as some form of celebration. It's disgusting.

"Pretty dress," Gale complimented. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's genuine or if he was just being ironic. It was a pretty dress, but it was a waste.

She smiled, "Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I clenched my jaw, "But you won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly, my voice monotone. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Real gold. The testament to the fact that she probably won't be chosen. "You probably have five entries, compared to us, that's a blessing."

"That's not her fault," Katniss said. Madge looked slightly hurt, probably because I've never really spoken my thoughts to her, I try my best to be polite when she engages a conversation with me.

"I know," I responded plainly. Madge smiled towards me, though it was clear it wasn't exactly genuine. She then handed the money for the berries. She looked towards Katniss "Good luck, Katniss"

"You too," She responded.

We walked toward the Seam, I can't help but feel angry. Her? Going to the Capitol? What a joke. When you're twelve your name gets put in the pile once, thirteen twice then so on. Up until your eighteen, where your name is entered seven times.

But the thing is, the rich have an advantage. You can enter your name willingly in the pile when you're starving in exchange for some tesserae. I had been doing this since I was twelve, having entered my name 3 times, for my mother, brother and myself. Every year following suite, it has always been like this.

Now at the age of 16, I've entered my name twenty times, same with Katniss. Gale was in even greater danger, with a number of forty-two.

And she'll be the tribute this year? It can happen but it's deadly slim. I knew Gale felt the same way, listening to him rant about tesserae in the woods with Katniss was enough confirmation, along with the fact that I join in on the rants. Always end it with a promise to destroy the Capitol, somehow.

But what good does that do us?

Gale, Katniss and I divide our spoils, though it wasn't really the evenest distribution. Gale got more, understandably since he has more mouths to feed.

"See you guys in the square," Katniss said, Gale nodded, "Wear something pretty," he joked.

I decided to stop by the bakery, by then the witch should be home but I took my chances. There was Mr Mellark, sitting outside, watching the pigs. He saw me from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "Greyback!' he called.

"Mr Mellark, still up for some squirrel?" I ask, holding the fat one up. He nodded, "You're lucky my wife isn't here, yet. Hold on, I'll get the bread for Kunal," he said, rushing inside.

I walked to the backdoor of the bakery so that he wouldn't trouble himself that much. I waited awkwardly outside, looking at a small bird fluttering about. I whistled, holding my finger out.

The bird landed on my finger, making me smile. From the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, blonde, stocky. Could probably kill me, if I'm being honest. Even though I was fast, I wasn't strong.

Soon enough, the bird flew away with the arrival of the baker, with a loaf of sweet, savoury bread, hot from the oven. "Here you go, Greyback."

I nodded, handing him the squirrel. "Oh!" he hummed, "Have you met my son, Peeta?" he asked, a smile on his face, "You're in the same year, yes?"

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I know him but I don't know that well him that well. My eyes travelled to the boy, who simply waved and briskly walked away. "I don't think so," I answered.

"I better be going, Mr Mellark. Nal needs his favourite bread after all," I said, flashing a small smile before I left. A small pit of dread boiled in my stomach, something bad is going to happen.

But then again, it's Reaping day, nothing good ever happens.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags:

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:)))

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peetamellark #hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #hunger games #male x male reader #male reader #x male reader #katniss everdeen #gale #male reader insert #gale hawthorne #Katiniss #Hunger games x reader #what the fuck is tumblr's layout i am so fucking confused.

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intrepid-scribblings · 3 years

Text

Depths (Part 1)

Notes: Special thank you to that one Tumblr post about “What if the ocean was replaced by the forest where the trees get taller the deeper you go in” (source). [Insert Link to Eventual Masterlist Here]. [Insert link to a brief appendix here]

Warnings: Descriptions of blood and gore and violence typical of medieval warfare so if that’s not your deal you may want to sit this out.

Genres: Fantasy/Dark Fantasy

Summary: It blanketed the known world in a carpet of trees that grew ever taller the deeper you went in and forced what was left of humanity to fight for survival in a few remaining cities. Havenhold stands proudly as the central city of the four bastions of humanity that stand against The Forest. However their tenuous position will not last. Rienn - newly promoted Lieutenant of the Havenhold Guard - and Archmage of Havenhold - Halim - must work together to uncover the mysteries of The Forest and stop its spread before it destroys them all.

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

Part 1

The signs of battle were still clear even a week later.

The preceding days had seen no meaningful rain to wash the blood from the ground and walls, no cool weather to stave off the heavy stench of decay that settled over the small farm like an invisible fog. Tiny bits of armor and broken weaponry lay strewn about, being picked over by the haggard-looking peasants who stared at Rienn with a mix of suspicion and envy.

They dare not mess with the golden-haired warrior who wore plate armor emblazoned with the crest of the city they lived outside of, lest they face the wrath of the entire city guard. Word had gotten around that the guards rather respected their new lieutenant and would be quick to retaliate if anything were to happen to them.

A man in a leather jerkin leaned casually against one of the crumbling stone fences that surrounded the farm, a strange-looking spear leaned up against the fence next to him. As Rienn neared, they noticed the spear was actually a large quill, hewn roughly off at the base. He grinned as he noticed them staring, “You like it?” he asked gruffly, his words almost slurring together though he didn’t appear to be drunk, “Ripped ‘er off the hog’s corpse. Nice and sharp this is,” he placed a loving hand on the spear, “No creature’s going to bother me or my family.”

“It’s … not bad,” Rienn said and then nodded to the farm where most of the damage was, “Were you there? When the attack happened?”

He nodded solemnly, “It’s my brother’s farm,” he said, “May the Fates deem him worthy of Rebirth into a good life.”

He bowed his head and drew a circle from his forehead down to his chest with his left hand.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rienn said.

He grunted, “Thanks m’lord… and yes I was here, that beast fought like it was possessed by a demon. It was as big as a bear...”

Rienn raised an eyebrow, “What kind of bear?” they asked, crossing their arms.

“A normal bear you’d find in the woods I suppose… but regular woods, not …” he looked over his shoulder at the forest beyond the farm, “Told him not to build so close to The Line…”

He shook his head and scoffed, “As if there’s anywhere else to build.”

A light wind kicked up, doing little to dispel the heat of the summer day and only served to bring the sickly-sweet stench of decay over to where Rienn and the man were standing. They both barely batted an eye at the odor. Sweat trickled down Rienn’s forehead and they swiped at it before it could get into their eyes.

The man looked to Rienn, “So … what are you and your fancy guards going to do about this? Call it another ‘unfortunate risk’ of living out here?”

“We’re increasing patrols,” Rienn said automatically as if reciting a written statement. Perhaps they were.

The man certainly didn’t look convinced, “So you and your brutes can spy on us common folk? Keep us in line?”

“So we can keep you safe and creatures from that,” Rienn stared towards the trees beyond the farm, “Away.”

The man glowered at Rienn and said, “You know what’d keep us safe? Letting us stay inside the city walls.”

Rienn shrugged, “Not everyone can fit - we’d be overcrowded.”

They didn’t sound convinced or convincing. In the back of their mind, they had the image of the city towering over them on the small mountain it sat atop. Sure it wasn’t as large as the cities that used to dot the landscape but certainly, it could fit a few hundred more people inside its walls…

“Right,” the man almost rolled his eyes, “You keep telling yourself that as you go back to your warm bed tonight behind the city walls, guard,” he pushed himself off the fence and grabbed the quill spear, “You really want to help us? Strengthen The Line… I may know little about magic but even I can tell that either it’s weakening or the Forest is strengthening. Neither is good for the future of us down here or your precious city up there.”

He walked away, leaving Rienn alone to stand among the carnage.

Rienn walked through the farm and took a look at the blood-soaked field and what was left of a giant carcass. Most of the meat had been cut away by the more hungry denizens of the villages that lay outside of the city walls. All that was left was a skeleton and its quill-laden skin hacked away from it. No one had any use for the leather and Rienn couldn’t tell if anyone else had the same idea the man had in taking a quill away as a spear.

They turned around and walked back towards the base of the mountain, through rather ramshackle-looking wooden shacks and some more substantial wattle and daub houses. As they neared the city, the buildings became more and more well built and maintained, stone houses began to appear. Then they reached the large, whitewashed stone walls of the city.

The gates were wide open, guards flanking each side of the massive gate, watching as people streamed in and out of the city with their wares. As Rienn stepped inside the gates and in the shade under the thick stone walls they felt a chill as the air temperature dropped several degrees. A wind seemed to be blowing past them and out into the hot summer air just beyond the wall.

“Lieutenant!” a guard greeted Rienn as they passed by. Rienn nodded to the guard.

“Ganther,” they said, “How goes your shift today? No trouble at the gate?”

He shook his head, “None so far. I didn’t know you were heading out of the city today.”

“Just taking a walk, wanted to see where the Captain and His Highness took down that forest hedgehog last week, barely anything left of that thing but bones and quills,” Rienn said.

“We were lucky to make it through that fight with no losses,” Ganther harrumphed, “Still got several men out of commission for the next few weeks.”

Rienn frowned, remembering the blood and the farmer’s brother, “No losses in our garrison,” they said, “But several of those villagers died before we could make it there.”

Ganther said with a shrug, “Shouldn’t have built so close to The Line.”

“Perhaps…” Rienn said uncertainly, “Reminds me … I need to talk to Halim - Archmage Halim.”

Ganther nodded, “Have a good day Lieutenant.”

Rienn found the archmage sitting atop one of the tallest towers that made up the wall surrounding the city. Looking rather bored with their posting, the guards up there didn’t seem to pay the stout and bespectacled young man much mind. Rather they scanned the fields and forests below the city with wary eyes.

The city sat atop a small mountain, shielded in an alabaster wall, a white island above a sea of dark green forest. The forests surrounding the city were massive in both scope and scale, covering all the land as far as the eye could see. The trees in the forest grew progressively taller and taller as one walked further in, to the point that the tops of the tallest trees rivaled the height of the mountain the city sat on.

Rienn knew in their childhood before the city had been built, they would come up to this mountain top and see the flat plains the towering trees now dominated. To go into the deepest depths of the forest now would be to walk into a dark world of giant horrors. They frowned at the sight and then turned their attention to the people on the tower.

The guards wore a uniform of sorts, a chainmail hauberk under a dark green and light blue tabard. Their nasal helms had cheek guards and a full aventail to protect their necks. Their stern and unyielding appearance was a stark contrast to the man who now leaned on one of the crenels, using it as a desk to hold his notebook as he sketched the scenes below. His loose and long dark hair framed his brown face and blew behind him in the light breeze.

His leather-bound notebook was thick and well worn but his light blue robes were immaculate, well-tailored, and clean.

The guards on the tower immediately stood to attention as they walked in, “Lieutenant.”

They gave a curt nod to the guards before turning their attention to the man who had apparently not noticed the visitor, they cleared their throat loudly before saying, “Halim!”

