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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

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A Failed Betrothal (4)

Am I doing this right? I mostly do write this when I am between the state of sleep and awareness. Hope you enjoy this.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1) (Part 3)

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PART 4

Marinette came to a dungeon cell with two other prisoners. One of them was awake and he looked vaguely familiar. The other had an ugly red helmet that didn’t help with the headache she had.

“Do you know where we are?” She asked the handsome stranger with beautiful green eyes, her throat a little dry.

Wait. Handsome?

No bad Marinette. Don’t fall for fellow prisoners, no matter how cute he looks. Oh Kwamis, she was already screwed.

He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he didn’t understand French. She tried to ask again in another language before her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps. She faked unconsciousness. Later, she heard the iron door open. She looked through the tiniest slits of her eyes she could muster while the two held a staring/glaring match. Oh shit, that’s the fame Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s, head of the League of Shadows, and the boy she was glaring at had some resemblance to her, so he must be her son, Dennis? Daniel? Damon?

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

Ohh..Damian. Where had she heard that name before?

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Ouch, that hurts. Well, Damian, just because I forgot your name does not mean you can call me a little girl. I can also kill you very easily and painfully.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Red Helmet, Jason, is officially not going on her hit list for his atrocious fashion choices. But that red monstrosity still needs to go.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Marinette felt her hair being yanked. A little pain was expected but the really sharp claws digging into her scalp was not. Making her cry and tear up.

”I am so sorry, kit.” Plagg whispered in the kwami language, loosening his claws.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Damian growled out.

Geez, thanks for the compliment, it’s not like you ever had a tiny cat dig its claws into your scalp out of surprise. (Damian once had a kitten thrown at his head and if he knew about Plagg, he would have been sympathetic.) Marinette started begging for mercy, hoping they would buy the helpless girl out of the suit that is ill-suited for the job she had been chosen for and had no idea on how to escape.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.”

Oh kwamis, what did she ever do to have such a picky groom? The more he insults her, the less she wants to be married to him.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection."

Great, another reason to stop her mother from killing a senile old man.

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

So that’s where she heard it from. The boy was the son of the daughter of a guy who leads a secret order of assassins and a man that owns a multi-million business. How even did a billionaire meet an assassin, ends up in bed with her and lives? Something to think about for later. She quieted down her sobs, (beat that acting, Rossi) kept her voice low to hatch out a plan with Plagg in the kwami language while the mother-son duo bickered.

“Hey, Plagg before you go, you think I can do that thing, the one which your one of your past holders from Japan can do.”

“You have a lot of potential for destruction but you have not used the ring for a long time yet so I am not sure.”

“I will give it a go anyways. Nothing to lose after all. See you later, Plagg.” Marinette smiled, one that drove fear into the hearts of even the bravest of people. Plagg returned it, already loving the new Guardian before zipping out of the cell to do some scouting. Using the enhanced strength the French superheroine got from prolonged use of the Miraculous, she yanked the chains of the walls and wrapped them around Talia’s neck, cutting off her air supply.

The League of Assassins thought that they could kidnap her and get away with it. But they were no match for the daughter of Sabine Cheng, the deadly Blue Reaper. A high ranking member from the group of assassins and mercenaries called the Guild of Night, who had semi-retired. Kidnapping her was a bad move to make as it meant they had declared war on the Guild, despite the reason behind her abduction having a completely different intention.

She whispered as such to the older woman in her tight grip, making sure the League would know how much they had fucked up. After dropping the limp body, she took a deep breath and tried channeling some of her energy for what she was about to do.

Well, here goes nothing.

She breathed out on the shackles, turning it to rust.

Success!

She introduced herself as Lady and concentrated the energy from before into her hand, forming inky black orbs of destruction in order to free her fellow captives. She felt a little drained from doing magic out of the suit and tried not to show it. Plagg returned, informing her of where the Ra’s and the Pits were. She grinned at the thought of showing old Ra’s who the boss is and made sure he regretted ever messing with her. She explained about Plagg as vaguely as she can, no need to let anyone know about the miraculous than necessary. Sure her plan sounds insane but the boys don’t know who they were with.

She would worry about that curse after she got out of Nanda Parbat. Although she could probably find something in the grimoire to reverse it, she was still an amateur at magic so it was best to have a professional to take care of it. Marinette didn’t want to be with such an asshole, no matter how striking he looks in those regal robes.

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Picking off the League assassins, one by one was easy especially in her transformed state. She hadn’t appraised her suit properly but from what she had seen, it wasn’t like Chat Noir’s leather get-up. She was armoured in vital areas and her colour scheme was mainly black with green accents. There were vials that were probably poisons and pouches which she decided to look at later. She still had a long braid as a tail from her brief stint as Lady Noire and she wondered why her suit was different. While hiding in a niche she found, she called the bakery via the comm in one of her various pouches.

“Hello?”

“Papa, it’s me, Marinette. Do you know where Maman is?”

“She went out of Paris, talking about how this League must pay. I think she is meeting up with several of her old friends. Are you alright, my little blossom? I know you can take care of yourself but I worry.” The relief in Tom’s voice was palpable. However, she was right and the Guild was going to war against the League. Marinette was adored by nearly everyone in the Guild due to her strangely bubbly and cheery personality in the harsh and brutal lifestyle.

“I am fine, Papa. Did Maman use the Horse to leave? And how are my friends?” She knew they might be in a panic after her disappearance.

“I think she did. I didn’t see Kalki when I went to feed the kwamis. Your friends panicked when they found out you were kidnapped. But they are fine now, mostly worried about you. Took care of some akumas and senti monsters by themselves. I think your fencer friend, Kagami, knows more about the League than she lets on.” Of course, she does. Her mother was a member of the Guild before being blinded due to a mission. Kagami and her actually first met during a reunion party of sorts.

“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up and dialed the personal phone number her mother uses that only Marinette and her father knows about. She waited for the call to connect, trying to think of ways to stop her mother from storming into the League’s base of operation.