The man started, turning around to see the lieutenant there with a stern expression on their face.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” they said, “Though you really shouldn’t be …”

They gave a meaningful glance to the guards who suddenly became very busy with their interest in the landscape around them. Rienn had known Halim since he had stumbled into their city in the first years of construction. He had helped strengthen these walls, helped develop the sigils that warded off some of the more substantive threats that came from the Forests, and in the years that they had known each other they had become close.

“So who’d you bribe this time? Athred? Genneth?”

“Neither,” the man said, “Though you wouldn’t need to worry about bribery if you paid your guards more,” he broke out into a grin, “But why’d I need to resort to bribery when my best friend is the lieutenant?”

“Because said best friend told you that under no circumstances were you to be up here without my permission,” they crossed their arms, “Given what may happen to me if the archmage were to tumble off a parapet in an accident.”

The man rolled his eyes, “As if I’d be that foolish. King Oderan may think of me as an absent-minded academic but I do pay attention.”

“Ri-ight,” the lieutenant didn’t seem very convinced as they leaned against the merlon, staring out over the forests that surrounded the city. Their forehead crinkled, their worry-lines standing out on their pale skin.

“It’s been qu-,” Halim started to say.

“Shush,” the lieutenant said quickly, the guards within earshot shuffled nervously at their posts, “That word is forbidden.”

“Ohhhh, you can’t tell me that you believe in that old myth?” Halim argued, “As if saying q-,” he hesitated as the lieutenant fixed him with a withering stare, “Fine … ‘the q-word’ … summons trouble.”

“Why tempt the fates?”

“Fine, there’s been no sign of activity from the forests in several fortnights,” Halim said, looking back to the lands outside the city walls. The late afternoon sun cast an orange glow on the treetops, the sunset off to their left side in the west.

The lieutenant nodded, “And we’d like to keep it that way. How has your research gone?”

Halim looked annoyed, “Nothing of this makes sense - ever since the Eruption the forests and animals have been growing at a rate that challenges both contemporary scientific and magical theories!”

“While we’ve been pushed further and further into our last bastions,” Rienn scowled at the forest below, “Our patrols had to help a farm fight off a hedgehog the size of a bear last week.”

“I thought you said things had been …”

Rienn fixed him with a look.

“... non-noisy.”

“Compared to what we’ve dealt with in the past, that was only slightly out of the routine,” Rienn said, “But it’s becoming more and more routine as the seasons wear on… The villagers are worried about the state of The Line.”

Halim scoffed, “As if they would know anything …”

Rienn raised an eyebrow at their friend.

“... being untrained in the arcane arts like I am,” Halim continued, “I’m confident in the ability of The Line to hold - after all … I was the one who drew it, cast the proper anchoring spells, drew every single one of those runes that grace the perimeter. It will not fall and no one should have anything to fear from the Forest.”

A commotion at the front gate, which the tower overlooked, caught everyone’s attention. Rienn peered over the side, eyes locking onto the banner one of the knights held aloft. The image of a golden half sun emblazoned on the red fabric that fluttered in the wind.

“They’re from Westhold,” Rienn said.

Halim squinted, he was unable to make out many details in the dimming light but he recognized the garish red and gold robes from even way up on the tower and even more so, felt the immense power emanating from the individual.

“They have a mage with them,” he said, “a powerful one at that.”

He wondered if it was the archmage, Inge, but that meant ... he hurried to the stairs, “Where has that scatterbrained assistant of mine gone off to?!”

She was, in fact, waiting attentively at the bottom of the tower, fidgeting with a scroll in her hands. Her black hair was tied in a tight bun with not a stray lock out of place and she wore robes similar to Halim’s though less intricate in design.

“Sir,” she handed him the scroll which he took and read over, eyes narrowing.

“When was this sent?”

“Early this morning, after you left,” she said.

He stared at her, “And you didn’t come to tell me?”

“You were at the top of the tower all day,�� she said matter-of-factly, “... I wasn’t allowed up there.”

Rienn couldn’t help but smirk at the indignant expression on Halim’s face, “By gods if you told them you were with me …”

“You’re not supposed to be up there either?”

“And you couldn’t have just handed the message to one of the guards?”

“The message clearly said that it was only for the eyes of the archmage and his associates, while I consider myself an associate - I do not consider the guards as such.”

The archmage sputtered, “We’ll talk about this later, just … take this as a lesson Zhen - you can bend the rules once in a while…”

Zhen smiled ever so slightly as she said, “I know, I just would prefer not to.”

The archmage stalked away towards the castle where his study was, “Need to get ready to receive Inge … what type of tea did she prefer again? Did she even like tea? Or was it that bitter drink she liked?”

Rienn followed closely behind, “Is there anything I should know?”

“Know?” Halim looked at his friend with confusion.

Rienn looked at his scroll, “The missive you’ve received, is there anything I should know? If there’s any threat to our city the captain-”

“No, no,” Halim cut them off but immediately looked guilty at his rude answer, “Sorry, I … Inge is a powerful archmage, even more powerful than I. I’m just very concerned about making a good impression on her. There’s nothing in this letter that would concern the safety of the city, just theories on what caused the Eruption, King Oderan and the rest of the council are meeting with her tomorrow.”

“So why the secrecy?” Rienn raised an eyebrow. They neared the castle, the walls cast a long and dark shadow over them and the air chilled.

Halim sighed, “People fear that which they do not understand, which can lead to some … messy situations. Magic is a complex field filled with theories that mortal minds were not meant to understand and only those blessed with the ability to study the arcane gift can even begin to scratch the surface of its inner complexities,” the archmage started to ramble.

Rienn crossed their arms, face betraying no emotion, “Above my station. Got it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were somehow lesser for not being a mage, I just … I,” Halim trailed off, trying desperately to find the right words to say as his face grew red in embarrassment.

“Relax friend,” Rienn said with a laugh and patted him on the shoulder with a strong hand, “I am comfortable with my station. I don’t need to be an archmage or even a mage to be powerful,” they placed their hand casually on the hilt of the sword at their side, “Trust me.”

Rienn left to the barracks to help organize the perimeter patrols for that night while Halim ascended the steps to his study and residence. Zhen was already there, brewing a drink that smelled full and slightly nutty, Halim felt his mouth begin to water at the aroma that filled the room. His eyes lit up in recognition.

“Coffee! That’s what Inge prefers to drink! Coffee! Zhen, you are a lifesaver.”

“I know sir.”

Rienn ascended the battlement later that night, one last sweep of their solo patrol before they turned in for the night. The guards nodded at the lieutenant as they passed by. Rienn noted a lone figure on one of the walls, looking towards the west over the Forest. They cautiously approached, though the guards seemed to pay the figure no mind, Rienn was suspicious of anyone that wasn’t a guard hanging out on the battlements after dark.

The clouds parted, revealing the full moon that illuminated the world in a milky white light. The gold embroidery in the figure’s red robes seemed to shimmer in the moon’s bright light. Inge, Archmage of Westhold was a fair-haired woman with fine features. She stood slightly taller than Rienn though her build was thinner, more lithe. Her pale skin almost glowed in the moonlight and her light brown - almost golden - eyes exuded warmth.

Rienn stepped beside Inge, staring at the same patch of forest the archmage of Westhold was staring at, “You shouldn’t be up here m’lady,” they said.

“Your archmage said that you would be fine with it,” Inge raised an eyebrow at the lieutenant.

Rienn sighed, “Of course he did…”

“I can leave,” Inge said, “If I’m not allowed up here.”

Rienn said, “You can stay up here for a few more minutes,” they leaned against the wall, “As long as I’m here.”

“Thank you …,” Inge trailed off.

“Lieutenant Rienn,” Rienn introduced themself, “Of the Havenhold Guard.”

Inge smiled, “Well Lieutenant Rienn, you have a well-fortified city here, I shudder to think of the fate of any creature that would dare attack you.”

Rienn replied, “Havenhold itself hasn’t been attacked since the early days after the Eruption. A few smaller creatures have made it across The Line to attack the outlying villages.”

“Ah,” Inge smiled softly, “I’ve heard of your fabled magical defense against the Forest. Halim’s solution is quite famous amongst the mages.”

“The Line’s been holding the more dangerous creatures at bay … and we fortified the city well but haven’t had a real test of our physical defenses yet,” they felt at ease around this woman who radiated such power and confidence.

Inge nodded, “Well Lieutenant, I suppose I should take my leave now - early council meeting tomorrow.”

“Of course, Archmage,” Rienn bowed respectfully and then turned to a nearby guard, “You there, Grendar is it? Escort Archmage Inge back to her quarters.”

Inge waved off the guard, “Oh no need, I can find my way back just fine.”

“M’lady I must insist,” Rienn said, “The walls can be rather treacherous to navigate in the dark.”

For a moment, Rienn could have sworn they saw a look of annoyance crossed Inge’s features but it was quickly replaced by a pleasant smile, “Of course Lieutenant. Grendar…”

“M’lady,” the guard bowed respectfully before escorting the archmage off the wall. Rienn stared skyward for a moment before looking back over the Forest - leaves looking almost silver in the moonlight.

‘Mages, always stubborn as donkeys.’

The next day dawned still and hot, the sun shone weakly through a thick layer of haze as it rose above the horizon and cast an orange glow on the land. Rienn wiped the sweat from their brow as they took a few hearty swigs from their water skin. They hoped for a breeze or any kind of relief in the courtyard where they watched the recruits train but the air remained stubbornly calm. Idly they looked up to the tower where the king was meeting with the council and wondered if they could steal Halim for a moment and make him conjure a wind.

They smirked to themself, imagining the uproar that would cause, and banished the thought from their mind as they yelled at a pack of recruits to start another drill.

High above in the tower, the air was just as stifling - the windows had been opened to catch any whiff of a breeze but none came. Three large tables sat in the council room, forming a large “U”. At the center of the “U” was a map of the world, built into the floor. Servants with forked sticks stood at the edges of the room, ready to hand them to whoever at the council table needed them at the moment to move around the figurines that dotted the map.

At the center of the map was the city, Havenhold, surrounded by the dark green that was the forest. Three lines radiated outward from Havenhold like spokes on a wheel, the safest routes for travelers to take, one line meandered its way northward towards the table at the bottom of the “U”, where the king lounged in a large chair, resting his chin on his right hand as he stared down at the map.

He was an aging man, with more silver in his hair than gold. His face was horrifically marred, four large scars etched their way diagonally across his left eye, down his nose, and through the right side of his mouth. Because of this scar, the right side of his mouth was permanently downturned into a pained scowl. His left eye, somehow having survived whatever attack left the grievous scar, stared out at the council table through a drooping eyelid.

He whispered something and the woman at his right stood up, she was dressed as regally as he was, her crown was silver instead of the gold one the king wore.

“Both King Oderan and I, Queen Adelia, would like to welcome Archmage Inge of Westhold to this council meeting,” the woman said, her voice ringing out clear and loud over the room. She wore her authority like a cloak, chin held high as she spoke, her raven black hair was half up in several intricate braids that held back the loose portions of her hair.

Inge bowed deeply to the couple, “Thank you, I am honored and humbled to be in the presence of such a great king and queen.”