“Maman, it’s me. I know you want to attack the League right this minute. But I have a better plan. Can you get Tikki’s earrings from Alix? We can use them and the ring to destroy the Lazarus Pits. Make them really angry.” She peeked out of the niche she was hiding in. She had been there for a while and needed to move to gain some grounds.

“Where are you? And are you okay?” Panic and worry filled her usually composed mother’s voice.

“I am somewhere in Nanda Parbat and I am fine. I was nearly married off to Talia’s son but I am not now. I think.” Marinette replied. Better to rip that band-aid off before she showed up with her would-have-been-husband. She jumped out of the niche and looked

“Kalki, Full Gallop. Okay, we will talk about the ‘nearly married’ part later. What was this plan to destroy the Lazarus Pits?” Sabine thought she was already used to Marinette’s brand of craziness that was her normal but apparently, not.

“I am currently on my way there. Plagg said we need Tikki to get rid of them. Since the League pissed me off and by extension you and the rest of the Guild, I thought our first move against them is to destroy the Pits and a trail of bodies. By the way, can you get some cheese for Plagg?” Marinette ran through the halls, knocking out some poor sod with a whack on the head.

Silence. She thought Sabine had hung up when-

“Voyage. Alix, where are you? We need Tikki for one of Marinette’s insane plans. And Marinette, stay safe, sweety, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Bye, Maman. See you there.”

Marinette turned another corner, the last one before the path that leads to the entrance where the Lazarus Pits were. She only managed to find it with Plagg’s voice in her head, whispering directions and Tikki’s luck. Unfortunately, the luck ran out because the entrance had a lot of guards who had spotted her.

Crap.

She hoped her mother would get here soon. Thankfully, being transformed gave her a boost and would help her to hold her ground for a while.

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Damian and Red Hood followed the trail of unconscious bodies and sounds of fights, trying to find Lady. Damian was impressed at the level of her skills to defeat many of the League’s assassins although he could probably do better. They relied on his memory to find the Lazarus Pits which was their best bet to finding her as she claimed to be able to destroy them. If Lady possessed such powers, they must find out whether she is a threat to the world or not. And also break the infernal curse they have.

Red Hood was silent mostly. He made a few jabs about how kick ass his ‘bride’ was and how the current Robin should not let her get away. Damian tried really hard not to just maim his adopted brother and also ignore that little fluttering in his chest that happened every time they saw an unconscious assassin left behind by Lady. The sounds of fighting got louder as they got nearer to the entrance. They turned the final corner to see Lady fighting against the guards who outnumbered her. But she seemed to be doing fine against them. Mostly.

One had slipped through her defenses and nearly stabbed her in the back if it weren’t for Damian grabbing one of Red Hood’s guns and shooting a rubber bullet to the neck. He jumped into the fight, grabbing the fallen assassin’s sword and taking out the knife he got from his mother. Jason joined in too, not going to let the two teens have all the fun.

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“Thanks for the save, Al Ghul but I don’t know why you bothered when me being dead would solve your curse problem.” Lady said as the guards laid around them and they tried to catch their breath.

“It’s Wayne. I go by Wayne these days. Being an Al Ghul is not something I learned to be proud of. And as much as I don’t want this curse, your death is not worth that price.” he replied, “Although, I have to wonder why you would choose to die rather than live.”

She chuckled, “Okay, Wayne, to answer your question. Petty teenage drama makes death much more preferable. On top of that, I have responsibilities that I was practically forced into for doing one little act of kindness.” Her tone was joking but there was a touch of bitterness in it. It made Damian want to find out what caused it. Red Hood looked at her in concern. Lady went down the stairs, ignoring their reactions to her words. They followed her, not wanting to lose sight of her again.

The Lazarus Pits emitted a green glow that lit up the cave and cast strange shadows on the walls. At the edge of the glowing toxic green waters was a woman in dark blue clothing and strangely enough wearing sunglasses. Strapped to her sides were two Dao, ancient Chinese swords. She wore a vindictive expression on her face as she stood staring at the green lake, likely to kill anyone who gets in her way. Damian didn’t recognize the woman as part of the League but taking no chances, he got into a fighting stance and Hood did the same. Lady calmly approached the woman. He reached out to grab her to stop her suicidal nature when she shocked him by speaking to the blue-clad assassin in French,

“Hey, Maman, sorry I am late. I had a little trouble with the guards upstairs. You have Tikki?”

Lady’s mother rushed to hug her, “灵儿 (líng er), I am just glad you are alright. I knew you could handle yourself.”

How the hell did Lady’s mother get to the Lazarus Pits faster than them and snuck past several vigilant guards? Before Damian could question further, a red blur appeared and went to Lady’s face, hugging her cheek. It appeared to be the same size as Plagg but was red, looked like a bug and had a black dot on its forehead.

“Oh, Marinette, you are alright. I was so worried when your mother showed up, saying you were kidnapped and needed my earrings to escape.” Unlike Plagg’s nasally voice, her voice was sweet and shrill.

So, my bride’s name is Marinette. Such a unique name for an intriguing girl.

Wait what?

Wayne, stop thinking such ridiculous notions. That is probably the curse working. Resist against it. He will not be ensnared in the traps of such magic. He hoped that the curse will be reversed before he turns and act like those fools in Grayson’s idiotic shows or Todd’s ‘secret’ romance novels.

“I am fine now. See,” reassured Lady, “We actually need you and Plagg to reverse the Lazarus Pits to what it was before someone made the wish that resulted in them in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot. Plagg, claws in.”

Green light flashed, leaving Lady in her wedding robes (which actually flatter her body. Shit. Think of something else. Drake with a smug superior smile that needs to be wiped off his face. Grayson and his plans for ‘family bonding’) and Plagg to reappear.

“Cheese.” whined the cat-like kwami(?) to which the older woman held out a brown bag that smelled and made Plagg perk up in delight. He proceeded to open the bag, taking out a slice of stinky cheese, muttering about the greatness of camembert.

Todd cleared his throat and asked in English, “Umm...Pixie as much as your reunion is touching. Who’s the new lady?”

“Oh Right, sorry. Well, Red Hood, this is my mother, the Blue Reaper of the Guild of Night. Maman, this is Red Hood and the one next to him is my husband-to-be and Talia’s Spawn, Damian Wayne.”

Lady introduced them, also in English. Damian stilled in fear, recognizing the name. The Blue Reaper nearly became his mother-in-law. She was famous for her efficiency and ruthlessness. And gained her nickname from the blue clothing she often wore as she killed her targets. His eyes also widened at how his grandfather had gone a little too far now by kidnapping the Reaper’s daughter. There were other organizations that could possibly take down the League if it weren’t for the somewhat truce between Ra’s and the other leaders. The Guild was one of them and having the Lazarus Pits to revive their soldiers made the League a little more powerful. But if what the mother-daughter duo were planning succeeded, then the League was going to have one of its most deadly wars in its history and would probably never recover from.

“Tikki, Plagg, you guys ready?” asked Lady.

“Yes, Guardian.” They both replied and emitted a blinding red and green light which Damian shielded his eyes from. When it died down, the Lazarus Pits no longer glowed a toxic green and looked… like normal hot spring water.

“Oh. I wished I could see Ra’s face when he finds out.” Lady laughed. Plagg and Todd joined in.

“Pixie, I am beginning to like you.”

“Voyage. That being said, it’s time to go home, Marinette. Your father must be worried sick about us by now. I hope you boys can find your own way back.” A portal opened up, showing a cozy living room. Damian grabbed Lady’s wrist as she moved towards it.

“Wait, let us come with you. We need to contact someone to get rid of the curse on both of us. And we can also call our father to send us tickets for a ride home wherever you live.”

“Curse? Marinette, you never mentioned a curse in your call.” Blue Reaper said, raising her eyebrow.

“I will explain later. They can come with us and I am pretty sure Ra’s knows that we have escaped by now.” Lady grabbed the two brothers and dragged them through the portal.

She then threw herself onto the couch after releasing her hold on them and the two pocket gods went to comfort her after her ordeal. The Blue Reaper stood where the other portal was and fed a floating tiny gray horse, that must be the same species as Tikki or Plagg, some sugarcubes.

“You boys must be tired but the showers are upstairs and we might have some clothes your size. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You can stay the night if you want. Welcome to Paris.”

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(Part 5)

#damian x marinette #mlb x dc #daminette #maribat #Betrothal AU: take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #assassin marinette #sort of #assassin sabine cheng #definitely #Jason is just here for a ride #marinette is a little petty

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kemendin · 2 years

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Here is another round of outfits, mostly from playing through KOTFE content. Since it’s rather a different progression - tied more to story than location - I switched up my previous ‘here’s a new outfit for a new planet’ method and went with decisions based on both circumstance and mood. Descriptions below cut because some are spoilery.

1. Cas’ most ‘casual’ outfit, for hanging around the ship, as well as visiting locales that don’t (usually) necessitate combat.

2. What I’d call his ‘battlemaster’ outfit. Pre-KOTFE, he wore this for the most critical, combat-heavy missions, the ones that really were ‘succeed or die trying’.

Following certain EVENTS that changed everything, I mentally packed all Cas’ previous outfits away in his ship, considering them inaccessible aside from the one he was wearing at the time (Tatooine on my previous outfit post). This meant he needed new clothes! What a hardship! Gotta make more outfits!

3. Cas’ first new clothes in five years, picked up on Asylum. This is his ‘fugitive’ outfit.** I deliberately went for something muted, almost cobbled together, no longer an indication of his status as a Jedi - just man who’s lost and struggling. Even after the Alliance gains traction, Cas continues to wear this around the base, an act of defiance against the power being thrust on him again.

**This becomes way, WAY funnier later on when a certain SOMEONE also wears this. I had NO IDEA. It is absolutely canon in my book that this individual steals Cas’ coat. (I let him keep it, too, after everything)

4. A more ‘undercover’ look, for when it’s not convenient for Cas to be immediately recognised as a Jedi, and/or he’s getting his hands dirty with more ‘operative’ type missions. He wears this on Iokath and Star Fortresses in particular.

5. Roughly his ‘Alliance Commander’ outfit. More noticeably Jedi-esque, but still armoured and good for getting out in the field for regular combat missions.

6. This is, very specifically, his ‘I am off to kill the guy who stole five years of my life and I want him to know I mean BUSINESS’ outfit. Legitimately the only time he’s worn this.

7. Going to a grand party on Zakuul, gotta dress up, right? Fancy, elegant, echoing the gold-trimmed architecture of the planet. Shame so few people saw it under all that Knight armour.

8. Eternal Throne outfit. As soon as I saw this chestpiece I knew it was perfect for this occasion. The ensemble is meant to evoke the burden of what he’s doing, the reluctance with which he’s claiming the throne - heavy, layered, regal yet cumbersome. I didn’t intend to match it quite so perfectly to the throne itself, colour-wise, but I’m not complaining.

#swtor #swtor oc #swtor screenshots #swtor fashion #jedi knight #swtor kotfe #star wars the old republic #knights of the fallen empire #jedi oc #star wars #star wars oc #swtor:caspian #my oc #kem screenshots #i definitely do not have an outfit problem #kem plays dress up

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goddess-pan · 3 years

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Ore Hybrid!Reader x Dream SMP

Dsmp x reader prompt; Ore hybrid!Reader in the Dream SMP. Credit would be appreciated so more people can find this and make their own things based on it.

Requested from my idea list by @smolbox-png, if you would like to request something, you are still able to.

Mostly fluff and crack type prompt, but could be used for angst at some parts.

TW! Manipulation for one bit, and what could be a non-descriptive panic attack in another with it marked in bold (both the start and the end) for people to skip and remains as coherent piece with either or both removed/skipped. Also slight talk of blood, but non-descriptively in few places.