She continued, “For who was it that led humanity out of the dark after the Eruption? Who traveled to the heart of the event itself and brought back our only hope of countering this magic? It was you, King Oderan. We owe you a great debt.”

Oderan looked rather flattered at her speech, Adelia’s eyes slightly narrowed but she said nothing. He spoke again and Adelia spoke for him.

“You have a way with kind words as you do with magic Archmage,” Adelia said, “Now let us discuss the business which has brought us all here - the matter of The Forest. General Liu...”

A middle-aged man with a long beard stood up.

“I hear you have a report for us?” “I do Your Highness,” the man said bowing respectfully to the king, “The scouting parties we’ve sent into the Forests have come back with troubling reports. Animals, larger than the ones we’ve fought before, are gathering closer and closer to the Line and our settlements. Prince Jaloc and Captain Aelder were on patrols a week ago when they came across a porcupine the size of a bear attacking a farmer near the Line. I fear that the creatures grow emboldened - something has them on the move.”

“‘Fear’ General?” a woman spoke up from across the tables - apparently not afraid to speak out of turn. She was younger looking than Liu, her brown hair was tied into a tight bun. Katerin’s most striking feature was her stormy blue-gray eyes that peered out from her tan and round face. She spoke slowly - as if she were still unsure of the language she was speaking - and her accent was almost as thick as the woodlands that surrounded them and forced her to move to Havenhold from the northern lands all those years ago.

The man looked momentarily annoyed, “Yes, Katerin, ‘fear’. Or do you not remember the last time Havenhold was attacked by the creatures of the Forest?”

“I remember it very clearly,” Katerin said, “and I remember the defenses we put up to protect ourselves - defenses I designed and have full faith in that it will repel another attack.”

Liu scoffed, “Hubris.”

“It’s better than sitting around in fear, General,” Katerin said. She and Liu obviously rarely saw eye-to-eye. As science advisor to the king, she and the general held equal positions of power in the council, and her aggressive attitude towards the Forest compared to the general’s more cautious approach saw them butting heads more than once. Adelia looked annoyed at the derailment of the general’s report but her husband sat quietly, watching the bickering continue with an unreadable expression on his face.

Liu scowled, “I don’t sit around in fear, m'lady. We’ve increased our patrols in the eastern sector,” he said, “I’ve also put forth a list of my best soldiers for an expedition.”

A murmur went up in the council chambers.

“An expedition?” Katerin raised an eyebrow.

“Archmage Halim and I have been talking,” Liu said.

“A dangerous pastime,” a fiery-haired man chuckled from his seat at the end of the table. A few people laughed before Liu began to walk around the table to the map in the middle of the room. As he did so, he grabbed a stick from a waiting servant and used it to point towards a spot in the north-eastern half of the map where a large tree was depicted.

“Another expedition to the Heart,” Liu said.

Another murmur, louder this time, and people kept talking.

“The Heart? What could we possibly gain?” “Suicide, absolute suicide.”

“Has General Liu gone mad?”

The King stared out at Liu, his brown eyes staring fiercely at the General as he whispered to his wife. Adelia repeated what he had said, “General Liu, whatever you think to find in the Heart better be worth the sacrifices that will need to be made. You remember the last time we ventured that far into the Forest, just after the Eruption… and you remember what we nearly lost - what we did lose in that expedition.”

Adelia fell quiet and the king reached out and squeezed her hand.

“I remember it all too well, King Oderan, and I wouldn’t be asking to put forth this expedition if we didn’t have good reason to believe it will provide clues to the source of the Eruption. Perhaps even a way to reverse the effects,” Liu said, “Halim?”

Halim stood up, “Your Highness, I was not there for your first expedition into the Forest but the tales have traveled far and wide of your triumphant gains and tragic losses. I can’t imagine what you and Queen Adelia have been through. However, Archmage Inge and I have been in correspondence for the past few months and have devised a way to potentially stop this … this curse from spreading across our land. I believe it may work.”

Inge nodded, “He’s right, we can stop this if we send out a strong enough force and penetrate the Heart of the Forest. With our combined magics, it may be possible for us to seal the source away or even stop it entirely.”

“And what is this source that you speak of?” Katerin asked.

Inge and Halim looked at each other, “Well we’re not quite sure yet,” Halim admitted.

“We’ll know it when we find it,” Inge said confidently.

“And how many men will have to die before you do find it?” Adelia asked, “And what response may the Forest have to this transgression?”

“‘Response’?” Inge repeated, “With all due respect Your Highness, it sounds as if you believe these creatures to be organized in some sense? Capable of fielding an army and launching counterattacks?” she scoffed.

“You may jest Archmage but I know what I saw when I ventured into those cursed woods years ago,” Adelia spoke, her husband’s eyes glaring out at the Archmage as he whispered to the queen, “They may not have a kingdom you and I may recognize but there was something there, something sinister, and controlling.”

He stood up with great difficulty, waving off his wife’s attempts to help him as he continued to whisper.

“I will consider your proposal for an expedition and let you know my decision by morn tomorrow. This council meeting is adjourned.”

With that he turned around and left through the door behind his chair, the queen following dutifully behind.

As Halim left with Inge, he heard someone call out his name. Katerin stood just outside of the doorway, “Do you believe Halim? Or do you know?”

The science advisor approached the archmage, “You said you believed your plan may work but how do you know? What proof have you?”

“Inge and I have come up with some theories,” Halim said.

Katerin looked almost offended, “You didn’t consult with me about these theories, Halim,” she said. She was a fellow council member and also responsible with Halim for uncovering the secrets of the Forest. The fact that the Archmage hadn’t even thought about talking to her…

“With all due respect Science Advisor, this is a matter of the arcane,” Halim said curtly, “Not to be explained by science.”

Katerin’s eyes narrowed, “You believe science can’t provide explanations for the arcane, that I have nothing to add to your theories?”

Halim nodded, “Precisely. Science and magic are not of the same cloth, they are two separate fields. I don’t presume to invade your field and I expect the same courtesy from you Katerin.”

The scientist glared at Halim, one fist clenching and relaxing as she took a moment to collect her thoughts, “Archmage Halim,” she said calmly, “I respect your authority on the arcane. I also would like to posit that we are on the same side, despite the differences in our respective fields of study. We all want to stop the spread of the Forest, to be able to defend ourselves from the creatures that lie within, and provide safety for our future generations. I would appreciate in the future some more communication between you and me about our theories, as I have extended the same courtesy to you unless you haven’t been reading any of my missives.”

Halim made a mental note to check with Zhen on the missives he’d gotten from Katerin.

“Now I have to go and practice my field of study away from any … arcane influences,” Katerin’s voice dripped in sarcasm, “Good day to you and Archmage Inge.”

She turned around and stalked away through the still crowded hallway. The fiery-haired man from the council chambers, having seen the whole thing, coughed awkwardly to hide a laugh as he turned to study a particularly interesting banner that hung on the wall.

“Rienn!” the voice cut through the din on the training yard. Immediately some of the recruits stopped to look at who was approaching, a few broke out into grins.

The lieutenant turned to see an imposing woman in plate armor walking towards them, “Just the lieutenant I wanted to see!”

Rienn immediately stood at attention, “Captain!”

Captain Aelder was older than Rienn and stood about a head taller, she wore her long brown hair in a braid that looped around her head like a crown. She had broad shoulders and a broad smile that never seemed to leave her face - even in the din of the fiercest of battles. Her attitude never failed to encourage even the most demoralized of troops.

“Come, Lieutenant, let’s take a walk,” Aelder said as she motioned for Rienn to follow, “I want to know how you’re doing with your first week of service.”

They walked out of the training yard and into the main square of the city, the city walls didn’t afford much of a view of the sky but Rienn had better visibility than in the training yard. Clouds were building around them, “I don’t need to be Halim to know it’s going to storm tonight,” they said as they looked at the billowing cumulus.

“Aye,” Aelder agreed, “Hopefully it’ll provide us relief from this heat. But I didn’t ask for a walk to discuss the weather, I want to know how you’re doing.”

“Fine, Captain,” Rienn said, “I’m doing fine.”

Aelder didn’t look convinced, “You looked unsure about my decision to promote you to Lieutenant, do you still have doubts?”

“No … well,” Rienn paused, “I mean, yes? I just … I don’t know what you saw in me, Captain. I’m now second in command of the garrison here.”

Aelder smiled patiently, “I know you are,” she said, “I know you to be a great warrior - but I also know you have great leadership skills, Lieutenant, and in time - with proper tutelage - you can become an amazing captain.”

She slowed her pace, stopping so she could look Rienn in the eye, her expression was solemn. Rienn looked at their captain with concern, they had seen Aelder with that serious of an expression outside of battle only a few times in their career, “Ma’am?”

“I’ve talked to General Liu, given my reports of the patrols along the Line,” she said, “You and I both know how drastically the situation has changed over the past weeks. More and more attacks from large creatures, the magic is leaking into the settlements at a rate we haven’t experienced since…”

“Since the Eruption,” Rienn said. They shuddered, remembering those first months as Havenhold - barely a village surrounded by wooden palisades - fought for survival as the Forest encroached and threatened to swallow them whole. Only Halim’s arrival and the return of the First Expedition were able to stop the Forest at the Line and help Havenhold become the city it was today. However from what Aelder was saying, if The Line wasn’t holding back the magic … did Halim know? And why were they only just hearing of it now?

Aelder nodded, “I can’t say much,” she said as she leaned close and lowered her voice so that only Rienn could hear, “but you may be called upon for a special assignment. And when that day comes, I need you to be ready for it.”

Rienn raised both eyebrows, confused and surprised, “What do you mean?”

“Keep your voice low,” Aelder said, “None of this is set in stone and I don’t want to risk giving anyone more hope than they should have. Rienn, I was asked to put forward the names of the best warriors under my command and you’re near the top of the list. General Liu and I need more than good warriors though, we need leaders, and people we can trust. In those categories, there’s only you.”

Rienn was quiet, they weren’t sure what they could say or wanted to say for that matter. They knew they were good but surely there were better fighters in the garrison. For their captain to say they were near the top of any list both flattered and frightened them at the same time. What could they say to that? Well, the only thing they were concerned with aside from the protection of Havenhold…

“Captain,” Rienn said - eyes narrowed in determination, “I won’t let you down.”

Aelder smiled at her Lieutenant, “I expected no less from you Lieutenant,” she said, “We’ll have much to go over but you must return to your duties with the garrison and I must meet with the general. Tomorrow morning I’ll call on you for more personalized training.”

Rienn returned to the training courtyard, their mind filled with thoughts as they drilled the recruits. The rookie soldiers noticed their Lieutenant’s distraction and one or two tried to get away with being slightly lazier in their shield wall formation …

“Padun?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?!”

“You do like your friend next to you, Jasim, correct?”

“Yes, Lieutenant!”

“You should lift that shield higher then. Come on! Square your stance! That’s it. Now your friend won’t get stabbed in the face by an enemy spear, there you go!”

As they trained into the evening, a storm billowed up over the mountain and the first raindrops began to fall. A cold wind blew in from the west and darkness fell with the setting sun.