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Let's start of with the reader being an ore hybrid in general and then later move on to the specifics of the ore types if there are any unique features related to that ore specifically.

The reader's skin has a greyish tint to it and is covered in veins of the ore they are a hybrid of. The veins as well as their nails are made of their ore type. In some cases were they are more ore than human their bones are also made of the ore and their blood is a molten version of that ore. Most are at least slightly fire resistant, but not necessarily resistant to lava.

If the reader's ore can be made into armour they naturally have half of the protection wearing that armour type would provide. If their ore type doesn't have an armour set they only have slightly stronger skin, but still harder than a regular humans.

The reader would feel most at home either under or in the ground around the y-level the ore of their hybrid spawns at, and in the right dimension. So they would most likely have an underground base, whether that base is actually in a cave, a mine, an abandoned mineshaft, inside a mountain or a hill depends on preference and what’s available.

I think among the other people on the server who would have natural affinity to them depending on their ore type;

For Phil it would instinctually be any ore hybrid whose ore is shiny, in this case; Iron, gold, diamond and emerald. Plus redstone, but only if it's activated, and netherite, but only if the gold parts of them are visible.

For Techno it would instinctually be gold and netherite.

For Foolish it would be instinctually be gold and emerald.

For Fundy it would be instinctually be emerald, but only by a slight margin.

Some ore specific things that some of the different version can do;

Netherite hybrid wouldn't have the grey tint to their skin due to not only being a refined ore (an alloy, more specifically) but also due to not being based from an overworld ore. If one looked closely they could see tiny specs and streaks of gold in the veins. They are also the only one immune/resistant to lava and fire.

Gold hybrid passively pacifies piglins similarly to wearing gold armour. The only ore hybrid whose skin could be tinted grey or red, depending on whether they are overworld or nether based. Their favourite biome would be either the badlands (the mesa) if overworld based and the nether in general if nether based.

Iron hybrid would be able to use themselves to set things on fire if they have a piece of flint. They would also feel a weird kinship towards iron golems.

Redstone hybrid would emit a light if they get hit or tapped due to getting activated that way.The light lasting for about a minute before stopping. The redstone in them gets activated by active redstone like redstone torches and blocks of redstone.

Lapis lazuli hybrid would need one less piece of lapis lazuli to enchant since they can just use their nails to write or coat the enchantments on whatever they are enchanting. Their blood dyes anything it touches very easily and it's almost impossible to wash off.

Coal hybrid would have strange affinity to wither skeletons that they don't quite understand. They can light their fingers on fire and use them as an impromptu torch. Probably the only one who could make their base on the surface overworld and still be comfortable.

Emerald hybrid tends to get a lot of discounts from any villagers they trade with. Their favourite biome or most specifically the one they are most comfortable in would be the mountains/extreme hills.

Now on to some small scenarios of them interacting with others on the server or the other way around;

Tubbo definitely wanted to perform some experiments with them to test their powers/abilities similar to the way he did to Ranboo when they found about his silk touch hands.

TW! Panic Attack Ranboo having a mental breakdown, because he wanted to make the reader some gifts with their specific ore type (for ex. having a piece of it as the center piece of jewelry he made) but now that he thinks about it he isn’t sure of whether they would be delighted or horrified that he technically used their kin to make things that he would gift them. Aaand now he’s facing the moral dilemma of whether this is ethical or not. Techno ends up finding him spiraling and goes to try and calm him down, but then Ranboo ends up telling him about it. Techno starts to think about the times he’s not only gifted them things, but also about the times he ended up using the ore without even thinking with them in the same room as him. And now they are both spiraling. When Phil finally finds them both, he had to call the reader on the comms to ask them about it so that they would have definitive answer and calm down. TW! End

Several people have made the joke “Could this be considered blood money?” when the reader has bought something using their ore type (since it technically could be).

Ranboo has on few occasions while sleepwalking picked the reader up and moved them to another place. Should the reader try to move away while he’s still around he would end up getting agitated, but still move them back. So in short; they have to wait for Ranboo to either leave the area or wake up. This would end up happening to the emerald hybrid most often due to their veins’ colour reminding him of grass blocks.

All of the people on the list of people who had an affinity for a certain ore type; Phil, Techno, Foolish and Fundy, have on multiple occasions walked straight into something or tripped due to them staring at the reader. Primal brain go brrr when they see them, especially if it’s unexpected, and then they forget to watch where they are going. Phil is the prime offender and he gets so very easily distracted by a person sized shiny thing before crashing straight into something. Foolish’s brain goes “Shiny! Kin?” and ends up staring longer than he thought, it ending up with him walking straight into a tree with him laughing it off. Fundy’s thoughts go more on the lines of “Ooh, want! Take? Steal? Wait, no, no, no! They’re a person, bad brain, bad brain.” and while he is scolding his thoughts he ends up walking straight into a wall. And Technoblade, well uhhh, here’s the funny thing... if the reader is a gold hybrid he might just stare at them at first, but after few seconds if he didn’t end up walking into something or tripping, he’s barreling straight towards them. If the reader’s holding onto someone or the other way around they just get a bunch of jealous snorts coming the other person’s way. However if no one is in contact with the reader or they are alone he is going to pick them up and carry them until he either; snaps out of it or he has stored them safely in his home.

TW! Manipulation. Both Technoblade and Dream were very interested on if one could use the reader’s blood with molds to make resources out of them. This would be possible if the reader’s blood was the molten variety of their ore, but if the reader was a very human ore hybrid it would be less so. While both of them are interested in the prospects of it they have very different ways of going about it. Techno would ask the reader about it and if they were okay with trying it. If they said no to it he would sulk for a bit, but then accept it, only theorizing about it without experiments. While Dream would go down one of three routes; Route one being budding up to the reader and guilt tripping them if they said no when he asked, Route two being acquiring a favor from the reader and cashing it in to try it, and Route three being kidnapping them and doing it anyway (whether it would be him that did the kidnapping or someone he convinced to do it for him is up for debate). TW! Ends.

Once Quackity has gotten Las Nevadas set up enough he might hire them as “eye-candy” for the casinos. The reasons for that being; that he would have noticed that they get stared at by some of the other people on the server if they were any of the hybrids that a person had an affinity over, their hybridization being eye catching in general and of course the obvious connection people’s mind makes from seeing ore; wealth. The position reader would have as their actual job title would depend on what he think they would most likely accept whether that be; a dealer, the entertainment, a bartender, a server or a security guard. After all not that many people like to be hired for their looks.

#mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp fanfic #Pans Writing Prompts #tw blood #tw panic attack #tw manipulation

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 3 years

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Imagine being Sokka’s childhood best friend who left to join the war and reuniting with him years later.

You and Sokka were friends before either of you could walk. Children were in short demand in your tribe so when you were born only 6-months apart it was a given you’d be playmates but you and Sokka also became inseparable almost instantly. You both had the same dry sarcastic humour and your personalities worked well together. For the first few years of your life all you were concerned with was staying taller than Sokka and Polarbear dogs but then fire nation attacked and killed Sokka’s mother.

After the brutal attack the remaining tribesman decided to make one final stand against the fire nation and all the eligible men began preparing to leave with one exception...you. You had just turned 11 and so based on past custom weren’t too young to go to war. Of course your tribe didn’t want to take a child but your only family was your father and he was leading the war effort with Hakoda. You had no other family left to watch you and so you managed to talk your father into bringing you along. Sokka tried to do the same but as he was 10 Hakoda said he was too young. Sokka had been furious to say the least. He didn’t see why you’d be allowed and he wouldn’t be, 6 months was hardly anything and his sexist attitude made it sting all the more. He pouted constantly up until the day you left when he suddenly sprinted to the shore at the last minute and hugged you tightly. “I’m still mad at you but if only one of us can go to war....well I’m glad it’s you and not one of the other kids”. You smiled “not quite a heartfelt goodbye but i’ll take it”. “Y/n come on” your father called and you nodded. “I have to go...”. Sokka nodded “of course, kick some fire bender butt for me and erm....don’t die”. You laughed “you too” and with a final smile to Sokka joined your father and the other men to go to war.

That was 5 years ago and you hadn’t seen or heard from Sokka since. You thought about him and home a lot but honestly life at war was very demanding. You were largely sheltered from it by your fellow tribesmen and didn’t actually engage in any combat until you were 14 but still you felt the burden of the impossible victory on your shoulders. Every time you took a step forwards the fire nation seemed to push you back three...but things changed when the avatar came back. It shook the fire nation and surely but slowly you were making gains in the war.

After one successful victory you were in particularly high spirits and woke up early to go and fetch some water for you and your father. As you returned to camp you set the water down in your tent and headed to get breakfast. The camp seemed different you noted, people seemed to be hurrying to the centre excitedly and so you picked up your pace. You suddenly heard a loud cry and worrying you were under attack began to run to camp. A large group had gathered and you looked for the threat but realised everyone seemed happy...not scared. Everyone was focused on a group of men who had come out of the war tent. The group of men themselves were all talking excitedly, focused on one man in particular. You knew every single man in this camp but couldn’t work out who this one was. He was definitely water tribe and young, around your age and looked oddly familiar. He had bright blue eyes and a sharp chin which suited him very well. Everyone seemed to know him and it frustrated you that you couldn’t work out who he was. He was talking to your father and Hakoda warmly and you stared at his face feeling you knew him. Then it clicked, it was Sokka.

Sokka’s POV

Sokka had been nervous to walk into camp but the second he did everyone rushed to hug and welcome him. Sokka felt happier than he had in a long time. He stood next to his father unable to remove the smile from his face when he spotted your father and a thought occurred to him. "Where’s y/n?" Sokka asked when he spotted you feet away. You looked like you’d just arrived here and were staring at Sokka as if you couldn’t work out who he was. Sokka went to call out to you when you smiled. "Sokka?" you asked in disbelief and Sokka blushed. It may’ve taken you a second to recognise him but he’d know your face anywhere. "It’s me y/n" he smiled and your own smile turned into a large grin. You rushed forwards and hugged Sokka tightly. Sokka heard a lot of “awes” from the crowd but he didn’t process them, he was too focused on you. You pulled away and both grinned at one another babbling greetings and questions. Then there was an awkward pause where you both just stared at one another. It had been over 5 years since you’d seen each other and you had both changed a lot since then so it took a lot of effort to process. Sokka was pleasantly surprised to find he was taller than you now. As kids he had steadily caught you up over the years but you left before he could claim his victory. Now he was undeniably taller than you and he couldn’t wait to tease you about that but he noted you’d beat him in other aspects. Your arms were more toned and bigger than his, well defined and taut after the years of training and Sokka could see the same went for all your limbs by the shape of your neck and shoulders. Your hair too was longer and partially braided which Sokka had never seen before. Of course the braids symbolised battles you’d been a part of and Sokka felt proud not envious at how they decorated your face. Your face too was also more defined, your cheeks seemed higher and more angular but your eyes had remained striking and your lips still bright pink. Even the way you held yourself was different, you were a warrior now Sokka realised and that thought made him feel fuzzy.