Halim barely got any sleep that night, between the sheets of rain and hail pounding on the roof, the blinding flashes of lightning blazing through his window, and the howling wind that caused the tower to sway ever so slightly. He felt a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach and he wasn’t quite sure what was causing it.

‘For the sake of the Fates above,’ he thought as he finally got up in frustration to brew a cup of sleep tea, ‘I am a storm mage!’

This was his kind of weather. He should feel right at home!

Instead, he felt anxious. There was an energy in the air that wasn’t caused by the storm and he felt it on the very edge of his senses. It was as if someone were lurking in his periphery, just out of sight, and every time he tried to turn to catch the interloper - they’d quickly disappear.

Sighing as he sat down with his cup of steaming hot tea, he took a few deep breaths. He needed to calm down and focus, meditate, and then perhaps he’d figure out what was awry. As he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, he attuned his senses to his surroundings. The rain was coming down as heavy as ever, the occasional hailstone hit his study window with a loud smack, thunder cracked loudly overhead and he could see the bright flash of the lightning through his eyelids. The tower swayed as a gust of wind hit and beneath his feet, he could feel rhythmic vibrations as if a giant were walking nearby.

Wait.

What?

His eyes flew open and as he stood up to go to the door and alert … well everyone … someone sounded the warning horn from a perimeter tower. Even over the din of the storm, he could hear the drone of the horns as the alarm went up from each tower and eventually someone rang the alarm bell on top of the main keep.

There was a huge crash, louder than any thunder in the storm, and the sounds of yells and screams. Halim rushed to the window and cursed, he couldn’t see a damn thing in this torrent!

He heard the guards running outside the study door, their chainmail clinking noisily and echoing down the stone halls. The archmage ran to the door, opening it as a guard ran past, “What’s going on?!”

“I don’t know! But those horns were from the western towers!” the man yelled, “Stay in your room!”

Down the hall, he heard more guards shouting orders, “Protect the King and Queen! Where’s Prince Jaloc?!”

Halim went back into his room, turning towards his desk where his staff sat propped up against the wall. As he turned, he saw something glow out of the corner of his eye. Not just something…

It.

He walked over to the thing that was shrouded in cloth and removed the covering, revealing a giant, umber acorn that sat atop a pedestal. It was shimmering a greenish hue that glowed brighter with each passing moment.

As Halim hovered his hand over the large seed, he smelled the musty scent of dead leaves, felt a cool, humid breeze on his cheek, and faintly heard the rustle of the wind passing through the canopy overhead. He blinked and he was back in his study, the feeling of an interloper just out of view was back.

“It calls to its Mother and Father.”

He spun around to see Inge standing at the doorway, an unreadable expression on the Archmage of Westhold’s face as she slowly walked into the room, “It calls to home.”

Rienn was on the southern wall when the attack happened. They were knocked flat along with the majority of the guards on the wall when the west wall was slammed into by a massive force. They shook off their disorientation as they stared blearily into the rain, lightning fractured the sky in a brilliant flash that illuminated two dark antlers towering over the western wall. They could just make out the top of the head of the stag before it dipped its head for another charge.

They stood up quickly, breath fogging in the cold air as they started to scream orders, “Everyone! To arms!!! Keep your eyes peeled! We might be attacked on this wall as well!”

They began to sprint towards the western wall and from what they could make out in the downpour - it was still intact. As they approached the corner tower, they saw Captain Aelder being supported by a fellow soldier as she continued to shout out orders.

“Captain!”

Aelder turned to face Rienn, a pained grimace on her face, “Go back to the south wall Lieutenant! I’ve got it handled here!”

“But-”

“Go!”

Aelder waved Rienn off, she wasn’t allowing for any argument on her order, “Where are the ballistae?!”

“Still loading another salvo!”

“Load faster! We haven’t much time before that thing charges again!!”

Rienn could faintly hear the sounds of gears turning as the four massive ballistae that protected the western wall were reset for another salvo. The engineer in charge of the ballistae turned to Aelder, “We can’t aim well in this rain and dark Captain, I’m not sure how effective this is going to be…”

“Well,” Aelder said in a pained huff as she looked at the damage the deer had caused to the wall and the looming form in the darkness, “That thing’s about as big as the damn mountain we’re sitting on - can’t be that hard to miss.”

Rienn made their way towards the gate on the south wall, below they could see the torch lights from the guards that were on patrol and dozens of villagers who were trying to get in. One of the soldiers was pounding on the portcullis like a madman, his panicked voice barely audible, “For the love of everything let us through!”

Rienn yelled, “Open the gate! Let them through!”

“Are you sure?” one of the guards at the gate, Rienn recognized him as Ganther, asked, “The western wall is close to here…”

Rienn raised an eyebrow, “And you think a massive deer is going to be able to even fit through the gate? Our soldiers are out there - as are the people we’re supposed to be protecting. I’m ordering you to open the gate.”

Ganther nodded, running to the winch to pull up the massive portcullis. As he did so, two more guards grabbed the gate doors and began to pull them open, boots slipping on the wet cobblestone and mud. One of the guards opening the gate had grabbed onto a segment of wood, the material seemed to morph under his hand and he started to scream as the gate came alive in his hands. The wood warped and twisted, engulfing and crushing his hand and arm, the door rooted into the ground as the wood had come back to life as a tree.

The last thing he saw before the wood swallowed him whole was the horrified expression on Rienn’s face. All around Rienn, anyone who had wooden weapons was suddenly affected by the strange phenomenon. Spears shafts exploded into poles of thorny branches that impaled their user’s hands and arms. Bows warped into vines, strangling the archers that tried to shoot with them while their arrows grew into saplings that rooted their blue corpses into place.

Rienn quickly cast their wooden kite shield aside as it exploded into a ball of thorns, they needed to gain control of the situation but they weren’t quite sure how. They stood frozen in place as they saw humanoid shapes emerge from behind the terrified villagers who were still at the gate. The figures were taller and lankier than the average human, they glowed with an unnatural green energy and Rienn didn’t need the benefit of a mage’s education to know that these were likely responsible for whatever was happening to their gate.

Said gate now was two massive oak trees, rooted firmly in the entrance courtyard, blood leaked out of crevices in the bark.

The lieutenant heard someone ask them for an order and they couldn’t answer, they stood staring at the figures and the gory scene around them - transfixed, hand resting limply on the hilt of their sword. A particularly loud clap of thunder crashed overhead and they flinched as shards of stone fell around them. They blinked, confused.

‘Since when does thunder explode into stones?’

They looked up to see the top of the tower where Halim resided had blown completely away. The rain began to slacken and the full moon peeked out between ragged clouds. The shadow of a bird passed overhead, landing on the remnants of the tower before flying off. On the western wall, Captain Aelder - barely clinging to consciousness - watched as the deer staggered forward. It was bleeding profusely from the wounds the ballistae had caused. She knew, however, that it wasn’t the ballistae that stopped the deer.

Everyone could hear its bones creaking and cracking as it slowly collapsed under its own weight. Whatever magic from the Forest had kept it alive through its attack had left it now as it encroached on the human’s territory. Both the deer and the Captain fell to the ground at the same time.

“Captain!”

Rienn, meanwhile, sprinted through the halls of the castle and up the half demolished tower.

“Halim!!! Halim!!! Gods damn it all!! Answer me Halim!!!!”

Zhen staggered out of the rubble, dragging a bruised and battered looking Halim with her, “Damn good thing I perfected that shield spell, sir,” she said.

“Damn good thing,” Halim agreed tiredly, he looked at Rienn - distressed, “Rienn … it’s gone. She took it.”

“Took what?” Rienn asked, “And who’s she?!”

Halim swallowed, his voice cracking as he said, “Inge, Inge took the Seed - the giant acorn the First Expedition brought back from the Forest. It’s gone,” he repeated, sounding angrier with every word, “She took it.”

#fantasy #dark fantasy #my writing #original writing #original story #Story Time with Em #forest #Depths Story

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parjiljehavey · 3 years

Text

this isn’t where we intended to be

A/N: Because we don’t know the details of how Boba survived the Sarlacc, I hand waved it. Am I shamelessly blending Legends into this? Yep. Don’t stop me now, I’m having a good time!

I also forgot to mentioned that the titles are lyrics from You Must Love Me. Madonna or Lana Del Rey, both are valid and full of feels.

Tagging: @escapedthesarlacc, @silverfish-kingdom, @shadowfoxey, @fresa-luna

Rating: T for Teen

Content Warnings: Angst, Bad Spy/Military jargon and descriptions, Boba Is Pining, We got some Surprise Appearances at the end.

PREVIOUS // NEXT

ix.

The first thing the Imperials did after setting up their garrison was confiscate any weapons. They searched house by house, apartment by apartment. The only things they didn’t take were the kitchen knives. You were lucky enough that the panic room Boba built was hidden from almost every scanner imaginable, leaving the armory Boba had on this world unseized.

Jekiah had chosen then to wail his little heart out from the bedroom, announcing his anger that his noon meal was being delayed to all who could hear. It took everything in you to not laugh when the stormtroopers and the scrawny little officer with them flinched.

There was a diner around the corner from the apartment that you had started frequenting because you had became obsessed with their milkshakes during your pregnancy. The twi’lek that owned it was an older woman with long lekku she draped around her neck who carried herself in a way that you recognized.

It was Sinya’s diner that the locals gathered in afterhours to discuss the Imperial occupation a month after the weapons has been taken. The blinds were shut, casting the room in near darkness except for the dim green glow of the menu signs.

Jekiah was strapped to your chest, content to sleep against your breast while voices rose when someone in the diner proposed fighting back against the Empire. A raucous arose as all attending agreed.

Sinya spoke up, “We’ll need to run reconnaissance to get a better idea of their numbers and the heat they’re packing.”

You should have kept your mouth shut and your head down, if only for Jekiah’s sake. It’s what Boba would have wanted you to do; with few exceptions, when did you ever do what Boba wanted?

“I can take care of that.” Heads turned and the crowd parted to stare at you, a woman with her baby. Sinya looked at you, and you looked at her. A tattooed brow was raised.

“You sure?” She gestured to Jekiah.

You looked down at your son, rubbing your thumb over his dark downy hair. He nestled his face further against your breast, seeking out your heartbeat.

“Yes. I am.”

He had woken up with the gritty taste of sand in his mouth, his skin burning and itching, and his armor missing. Shab’la Jawas.

It was the Sand People, who had ultimately rescued him and tended to the wounds he’d gained from the Sarlacc. He wasn’t able to translate what they were saying without his buy’ce, but he was able to communicate enough with them with the sign language that any hunter worth their spit learned when they spent enough time chasing targets through the sands of Tatooine.

He was given clothing and weapons once he was well enough to leave, and went on his way to begin the long trek back to Jabba’s palace. He had no doubt that anything that wasn’t nailed down had already been taken after news of the Hutt’s death had spread. Boba was confident that the Slave I was still where he had left it when he arrived.