Your POV

When the silence between you got too awkward Hakoda coughed "y/n, Sokka has travelled here from his journey with the avatar". "What?" you cried in disbelief and Sokka just smiled lazily “yeah...”. "Sokka why don’t you go with y/n to our tent and tell her all about it over breakfast?" your father suggested. Sokka nodded and you led him away to your family tent. You kept staring at him convinced he wasn’t real. Sokka had changed a lot. The height difference was a shock but not the biggest. His face had lost its baby cheeks resulting in chiselled cheekbones and his hair was a lot longer. He was more toned too, not muscley per se but his arms had definition and you struggled not noticing. His eyes were the same though and they were the one thing that made you sure this was your friend. They made you feel at ease as they always did and you just turned to Sokka and laughed “I can’t believe you’re here”. “Me either!” Sokka cried “I...I imagined this day for so long”. “We all missed you a lot” you said worried Sokka was still upset you got to go when he didn’t “and thought about you every day” you added. “You did huh?” he asked with a smirk and you realised Sokka was fine. You did not need to be worried. “I said we, not me” you said pointedly and Sokka grinned “yeah but I know you meant you missed me, you just didn’t want to admit it”. You forgot how well Sokka could see through you and shook your head “okay I guess I missed you...now tell me everything! How on earth did you become friends with the avatar?”.

Throughout Sokka’s story you stared in awe and barely touched your food. Everything Sokka told you sounded insane and you made him promise several times that he was being serious. Sokka animatedly told each part of the story and you couldn’t help smiling at how enthusiastic he was. You’d missed this and him a lot.

“So you two all caught up?” your father asked suddenly entering the tent and Sokka shook his head “not even close! I was just telling y/n about our fight with the fire nation navy in the northern water tribe”. Your father laughed placing a hand on Sokka’s shoulder “well that will have to wait, y/n has training...maybe you’d like to join her?”. You saw Sokka’s eyes light up at the thought of attending actual warrior training and smiled. “Yes!” he cried leaping up “if erm...you don’t mind of course”. You smirked “it’s been five years since I saw you, do you really think i’m letting you out of my sight?”. Sokka blushed looking down but you didn’t notice. You were already tugging Sokka out of the tent “come on! If we show up first we get the good armour!”.

Sokka’s POV

All-day you sparred and trained in water tribe drills. Sokka was equally exhausted and exhilarated. When his father declared the session over his exhaustion won however and he collapsed on the sand and crawled to the water. He heard a laugh and you appeared next to him “tired huh?”. “No! I could go for hours!”. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Sokka sipped his water and glanced at you. You were cleaning your sword and the sun reflected off it making your eyes shine. Your eyes had always been darker than the traditional light blue, they were a very dark blue and only when the sun shone on them was their true colour illuminated, like now. Sokka forgot how beautiful they were and looked away before you could notice him staring. “You were really good in training” he said softly and you smiled glancing at him “no sarcasm? Was that a genuine compliment?”. Sokka grinned “yes! You know I can be serious”. “Wow you have changed” you smirked and Sokka blinked “you think?”. You nodded your head “you’re more mature now, you have this sureness about you and an air of confidence like a leader does...it’s nice” you smiled “and then you make a goofy face and you’re back to the 10-year old I remember”. Sokka smiled and leant back on his elbows just enjoying this moment in the sun with you. “You’ve not changed a bit” he told you and you blinked “really?”. He nodded “I saw you earlier trying to work out who I was but I didn’t need two seconds to spot you”. “Well duh i’m the only girl here!” you cried but Sokka shook his head. “That wasn’t it, I’d know your face anywhere. I worried after you left I’d forget it but you’re exactly as I remembered...every detail like I pictured”. You blushed as Sokka spoke so softly but soon regained your bearings, “and you pictured me often?”. Sokka didn’t even blink “of course I did”. Your blush rose again at Sokka’s confidence and you saw he had a small smirk on his face. Sokka went to speak again when an alarm rang out. You both jumped to your feet. “What does that mean?” Sokka asked and you frowned “nothing good, come on” and ran back to the camp. Everyone was gathered around grabbing armour and weapons. “Dad, what’s going on? Are we under attack?” Sokka called. Hakoda nodded “yes, y/n get ready, Sokka.....”. “Dad I can fight, please let me come with you” Sokka said loudly and you looked at Hakoda to see what he’d say. Hakoda stared at Sokka before he looked directly past him to at you “how would you like to lead your first duo mission Y/n?”. You grinned “I’d love to”. “Great, Sokka stick with y/n and do everything she says, do as she does and you’ll be just fine”. Sokka nodded and rushed to your side. “This is so cool” he whispered and you smirked as you helped him put on his armour. “Don’t get too excited these things can get dangerous quickly, stay with me okay?”. “And you’ll protect me?” Sokka asked batting his eyelashes but his smirk fell away when without a second thought you nodded “of course I will”. Your low voice filled with determination made Sokka blush and look away. “You ready?” you asked and Sokka nodded “ready” and you rushed into battle.

Sokka did exactly what you said and the battle was a success. He was impressed at how much you’d learned and how great a leader you were. You largely kept the fighting away from him by making yourself the bigger target but when Sokka did engage you were always on hand to help push away any fatal blows. Sokka got out of his first battle without so much as a scratch and it was all down to you. When Hakoda declared victory everyone began to cheer and Sokka grabbed you “That was....you were amazing out there y/n!” Sokka grinned and you smiled “it’s nothing...”. “Are you kidding? There were men there twice your age and size but you knocked them aside like they weighed nothing”. “Well what about you?” you asked “you’ve clearly been training a lot since we left, I take back everything I said about your boomerang it’s a great weapon”. “Wow you’re admitting you were wrong? You had changed” Sokka smirked and you smiled.

As this was the first battle Sokka has successfully fought in he was due his first-ever warrior braid. Hakoda explained it wasn’t a large ceremony, he basically just went into a tent without a braid and came out with one but still Sokka was nervous. Of course he’d practised them lots, all water tribe children did for the day they’d get to add one to their hair but now the day was finally here....he was very anxious.

Your POV

You waited with all the other men for Sokka outside the tent. It was taking a while and you wondered what was taking Sokka so long. “I’ll just check he’s okay” you told your fathers and walked through the flap of the tent. Sokka was fiddling with her hair muttering to himself angrily. He didn’t seem to like the type of plait he was making and would shake it out each time with an irritated mutter. “Sokka?” you asked and he jumped. “I can’t get it right!” he cried “I’ve been dreaming of this day since we were five but I can’t make it work. Sokka tried again seizing his hair tightly and you noticed his hands were shaking. You came to stand behind Sokka and pushed his hands away softly “let me”. You grabbed Sokka’s hair carefully and began to braid it into the traditional warrior plait pattern. Sokka watched and saw the concentration on your face as you twisted his hair effortlessly into a pattern. “There” you said softly tying a small band around it “your first warrior plait, is it okay?”. You held up a mirror and Sokka grinned at his reflection, he was finally a warrior! “I love it!” he cried “thank you y/n” and hugged you. You laughed and hugged Sokka back, “no problem, now come on let's show it off”. You and Sokka walked outside and Hakoda grinned. “My son is officially one of us” he cried and everyone broke out into cheers.

Sokka’s POV

Everyone crowded around to congratulate him and Sokka’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. The celebrations were well underway and all the men were keen for Sokka to join them but after a courteous sweep of them Sokka found his way back to you.

You were sat on the outskirts of the camp staring out at the ocean. “Not one for festivities?” Sokka asked sinking beside you and you shrugged “I don’t mind them...but peace and quiet are just as appealing” you smiled “that’s hard to get with a camp full of men”. As if to prove your point a loud water tribe chant broke out and you both laughed. “Well let's go for a walk then” Sokka said jumping up and you followed him. You and Sokka walked towards the ocean and you asked him to carry on his story. He talked rapidly about the attack of the northern water tribe. You listened and just let Sokka’s words sweep over you. You were mainly just watching him amused at how many expression he could pull at once and had to look away to stop yourself from chuckling. When Sokka finished his tale and took a breath you smiled “wow that sounds...unreal!”. Sokka nodded “it was, a lot of things on my travel have been like that, from moon spirits to banished princes, i’ve seen it all!”. “You’re quite the explorer aren’t you” you commented and Sokka nodded “yep, and you’re quite the warrior, we’re certainly doing our tribe proud”. “That we are” you nodded and silence fell. You were sat close together and an idea suddenly struck him. What would you do if he placed his arm around you? He wasn’t sure what made him think that, you and he had always just been friends but now...Sokka wasn’t too sure why that was. Out of everyone in camp you were the person he’s been most excited to see and that didn’t feel just like friendship to him. Without really thinking, caught up in the moment, Sokka went to move his arm when you noticed his movement and glanced down at his arm. Sokka blushed and pretended he was scratching it. “Are you okay?” you asked and Sokka nodded “yep just my arm fell asleep”. “Ow that makes sense, you know for a second there I thought you were going to put it around me...”. Silence settled and you realised Sokka had been planning on doing that. Sokka was blushing vividly and you blinked unsure what to do or say. “Sokka i...” you started when you heard loud gasps from camp and both looked up to see Appa. Sokka frowned confused, Aang wasn’t due back for another three days but here he was. Aang soon dismounted and appeared in front of you both “Sokka! Good you’re still here...”. “Yeah we just got back a few hours ago” Sokka explained "Aang this is y/n my friend from the southern water tribe and y/n this is Aang the avatar". "Wow" you said wide-eyed "it’s amazing to meet you". Aang smiled but it was a tense smile "Sokka we have to go" he cried. Aang explained Katara was in danger and worry ran across Sokka’s face. “We have to leave now” Aang said and Sokka nodded “sure just give me two minutes”. Sokka spun around and you were surprised to see he looked nervous. The tension from earlier had gone, this was more serious. "Y/n i’m sorry but i have to go..." he started to explain nervously when you cut him off. "Of course you do" you cried "Katara needs you!". Sokka smiled sadly "i know but it’s been so nice to see you again after all this time, so I was thinking...would you want to come with me?". You were utterly taken back "go with you?". "Yeah, you could travel with us? It’s dangerous and we get attacked a lot but i bet a warrior like you can handle it". You paused "Sokka i’d really like to but i made an oath to our elders to fight in this war...i don’t think i can change it and come with you no matter how much i want to". Sokka’s smile slipped but he nodded his head "it’s okay i figured as much but thought it was worth a shot". You nodded and touched his arm "are you planning on coming back soon?". Sokka bit his lip "i don’t know and we really have to go...i’ll try okay, i really will so hopefully i’ll see you soon". You nodded believing him but also studied his face again in case you didn't see him for another 5 years. "I’ll come back I promise y/n" Sokka told you and you smiled hugging him "i believe you". Sokka melted into you when Aang’s noises of impatience made him pull away. "Until then keep up the good work" Sokka smiled saluting you. You saluted him back as he walked away and flew off on the air bison with the avatar.

Sokka made Aang tell him absolutely everything and then they sat in silence waiting to arrive back in Ba Sing Sei. Fear filled Sokka’s mind but as scared as he was, you kept coming back into his mind. He wondered what you had been about to say before Appa arrived and wondered if you could possibly, maybe like him too. The fact he liked you was a new sensation for Sokka but he realised he had just been oblivious before and it had always been there. You had always been the one he came to, the one he liked being around the most, the one he cared about more than himself or anything. He’d always liked you he just hadn’t realised it. “Your hair looks nice” Aang said suddenly “the plait suits you”. Sokka touched it absentmindedly and smiled “my friend y/n did it for me”. “The girl you were with?”. Sokka nodded “yeah she’s my best friend”. Aang smiled “I bet it was nice to see her”. Sokka nodded “it really was” and blushed, he’d find a way to see you again and he’d been damned if he had to wait another five years.

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xopheliasunflowerx · 3 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering maybe you could write a oneshot with Tim Drake based on his appearance in the Arkhamverse (which is criminally underrated in my humble opinion) involving these two prompts: “Hold my hand.” and “I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it.” Very much appreciated! ❤️

Worries (Tim Drake Imagine)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Prompts: “hold my hand”, “I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

Definitely my favourite games (one of my very first too) also EXTREME FLUFF

~*~*~

Finally a night of empty crimes, which was quite unusual for Gotham City. Tim has finished his patrol of Gotham and everything seems clear, finally. He smiles softly as he runs on the rooftops, a thought of you enters his mind, god he misses you, your soft touch he misses so dearly. He could really use your cuddles right now, especially since he’s been a bit stressed lately with his hero stuff. He could really use a break every now and then.