Sure enough, the Firespray-31 was still there. Usually, he’d lower the ramp through his HUD, however, lacking his armor, Boba had to use the security code. It hadn’t changed in decades; he had it memorized. Accessing the security logs, Boba cursed.

It’d been five months since he left you heavily pregnant in his safehouse.

Fierfek.

xi.

A week after the meeting, you left Jekiah with your neighbor, two older women who had cooed over Jekiah ever since you’d come back from the medical center. Jekiah had learned how to cling to your shirt and had refused to let go, right up until a brightly colored nexu plush entered his field of vision. He’d been entranced with the neon pink toy and had let go easily after that.

The Zabrak grinned, “One of our nephew’s old toys. He won’t miss it.”

Returning to the apartment, you opened the panic room. Weapons lined the wall, far out of reach of a child and a case held your gear. The armorweave long coat and pants you had once worn regularly were a little too tight across your belly and hips, but thankfully, you still had mobility. You could handle this small discomfort; it was nothing compared to the later stages of your pregnancy and Jekiah’s birth.

You attached the stealth generator to your belt, making double sure it’d stay there with tape. Next went on your boots, and then your visor, followed by your gloves and gauntlets.

The gloves had been a gift from Boba; “They’d been outlawed in the Mandalore system for centuries,” he had said, “but I figured you’d appreciate these in your arsenal.”

Another gift had been the heavy, matte black gauntlets. The wristblade had utterly delighted you. You’d asked Boba what they were made of that made them so heavy. His answer had been beskar. It had taken you some time to learn how to fight with them on, something Boba had helped you with. You had ended up with more bruises than he had, some more pleasurable than others.

An ache in your chest came up and a lump formed in your throat. You swallowed around it and pushed on. You had a job to do.

You ran a systems’ check twice, ensuring that your vitals read correctly and the targeting system was accurately linked to your rifle. Happy with the results, you activated the stealth generator, and made your way out of the apartment building entirely. You kept to the shadows of alleyways and near cover.

Following a returning patrol, you infiltrated the Imperial garrison.

xii.

He’d elected to shave off the rest of his hair; most of it was already gone, the Sarlacc’s digestive acid killed the hair follicles. He inspected his wounds; no matter how primitive the Tuskens may be, they’d done a good job at patching him up. The wounds that were still healing he covered with a bacta-patch.

It had been a difficult decision, but, Boba had chosen to pursue his missing armor. He knew you’d understand why he didn’t immediately return; it was his father’s armor. You’d be furious with him, more than likely banish him from bed, but you’d understand.

It didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at his gut.

It didn’t stop him from waking up expecting to feel his arm asleep from you laying on it to curl against his chest or feel your cold feet pressed against his legs.

xiii.

Over the next two weeks, you infiltrated the garrison several more times gathering information on troop movements and supply routes. There was more than one garrison on the planet; as soon as news spread to the others, they’d be swarming like flies on a carcass. This was going to be a hard and dirty fight.

You said as much at the next meeting in Sinya’s.

“If we are going to do this, we're going to need more numbers than what we have.”

A large Nikto stepped forward. “Mercenaries? Lady, we ain’t got the money for that!”

Sinya was watching you from behind the counter. She nodded at you.

“Let me worry about the money. As soon as the mercenaries are planetside, start bringing the people from smaller towns and the farms inside.”

xiv.

Finding Sandcrawlers was easier from the air; it’d take months to traverse Tatooine on foot. He stopped in Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, and Anchorhead intermittently as he needed supplies and fuel. He picked up scrap metals to barter with the Jawas for information. This routine continued until a priority alert came across.

Liberation from Imperial Garrison. Boba’s stomach sunk.

There was no thinking as he plotted a course back to the planet. No other thought as the Slave I gained altitude.

Just you.

xv.

Sinya had had her pegged as a hunter as soon as she had first walked in months ago. She always looked around, noting exits and entries. Standard merc behavior, Sinya remembers doing that before she retired; Goddess, she still did it.

The bump on her belly made Sinya decide she wasn’t a threat. The delight she took in the milkshakes was endearing. Sinya had made sure that every time she saw her on the way in, a milkshake was already being blended. Especially when she started coming in with her baby boy strapped to her chest. That baby was the grumpiest little thing Sinya had ever seen.

It was nice, Sinya decided, once everyone had left after the woman had reported back on her findings and it was decided that they did need mercenaries, to talk shop with someone who knew their stuff. Sinya missed the merc life somedays.

Sinya listed off every large mercenary company that she knew was still in existence. Even Black Sun.

“No,” She shook her head. “If the Imperials offer more, they’d switch sides. Even if they didn’t, it’d be another battle to get them off. We’d be trading one for the other. That’s a risk we can’t afford. We need people who hate the Imperials just as much, if not more then we do.”

Sinya's tattooed brows furrowed. “Who are you thinking of?”

The woman smiled.

bonus

xvi.

He heard a low whistle from somewhere in the Oyu’baat when a priority alert popped up on the bounty board. The bartender fiddled with a control panel, enlarging the alert so it overtook other listings. It got Shysa’s attention, the Mand’alor dropping his feet off his table as he stood up. Noise died down until the only sound was the boloball game.

100,000 credits for every Mandalorian that signed up for the liberation of a small world out in the Outer Rim from the Empire. A 10,000 credit bonus was being offered for every piece of artillery that was brought in. Payment would be given from stocks, proprieties, or cold hard cash, per the contractor’s preference.

Osik. That was a lot of credits for a small world to be offering. He wondered where they were getting that kind of money. And it was specifically requesting Mandalorians.

Shysa clapped his hands together, drawing attention away from the board and to himself. He climbed up on top of his table looking out over the crowd of Mando’ade.

“Well, vode. Who wants to go kick the Imperials shebs again?”

Cheers of Oya rang out and Mird’ika howled as he pulled on his fine, gray gloves.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x y/n #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #should i should the surprise?#SHOULD I #yeah i will #jaing skirata #fenn shysa #lord mirdalan #mird #mird'ika #republic commando #series: you must love me

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lykegenia · 3 years

Text

The Dragon Knight’s New Clothes

The speed with which Davion left Hauptstadt left him no time to pick up clothes, so now he's back to square one and very much missing enough layers to cover up his... secrets. When he and his companions stumble on a farmstead his prayers seem answered, but there's also the other matter, the reason why he had to flee Hauptstadt in the first place, and the fear that it will happen again. Set between Episodes 2 & 3.

Hints of Davion x Mirana

Read on AO3

Normally, Davion is perfectly fine with silence in his travelling companions. The life of a dragon knight requires long hours on the road, not all of which can be filled with talk, even on the days where there’s no hunt to keep the quiet. But normality seems to have taken its butterfly wings elsewhere for him lately, and the current silence is getting awkward. It’s just him and Mirana. Marci took Sagan scouting shortly after sunrise and left them alone together, and while she seems content with their current situation, she’s also the only one between them wearing clothes. She doesn’t have to worry about the strength of errant breezes finding their way to places, and she has the weight of a weapon at her side as insurance against any trouble they might run into. Her feet aren’t slipping around sockless and blistered in too-large boots taken off a dead man.

A man he tore to pieces.

He swallows, glances to his companion to take his mind off the remembered taste of blood in his mouth. Her shoulders are loose, her gaze soft and hair flowing where the wind lifts it back from her face, the unassuming brown sparking copper in the dappled sunlight. He swallows again.

“Soooooo…”

“Is there a problem?” she asks, slowing a little. A quizzical knot appears between her brows and he raises his hands in surrender.

“No problem!” he says. “It’s just… you’re quiet.”

“I was enjoying the peace.” If there’s a note of annoyance for his interruption it flashes too quickly for him to catch it.

“You must not get much chance to just stop and smell the flowers,” he supposes, after a moment. “Being a princess and everything.”

“There are always little things, if you let yourself look for them – but you’re right that my duties rarely allowed for anything more.”

Allowed. Past tense.

“You never snuck away to try something more fun?” He grins, and when she only quirks a brow at him he clears his throat. “No, never mind, I think I know the answer to that… I’m sure Marci will be back soon.”

She throws him a smirk. “Are you worried about her?”

“Actually,” he says, letting his thoughts tease out, “I’ve been wondering about you two.”

“What about us?” The smirk draws in, a warning that seems to dim the sunlight itself.

He shrugs. “She takes your orders, but you don’t exactly treat her like a servant or a squire, and you have that –” he waggles his fingers experimentally – “hand language. You must have known her a long time.”

She turns away from him, her eyes going to a bird cleaning its beak on the branches above them as her arms fold in a loose cross over her chest.

“We came to the Nightsilver Woods together, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says. “We were already companions before then.”

“Just the two of you?”

Something in the memory pains her. “There was no one else left.”

“What about Sagan?” he asks.

“A gift from my goddess, so that I might do Her work.” The smile comes back, and he’s glad for it. “He was adorable as a cub – so fluffy. He used to chase the reflections from my arrowheads.”

“I never had a pet,” he confesses, without quite meaning to. A memory of a mongrel begging at the back door for scraps threatens to pull him in, but it was a long time ago and his mind can’t conjure the dog’s appearance. It probably ended up like the rest of his village, anyway.

Mirana’s eyes find his face, too perceptive, too understanding. Before he can think of a new subject to distract her, he notices the birds have all gone silent. The undergrowth rustles nearby, concealing something huge. He darts forward, fists ready in place of a weapon, but an instant later he catches a flash of white and relaxes in recognition at the wide, blunt head that pushes out from among the trees.

“Sagan!” Mirana ducks forward, arms outstretched, and the tiger butts her in the shoulder, purring like an avalanche as Marci slides down his back.

A brief conversation follows in the silent language the two women use between themselves, the signs made by their hands too fast for Davion to follow. He waits patiently, even dares to give Sagan a scratch under the chin, his fingers inches from the mouth full of sabre teeth the length of his hand.

Finally, Mirana turns to him. “There’s a farmstead about five miles west of here. If we’re welcomed it would be a good place to get some rest.” She throws a casual look over him and he resists the urge to tug the too-small cloak further around his body. “Perhaps we might also find you some better clothes.”

“I’d like that.” What he likes less is her singular ability to make him aware of his body – and not in the fun way.

She starts to lead off down the path but stops, sighs, her fingers going to pinch between her brows in an attitude of long-suffering patience.

“Ride Sagan,” she says. Orders, really. “It’ll save your feet.”

He can’t help but lean closer, grinning. “That’s surprisingly nice of you, princess.”

“And it’ll stop you slowing us down.”

He chuckles at that. Even in the few days they’ve spent travelling together he’s learned the difference between her wry mock threats and the times she truly intends to bite. As he winces over to tiger and vaults into the saddle, he almost misses the look exchanged between his two companions.

“How do I, uh, steer?” he asks. The neck in front of him is too short, the shoulders much broader than those of a horse, and there aren’t any reins.

Mirana smirks at him. “You don’t.”

They reach the farmstead as the sun is on its last descent towards the distant hills. Barley stalks sway gently under the wind as they climb the path to the house, and when a young teen tending vegetables by the back door spots them, Davion can hardly blame them for dropping their rake and running inside. The three of them don’t exactly make for an ordinary bunch of travellers, especially not with Sagan padding along behind them. There’s a stag slung over the saddle, intended as a sort of offering by Mirana, who took it down with one of her arrows before he even knew it was there. While most would follow the custom of hospitality without such a gift, they have only a few coins from the bandits he killed, and they need more than just shelter for the night.

“Better let me do the talking,” he mutters as they pass into the yard. It’s not the first time he’s had to explain to some poor local that he’s not a marauding thug, and that was without the daunting presence of the war tiger at his back.

For a moment, Mirana considers, but nods and hangs back, passing a hand over her holstered bow as if to reassure herself it’s still there. With another self-conscious tug on his attire to make sure his decency is covered, he advances towards the farmhouse’s front door and as he passes a soft fragrance of thyme and lavender rises from pots placed beneath the windows, though it’s too early in the year for the buzzing of bees. A memory tickles at the back of his mind but he pushes it away before the herby scent can be tainted with ash, and in the instant it takes to centre himself the door swings open to a tall, broad woman with steel-grey hair and an iron brow who steps out just far enough to not appear suspicious.

“You’re an uncommon bunch, right enough,” she comments, her face half shadowed by the overhanging thatch. “What business have you?”

Davion offers her his most winning smile. “We’re travelling from Hauptstadt. If you have enough spare for a hot meal and room in your barn for the night, we’d appreciate it.” He gestures to his companions. “My friend here managed to take down a deer, and we’ll happily share it with you.”

“Half of it,” Mirana corrects, with a hand on her tiger’s shoulder. “And the hide. Sagan needs to eat too.”

The farmer passes a calculating look over them, lingering longest on Davion and the scars so clearly visible across his shoulders, but in the end he guesses their fearsome appearance works in their favour. Their would-be host shrugs. If such travellers wanted to pillage and burn, they’d have no need for subterfuge first.

“We’re always happy to have well-mannered guests, especially ones with news of the road,” she says. “At this time of year the stock is out so your cat will be fine in the barn. Just keep him away from the back field, I’ve ewes ready to drop and they don’t a need a fright to help them along.”

Mirana nods. “Thank you. Is there somewhere we can put the deer?”

If the farmer is surprised by Marci’s strength as she hauls the carcass off Sagan’s back, she doesn’t show it, only points to the gate set into the far wall to show the way to the outbuildings. “And you always dress like that, do you?” she asks a moment later, still eyeing Davion.

He glances down at himself as if it’s going to suddenly change the nature of his attire, but the princess answers before he can open his mouth.

“There was trouble with bandits.”

“Only for your friend here?” The farmer’s eyes narrow.

“We met on the road,” she says smoothly. “If you have some spare clothes, my companion would appreciate the return of her cloak.”

The farmer accepts the half-truth with a solemn shake of her head. “Some of my late husband’s things should fit you, though he never kept quite so trim as you seem to be.”

She beckons them into the house. Davion follows, ducking under the lintel to avoid knocking his head, but pauses when he realises Mirana isn’t behind him.

“I’m going to bed Sagan down,” she tells him. “I’ll join you shortly.”

He smiles, nodding, and resists the urge to reach for her as she turns away. Inside, the whitewashed walls split the house into two, a kitchen with a large, scrubbed table in the back, and a parlour of sorts with a gathering of chairs around a large fireplace that overlooks the garden. An old woman snores in the armchair closest to the window, but she doesn’t stir at the prospect of visitors, even though the stairs leading off this main room creak under Davion’s weight, the wood worn to a polish by generations of use.

“Tayran,” his host calls out as a young woman appears from one of the upper rooms, “go help your brother with the veggies, will you? We’ve three more mouth to feed tonight.”

Tayran, a few years younger than Davion and sporting the same square jaw and brown eyes as her mother, nods and ducks along the hallway, but not before she’s let her gaze rake along the expanse of his muscles not covered by Marci’s cloak. The smile he offers in return is friendly enough, but not encouraging. He needs the clothes more than he needs someone to take them off again.

Seemingly oblivious to the exchange, his host has gone on ahead to the main bedroom and has taken a key to a heavily locked chest in the corner by the washstand. She digs through it, muttering, though he notices she never quite fully turns her back to him, and after a moment she stands again, with a shirt, breeches, and quilted jerkin draped over her arm. After a pause where she casts a critical eye at his boots, she stumps over to a dresser and pulls a rolled pair of wool socks from one of the drawers as well.

“These are the best I can do,” she says, handing the ensemble to him. “Afraid we’ve no salve for those badly fitting boots of yours, though.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

She huffs. “You can pay it forward. That’s what decent folk do. I’d best go see if yon slip of a girl has managed to get any meat off that stag yet – there’s plenty of room to change in the barn,” she adds, as she chivvies him from the room.

Dinner a few hours later is a crowded affair, the family’s meagre supply of chairs not enough to accommodate their guests, which means Davion’s legs are folded awkwardly around the tree stump serving him as a stool, his knees already bruised from all their accidental knocks to the underside of the table. The dim light for their meal comes from the fire and from a storm lantern hanging in the rafters in the centre of the room, and in the darkness beyond this the house groans and creaks as it settles for the night. After the disdain Mirana showed for the inn in Hauptstadt he wondered how she would react to such simple surroundings, but she nods graciously as their host ladles her a portion of stew and doesn’t complain that it’s being served with a wooden spoon. Marci is already tucking into hers as if she hasn’t eaten for days.

He smiles down at his bowl. The stew itself tastes good, the venison paired well with bacon and fresh vegetables, and it’s so thick the slice of bread he’s been given can be planted into it like a battle standard. Their host seems satisfied with their enthusiasm for her food, too. She has yet to sit down, her own portion left off as she pours a clear liquid into a motley collection of cups.

“Don’t knock this back,” she warns as she passes the drinks around. “It’ll beat you round the head like a club and go through your pockets for loose change.”

Davion can’t resist. He makes a great show of tasting the liquor. “A fine vintage, ma’am. Comparable to an Icewrack white, I’d say.”

Opposite him, Mirana narrows her eyes, like she wants to kick him under the table.

“My, you’ve expensive tastes,” their host rumbles. “You won’t find anything half so fancy in these parts.”

“Oh? Shame.”

“Where have you been that serves Icewrack white?” the elder asks from the head of the table. It’s the first Davion’s heard her speak, and her voice is cracked with age and suspicion.

“Oh, a few places,” he answers, careful. “I’ve spent most of my life travelling.”

“You must have many stories,” says Tayran, leaning forward on her elbows while her younger brother rolls his eyes next to her.

“Some, I suppose.” Davion shrugs. “My – uh, I had a friend who was much better than telling them.” He can’t mention having a squire; it would invite too many questions.

The elder seems content with him, but then her eye swivels towards Mirana. “What about you?”

“Mama,” their host chides. “We don’t interrogate our guests.”

Mirana sets down her wooden spoon. “It’s alright. We came from further west, on business.”

“Wrong time o’ year to be travelling the high passes.”

“My business could not wait,” she replies. Not for the first time, he wonders what calamity must have drawn her from her woods, put the grit in her voice as she speaks of it.

“And what about you?” Tayran asks him. Her eyelashes flutter. “If you’re looking for work you’d be far more likely to find it back in Hauptstadt, or on one of the farms in the valley.”

He disarms her with a grin. “And leave my companions without a defender? My honour wouldn’t allow it.” He shrugs elaborately. “I’ve got some friends near Levinthal who should be able to help me after I go that way.”

“More people who owe you favours?” Mirana asks, casually enough, though it’s clear she hasn’t forgiven him for the cockroaches that came included with the last one.

“It’s likely just as well you travel together,” their host interrupts. “There’s rumours of some sort of monster roving about these hills. Someone found bodies ripped apart not a week’s journey from here, and whatever it was killed a dragon knight an’ all. Dangerous times, these.”

The chill that grips Davion’s spine doesn’t go away, nor the knot in his stomach that feels like another gang leader’s ring just waiting to be hocked up onto the table. Mirana and Marci both have stilled to watch him, but he doesn’t meet their gazes. Instead, he draws in a breath and stretches his best tavern-pleasing smile across his revulsion.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says. “We’ll be extra careful.”

The conversation moves on after that, well into the night. On isolated farms like this one, travellers may bring the only news of the outside world for weeks, and new stories of far off places are always welcome. Finally, drowsing under the effect of the wine and the full meal and with the supply of fire logs running low, Mirana rises to make their excuses for the night. They have an early start in the morning, and don’t want to trespass any further, she says. Davion follows.

In the doorway, however, an unexpected hand reaches out in a caress across his chest that stops him before he can make it out into the cold. His breath fogs as he turns, finding Tayran in the shadowed alcove where the family keeps their coats, the smile on her face one he’s seen on more than one young woman on his travels.

“It’ll be cold tonight, you know,” she purrs.

From the corner of his eye he sees Mirana pause at the sound of the voice, but when he turns fully she’s already resumed her pace, perfectly measured, her shoulders straight, and he wonders if he imagined it. Tayran’s hand moves up to cup his cheek, to bring his attention back to her.

“If you want a better offer than a draughty old barn, I’d be happy to oblige. If you’re not already spoken for, that is?”

“You mean with –?” He coughs. “No, I’m not. We’re not, ah – like that.”

She steps closer. “Good. Would you like to hear more about my offer?”

When he lets himself into the barn a little time later, bright moonlight spills around him, though his eyes take less time to adjust to the unlit interior than he expects. An oil lamp glows in the far corner.

“Your ‘better offer’ fell through then?” a voice chimes through the darkness, low with disdain.

He finds Mirana with Sagan’s head in her lap, running a soft brush over the tiger’s fur, her scowl and the sour curl of her mouth revealing the nature of whatever else she wants to say. She doesn’t look at him. His own anger rises in response.

“I didn’t take the offer,” he snaps, quiet enough not to disturb Marci. “Not that you have any reason to care.”

“I didn’t want to waste time looking for you in the morning.”

But the gaze fixed on him now flickers with calculation, the same astuteness she turned on him after he let the elf go, as if he’s a puzzle box with no clear solution.

“She was a pretty enough thing,” she comments as he unfolds a horse rug over the straw as a makeshift bedsheet. “Many men would have gone after her.”

“Yeah, well – I’ve said it before.” He throws his head down on his folded arm. “I’m not most men.”

Now more than ever, he thinks ruefully as silence descends again. If he were the sort of person who believed the gods cared at all he’d wonder if they turned him into… whatever he is… as a punishment for hubris. For a little harmless flirting. He yanks the blanket up to his chin and rolls over – he’s slept in less comfortable places, but that doesn’t make the cold, prickly ground any less frustrating. A bed would have been much better. A bed with a bit of fun thrown in, for the both of them, and yet he chose to leave, and he’s going to go mad trying to work out why.

“You’re afraid,” Mirana says into the quiet. “Worried that what happened at Hauptstadt – what you became – that it’ll happen again.”

After a long moment, he unclenches his hand and sighs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“For what good it will do, I can watch over you, if you like.”

He shifts. The offer feels unfamiliar. A dragon knight is sworn to protect others, and though the rational part of him knows if he does turn she’ll be dead before she realises it, there’s a warm glow of comfort from the assurance in her voice. She asks nothing of him, only honesty.

“If the transformation happens…”

“I’ll shoot you.” He hears the smirk.

“Thank you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the images his mind conjures, her blood on his hands, and prays to whichever gods are listening that if the worst comes her draw will be fast enough.

#dota dragon's blood #dota: dragon's blood #dota: db #dota 2 #mirana #princess mirana #davion #davion the dragon knight #davion x mirana #mirana x davion #miravion #dragon's blood

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hard-to-be-the-bard · 3 years

Text

12 Days of Lester: Part 1

“

It is here

Lester Sinclair x Reader

Prologue:

You’d arrived in town with some friends, though friends was a light term, it was more so that you’d been dragged along, on this stupid road trip, as well as being made to pay for most of the trips expensive.

And now you were camping in some field, on the outskirts of a town that wasn’t even on a map

You were tired, just wanting to fall asleep, but you couldn’t, and you turned over on the blanket, sighing as you looked at the tent roof.

At some point you must of fallen asleep, because when you opened your eyes again, it was daylight.

And everyone else was awake, and you heard someone cry out from afar.

You stumbled out of your tent, to see two of your friends head towards the woods, and you frowned, following after them as you pulled on your shoes.

You reached the edge of the hill, where one of your friends had fallen to the bottom, half stuck in what smelt and from what you could see, a pile of animal carcasses.

Your eyes stung at the smell, as the wind blew it in your direction, and you carefully made your way to the bottom, almost tripping and falling as well.

Your friend was gagging, almost screaming as she desperately tried to wipe her hands that were now covered in a fine layer of grime, and congealed blood.

Then you saw a truck pull up, and you paused, watching as a man stepped out, heading towards the back of the truck, where another deer lay. Dead.

You presumed this was the man who’d started off this, somewhat impressive, amount of carcasses.

He dragged it to the pit, and threw it down., and your friend decided to speak

“Hey! Don’t you see that? What is that?” They shouted to him, pointing towards a hand sticking out of the middle of the carcass pile. And you almost paused, as the man looks, at all of you, before making his way to the hand

“No way..” Your friend muttered, a look of disgust on her face

“Hey what are you doing man?” Another one asked, an equally disgusted look on his face.

But the man ignored them, reaching forward and gripping the hand in his own, tugging sharply, and it broke loose, and he almost stumbled back, before he lifted it up, waving it at you

“Anyone need a hand?” He asks, and the others say nothing, as you couldn’t help but smile at the joke.

“I’m just foolin’, it ain’t real, see?” He says, and continues to hold it.

“Found it on the side of the road a few weeks ago” But your friends are ignoring him now, turning to the one that fell, and you seem to have been the only one that heard him

“Oh my god are you okay?” They ask the girl that has fallen, and she nods, wiping her hands again. When the man speaks up once more.

“What are you guys doing here?” He asks, and you point behind you answering.

“We were all camping up through those trees” You say and he nods, before one of the guys speak

“Hey, is there a gas station around here?” He asks, and the man looks hesitant.

“Well, I got some gas in the truck if ya need it-” He says, and your friend shakes his head

“I need a fan belt” He informs, and your friends turn to look at him confused, and he tells them it just busted, and the man looks thoughtful

“Bo might have some, runs a station in Ambrose” He says finally

“Where’s that?” Your friend asks again, and the man points

“About 15 miles up the road”

Your friends talk to each other for a moment, arguing about whether they should keep moving and pick one up in the next town, or leave the car.

You stay out of the conversation, before turning you head when the man talks

“I’ll give you a ride” He offers, and your friend pauses

“You serious?” He asks, and the man nods

“If you like, yeah”

Your friends look between each other, and back at the man, one of them grimaces and you almost frown, knowing none of them really want to go with the man who carries dead animals around, so you sigh

“I’ll go” You offer, and they look at you, almost surprised, and you turn to the man who’s watching you.

One of your friends nudges the other

“You really just gonna let them leave like that? With a man who throws roadkill into a pit for a living?” She asks, and your friend sighs, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fine whatever, I’ll go too” He says, and you head across the carcass pit carefully, making sure you don’t fall, and when you get to the other side you smile at the man

“Thanks for giving us a ride” You say, and he smiles at you, looking you up and down once

“Ain’t no problem”

And so you’re sitting in the truck, next to the man, who’s introduced himself as Lester, and your friend on the other side of you, who’s attempting to role down his window, and Lester looks over at him.

“Sorry about that, trucks seen better days” He says, and your friend frowns, almost rolling his eyes

“Right, yeah, well do you mind rolling down your window?” He asks, and Lester pauses before nodding, still driving

“Not at all, I kinda get used to the smell” He adds, and your friend frowns again

“Really I don’t think I could ever get used to it” He says, and you sigh, knowing he was blatantly being rude, and you speak up

“You can get used to anything if you’re around it long enough” You say, and Lester looks at you, smiling slightly

“Yea that’s true” He says, before speaking again

“If you get ‘em in the morning, before the sun bakes ‘em up, they’re not so bad, if they’re fresh I take ‘em home though, no point in wasting the meat” He says, and you nod, and your friend rolls his eyes this time

“Are we almost there?” He asks, cutting into the conversation

“It’s just up the road, Ambrose used to be a pretty nice town before the interstate came in” He explains, moving his arm so it rests on the back of the seat, just behind your head, and your friends gaze moves to his belt where he sees the knife, and he nudges you, and you turn to look, and Lester notices

“Ya like knives?” He asks, and your friend shakes his head

“No not really” He says

“Tools of the trade, you wanna see it?” He asks, reaching his hand down, keeping one on the wheel.

“No we’re good” He continues, almost shifting towards the door slightly.

But he pulls it out anything, displaying it, and you say nothing, watching the way it glints in the sun. You know he’s harmless, but your friend doesn’t seem to think that

“It’s a bowie, it’s a good knife, will cut through anything” He says, before slamming it into the dash, and you swear you feel your friend jump, as it pierces the dash.

A minute later and he’s pressing on the brakes, looking out at the water in front, and your friend sits up

“What’s going on, I thought you said there was a town up here” He accuses, and Lester looks at him.

“Well yeah, there is, just around that bend, I gotta flip my hubs into four wheel, you mind giving me a hand?” He asks, and you nod, about to slide out of the car with him, giving him a smile, which he returns, but your friend grabs your arm, a little too tight, and Lester notices you wince slightly.

“When’s the last time you were here?” He asks, and Lester smiles awkwardly,

“What you don’t believe me? I just forget this way’s washed out is all” He says, and you turn to him about to apologise for your friend when he speaks

“We’ll walk the rest of the way, you’ve done enough” He says, and Lester almost looks hurt

“Now, why would you want to do that?” He asks, chuckling.

“Look we wanna walk okay, just let us out” Your friend almost demands, and you shake your head at him.

Lester grits his teeth, and he casts you a glance, and then one at your friends hand which is still gripped around your wrist

“Sure” He says, grabbing the knife from the dash and heading around to your friends side, and you curse at him before tugging your hand away.

The door opens, and the knife is back in its sheath, and Lester looks away

“Try and do something nice for someone” He says, and your friend shakes his head

“Look man it’s not like that, we appreciate it” He says, and Lester scoffs, and you feel terrible

“Yeah I can really tell” He says, and your friend gets out, and you follow, almost hesitating.

Your friend is already crossing the water, not caring if you’re trailing behind, and you turn to Lester

“I’m really sorry about him I-” He cuts you off

“Ain’t yer fault, don’t worry about it” He says, giving you a smile, as he watches your friend head towards the town

He won’t feel bad about what happens to him, what he knows Bo will do.

But you.

You were nice to him, offering an apology which he knew you meant, not many people had been nice to him before

He knew he was going to be thinking about you for a while.

You turn to follow your friend, who’s now further up the path, and he wants to stop you, grab your arm and tell you not to follow your friend

But he doesn’t

He let’s you walk away from him, and he watches as you turn back to smile and wave at him.

He doesn’t have the heart to return it

You managed to catch up with your friend, and you both found the garage quickly enough, your friend not bothering to knock and just walking straight in as you paused by the door, and then you see a man come out, talking to your friend, and you see him glance towards you, and your friend turns, beckoning you inside with the shake of his head.

You enter, the door closing behind you

“What size fan belt did they need, I can’t remember” Your friend asks, and you speak

“16 inch” You say, and your friend nods

“Yeah, that” He says, and the man smiles at you, introducing himself

“Bo, I run the garage” He says, and you smile, telling him your name, and you hear your friend mutter something under his breath

You didn’t hear what, but from the look on Bo’s face he did, and he frowned, a brow raising as he glanced at you friend, before back at you

“Well I got some of those back at the house, if you don’t mind following me” He says, and you nod, but your friend looks sceptical

“You keep fan belts at your house?” He says, and you sigh again, it was as if he had to be rude to everyone he meets

Bo turns to him, nodding

“Yeah, I get things delivered there when I’m not home” He says, and you nod, shooting a look at your friend.

So you follow him, listening to Bo as he explains about Trudy and her sons, and you have a feeling that when he said they didn’t live here anymore he was lying, he seemed to know too much about it, and spoke about it so nonchalantly.

When you finally reach the house, he opened the truck door out front

“Hey why don’t you two hop in, I’ll go get the fan belt, and then I’ll drive you back to your car” He smiles

“No actually, we have a friend picking us up where the road’s washed out” Your friend says, and you frown, not remembering that, but figured he must of called them at some point

“I’ll give you a lift there then, least I could do” He says, and you smile at him, thanking him, and your friend asks him if he could use the bathroom.

Bo turns to look at him, before nodding

“Yeah sure” He turns to you and asks if you need to use it, but you shake your head, and you hear your friend mutter something again, but once again not catching it.

And again, from the look on Bo’s face he has, and you can tell it was something insulting, from the expression on his face, but he smiles at you, closing the car door, and heading to the house with your friend.

You sit in the car for a while, and wonder where they are, neither Bo or your friend leaving the house.

And then Bo walks out the door, and you smile at him, looking behind him for your friend

“I got the fan belt, you guys ain’t in a hurry are ya? Because I wanted to load the truck up with some stuff first” He says, and you nod, smiling, telling him it was fine, before looking back at the house, asking him if he’d seen your friend

“I guess he’s still in the bathroom?” He shrugs, placing some stuff in the trunk, and you nod as he gets in the driver’s side, as you both wait for your friend

But Bo knows he’s not coming out, and as he watches you from the corner of his eye as you wait for your friend, he thinks about what he’d heard him say earlier.

It was clear you weren’t good friends, probably forced along on whatever trip you were on, and he sighed softly.

He didn’t normally think twice about killing people. But you reminded him of Lester so much.

And he’d already received a phone call from his younger brother, telling him of your arrival, and the way he’d almost faltered over the phone as he mentioned you, telling him to make it quick.

You’d been nice to his brother, and now he was feeling bad. Bo knew not a lot of people were nice to his brother, and even if they weren’t as close as him or Vincent, he still care about him.

He sighed once more, watching you, before making his decision.

And his hands were around your mouth and nose, not even giving you time to react as he knocked you unconscious.

---

That was two months ago, and they’d decided to let you live. But they couldn’t let you leave.

And so you lived with Lester, in his small house at the edge of Ambrose.

And you were happy for most of it, there were days when you missed your home before, but Lester always gave you space when he knew you were feeling down, or trying to cheer you up, with jokes or hot drinks

The man had fallen for you hard, and now it was mid December, and he still hadn’t told you how he felt.

He knew one day he’d have too, the feelings he felt for you only growing each day

But he’d worked out a plan.

He was going to kiss you, every day, until Christmas day, where he’d hopefully have worked up the courage to kiss you properly.

And today was the first day, 12 days until Christmas and he took in a deep breath, as he handed you your coffee.

It was early morning, and you’d woken up a half hour before, smiling at Lester, thanking him as he handed you the mug.

“No worries” He smiled, and you could tell he was nervous, but what for you didn’t know.

You smiled at him, sitting down, taking a sip of the coffee, and Lester spoke

“Got many plans for today?” He asked, and you shrugged

“Well, I was wondering, would- would you mind if we got a Christmas tree?” You ask, and his head perked up

“A Christmas tree? Like a real one?” He asked, and you nodded, he thought about it for a moment

“Well, I don’t see why not” He grinned, and you smiled.

And so the rest of the day was planned, you and Lester walking through a field a few miles away, that luckily happened to contain some smaller pine trees.

You’d grinned when you’d found the right one, and Lester smiled back.

And when it was up in the house it fit perfectly.

You turned to him smiling

“We just gotta decorate it now, but we can do that tomorrow” You tell him and he nods

“Well, I think it looks great” He says, and stands by your side.

You grin again and surprisingly pull him in to a hug, thanking him

He pauses, his hands wrapping around your waist in return leaning his chin on your head

“Ain’t no problem at all, don’t need to be thankin’ me” He says, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and he waits for you reaction.

But you don’t pull away, or grimace in confusion.

You wrap your arms around him tighter, smiling into his chest.

You knew this Christmas was going to be great.

#lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x s/o #lester sinclair headcanons #lester sinclair imagines #house of wax #house of wax x reader #house of wax imagines

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storysofmyown · 3 years

Text

Seven stages of love Chapter 7, Epilogue: Philutia

Summary: Ever since the Celestial War, since they all fell, Asmodeus has dedicated himself to his sin. Not caring about anything else, but drowning himself in the pleasure and ecstasy of it all. But not anymore, now he cant even handle the idea of it. But, what else is there to want? After so long of having indulged in his sin, what is there than Asmodeus is looking for, something that will fill him, and that wont drive him to destruction? Perhaps his brothers can help him with that. Warnings will appear in each chapter.

Read on ao3

Word Count: 1818

Trigger Warning: None that I can think of. If you find any feel free to let me know so I can add them!

The house of lamentation was in an absolute uproar. Noises coming from every room in the house. Lucifer had his classical music on an all time high, his own way to shut away the noises that were coming from the kitchen, as Belphegor and Beel attempted to make some horrific concoction that went against Solomon's own cooking. As well as Mammon’s music that was blaring from his room, apparently having entered a context where the louder he listened to music, the more opportunity he had to win, meanwhile Leviathan was showing Satan an anime, the music of the intro being able to be heard through the entire house as it fought with that of his brothers. Except from one demon, who although had been having a messy head, who's words and screams were louder than all the noises in the house, was now oddly quiet. As he smiled at himself in the mirror.

Asmodeus placed the perfume bottle down, picking up the earrings Mammon had given him in exchange for having sold his designer shoes. They were quite pretty, for having been a gift from Mammon. The demon let out chuckle, it was...odd. Being able to look at himself in the mirror once more, gone the feeling disgust. A few days ago, he would have been to the point we're if he caught a glance of himself in the mirror, it would have been broken in a million pieces, accompanied by the blood that would have been pouring from his wounds. But now...now he was once more able to smile at the demon reflected in the mirror. A real smile, not like the ones be had given for so many years in order to fool himself and convince the corroded carcass of a demon to go out into the world.

Now, he was able to see himself. The real Asmodeus, the one that had been locked away from all that pain and all those desires, the one that wasn't controlled by the feeling of lust and the sin that had place a chain around his wrists and a leash on his neck. Finally allowing himself to breath the perfume of roses that lingered in his room, instead of the despair that came from his mind. Now he was ready to go out into the world again. But the world that he wanted to go out to, wasn't the same as the one he thought he needed. And he just hoped they would like the new Asmodeus, along with what he had to say, and how he wanted to say it.

"Asmo?"

Belphegor’s voice made Beel stop mid bite, looking in the direction his brother was. He had just entered the kitchen and was looking at the two with curiosity, not only that but he had adorned himself in the usual clothes he would wear to go out. Although, those were less...loud.

"Hi!" He spoke in his usual cherry tone, making the twins look at each other.

"You look nice." Beel spoke, food still in his mouth before he finished the bite.

"Are you going out?" The youngest leaned against the counter, fluffing the pillow in his hands slightly before his eyes fell on the older brother, who was ravaging the cabinets searching for all kinds of things.

"Nope! I was actually thinking of doing a movie night." The click of the bowl as it was set down on the table, and the crinkling of the bags, made Beel hungry, but aside from that, it attracted some other demon into the kitchen, who had been avoiding finding the eldest all afternoon.

"Yo, y'all cooking something?"

"Mammon! Perfect timing~" The fifth eldest grabbed onto the Avatar of greed's arm, pulling him into the kitchen and proceeding to place the bowl on his hands, already full. "Here, see that Beel doesn't eat them yet." As he spoke, he started taking cups out if the cabinets, and ice from the fridge.

"Oi, hold on. You can't just grab me and pull me like that-, Beel!" Mammon glared at his younger brother, who’s hand was almost already inside the bowl, mumbling an apology as he retracted it. "What are you even doing?"

"He's doing a movie night." Belphegor spoke, although none of the demons in the room knew if he was awake of asleep.

"We are making a movie night! None of you are escaping." Asmo stated, placing the cups, already full, in a tray. "Here, Belphie, you take this to the room. Beel, would you be a dear and search for some more food? We know it won't be nearly enough for all of us. I'll go get the others! You three wait for me in the living room~"

After searching through his home for the remaining of his brothers, two of them being more reluctant to participate, as he had expected. He and Lucifer went to the twin’s room and came back with an array of pillows and blankets to get comfortable all over the floor, at which Levi complained, only to be quickly shut up as they reminded him the position he took to play. Asmo finally managed to get all of them into the living room just in time to catch Beel almost eating from the bowl he had entrusted Mammon to protect. After a couple of more complaints, and a silent glare from Lucifer, Asmodeus finally managed to have all his brothers sit down.

"...ok, so you have us all here. Now what?" Leviathan asked, a little annoyed at having had his game taken away from him, just when he was about to beat a hard level.

"Now, we obviously watch a movie, dummy~" Asmo spoke from his position as he set up a DVD player, making Satan frown.

"I didn't know we still owned one of those."

"Hold on, isnt that-"

"Yes, Levi, this is yours. I think you saved it a long time ago in the attic." Asmo said, turning the device on and place a DVD inside the player, quickly hooking it up to the tv and sitting between him brothers, shoving Belphie to the side, effectively waking him up. "Now, get cozy, we are spending the whole night together~" he chuckles, only for some of his brothers to groan, although, none of them tried to get away from him and just smiled as the movie started.

It had been a few hours, and the known Avatar of Lust, along with the rest of his family, had went on to go on with their movie night. Well, movie night was to put it highly, in fact, they were watching some videos. This was what the Avatar of Lust truly wanted to do, spend time with his family, as he remembered how important they were. Videos from all the years they had spent together. Recorded in old cameras that at the time where the best technology possible. Old phones and pictures, them all sharing their own thoughts and stories behind all the images that flashed by. At first, they all seemed to be surprised that those were the 'movies' Asmodeus was referring too. But after a while, they grew fond of the idea, basking in the old memories and even sharing even older ones from the time they fell and fond times they remembered from the celestial realm, telling Satan all about them. Although, a certain older demon noticed how the young Avatar or Lust got slightly increasingly nervous each time it moved to another section. Until it got to a video, the quality as of the D.D. D’s they used now, and it showed Asmo, in his room, alone.

"...uh, hi?" The Asmo in the video spoke. By his state, they all could tell he had been obviously tired when recording this. "So, I'm...making this to put my thoughts in order, I guess?" He looked directly into the camera. "...but as I pressed the button I realized that...all I have in mind and all that I truly want to say is...thank you..."

The audio paused for a moment, an obvious distressed Asmo taking a moment to collect himself, the brothers all looked at the Asmodeus that was currently sitting between them all. Wide eyes in shock. The demon could feel the eyes on him, making a light pink come to his cheeks as he watched himself in the video. A slight feeling of shame, no, perhaps embarrassment at having decided to approach the situation in such a way.

“Asmo what is-” Lucifer was cut off by the video finishing, the screen turning dark. All brothers looking confused at Asmodeus, who could barely muster the courage to look at any of them, so, instead, he kept his sight glued to the floor, before speaking.

“I know…I have been difficult lately, and that you all have had a hard time dealing with me and…and all my questions. But…after speaking with every single one of you…” A small smile comes to his lips as he remembered the conversations, and what they had meant to him. They way they had opened his eyes to the world he had been missing, and to the one he had submerged himself in so deep there was no light anymore. “…I realized what it is that I was lacking. So, thank you, my dear brothers and…”

He pauses again, letting the silent set in his words to his brothers. It had been a long journey. And at first, he had felt so lost…like there was no way he could ever truly understand what was missing, or where to even beginning searching. But thanks to his brothers, and without even realizing it, he had been actually searching what it was missing. And he now understands. He understood better than anything else, better than even his own sin and his own mind and buddy, that the answer for what he needed laid right inside of the house of lamentation. Within himself, and one of the few ways he could start learning and reconnecting with who he was, was right around him.

With his family. With his big, stupid, loud, noisy family. The one that had watched him crumble and instead of mocking him had helped him get back up slowly. And now he was taking the first step after having been rebuilt slowly, the first step of the journey he had yet to complete. But that he wasn’t worried about, because he had his family. And to grasp and fully understand the thing he needed; the Avatar of Lust wouldn’t need to go anymore. And for him that was more than okay, because that meant he could stay close to those who had helped him trough it all. To those who would keep helping him. And to the six demons he only had one thing to say, and it the same thing he had to say to himself.

“I love you all”

Philutia: Self love

******

Hi, well, here we are, at the end. I am honestly surprised I managed to finish this in time, but hey, here it is! I really, really hope you all had enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I guess I will see you all on my next fic obey me fic XD

Take care!

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