He makes it to your widow, seeing a small amount of light on there, the colour of your F/C curtain. His heart races a bit, completely flattered he feels. A heartwarming smile enters his lips as he opens the window. His fingers grasp the wood as he slides it up. He then slides in and his feet hitting the floor ever so lightly making sure not to disturb you. He then closes the widow behind him, quietly.

He pulls off his suit and armour and puts it in your wardrobe, then pulling out his clothes he’s either left here or you stole from him. He chuckles as his heart fluttered once again, he picked up a dark green shirt and it laced the smell of you. He throws the shirt on as he picked up a pair of shorts and put them on.

“Tim?” You moan as you sit up from your bed.

Tim turns to face you, a small smile entering his face. You look beautiful, your hair a mess, your sleepy voice making him feel butterflies. You rub your eyes as Tim walks over towards you, holding your hands as his thumb rubs them.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to.” He said apologetically. You show a tired smile as you rest your head on his palm. You gave him a weak kiss against in hand as he smiles softly at you.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it here safe.” You say as he chuckles at you.

“I’m always careful.”

“Bullshit.”

Tim laughs as he pulls his hands away as he watches you, he was admiring your beauty, god he loves you. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without you. He would always make sure that you were safe, especially from the criminals he faces daily, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if they got you. He’d be heartbroken, he cherishes you too much, you’re the love of his life.

He then jumps into your bed as you make room for him. He always takes the side closer to the door, just incase any intruders come in, then he can quickly take them out. He lays down as you lay against his chest.

“Hold my hand.” He says as you simply smile as you take his hand in yours, he simply lifts it up and kisses it making you giggle. He holds you close to him, scared you’ll be taken away. Tim always does this, just to make sure nothing bad will ever happen to you.

“How was tonight?” You ask as he turns to face you, his blue eyes staring at you with a shine in them.

“Awfully quiet, it was strange.” He said as you nod your head. It was quite odd, normally he’ll be out much later and return with more bruises and cuts and you patching him up later. “But I’m glad, it means I can have more time with you my love.” He says making you show a small smile on your lips.

He turns to face you, eyes locking with one another. He leans in as you lean in as well, lips touching as you both begin to kiss. It was sweet and passionate, soft just like his lips. It felt like you both were flying it was just amazing, Tim always knew how to kiss you right.

He pulls away as he shows a painful expression on his face. You show a small frown as you lift your hand onto his cheek, your thumb rubbing his cheek.

“I’m scared to lose you, Y/N. This life isn’t for you, you shouldn’t be dealing with my wounds and me being constantly worried about you. It sucks. I’m sorry.” He admits, making you pout.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, you know I can look after myself. You trained me of course, remember when those thugs came on me? I took after them didn’t I? I’ll be okay! I promise you, darling.” You reassure him. He looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

“I can’t think of a life that doesn’t have you in it, how dreadful that would be. I love you.” He says as he kisses you once again.

He then grabs your waist pulling him on top of you as you giggle. You straddle your hips on top of his as he groans.

“I love you too.”

And with that you two spend most of your nights cuddling and kissing, just enjoying each other’s company. Enjoying each other’s love.

@halietigges I hope you like your request thank you for requesting!

#Tim drake #Tim drake x reader #Tim drake imagine #Tim drake x you #Tim drake imagines #arkham knight #Arkham knight tim drake #arkhamverse #fluff #fluff imagine

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soft-for-them · 3 years

Text

frumpkin ♡ caleb widogast x reader

Annon🪐: Hey!! I saw your post about writing for critical role and got so excited, always happy to have more writers! I'd love to see a Caleb x reader where he comforts the reader during a panic attack. I don't really have a preference as to headcanons vs one-shots, so whichever you’d prefer. Hope I didn't miss anything, thanks!

Anyone can read this, can be platonic or romantic, it’s based on my own panic attacks so sorry if it’s a bit specific, not proof read like usual.

Panic attacks have always plagued your life, it’s a thing you have unfortunately learnt to live with.

You know all the breathing exercises and mind tricks to get you out of an attack but really all you ever want when you feel the nervous feeling of panic rile up in you is a friend to talk to. For trying to stop a panic attack by yourself never truly works. You always find that stopping a panic attack by yourself makes you feel down for the rest of the day.

When you were a teenager you had ran away from your home to the circus, taken in by the half elf Gustav Fletching. For the first couple of years you helped the circus folk set up tents and decorate, then you found your love for art (no matter how good or bad you are at it).

Many years later you still helped out with the big top but you had become a portrait artist getting extra money from the patrons that came to the shows.

When you were around twenty or so you had met Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin.

The blood hunter and barbarian had always had their own ways of calming you down before you could have a full on panic attack but neither of them have ever seen you have a proper one.

Molly is always the type of person who would tell you stories to try to get you to calm down and Yasha would always try and stay near you becoming a shoulder to cry on if need be. However, none of them have ever seen you pace up and down whilst tears stream down your face and your hands shake in absolute discomfort.

No, they have never seen you fully break down.

Your panic attacks have almost disappeared since joining the Mighty Nein, since your found family has grown bigger. Yeah, you miss the carnival but you now feel like you’re doing something with your life now that you’re on this journey.

The Nein and you have all be travelling, in between quests, the canopy of the forest lighting the squiggly path to the next town. Right now you are setting up you tent that looks like a mini high top, the happy memories of your carnival days flooding your brain.

The tent is big enough for three or four people, depending on how bulky someone is. Normally it’s you, Mollymauk and Yasha snuggled in the tent much like you’re used to.

With a good meal in you and the sun setting you take the first watch, watching the orange sun blending in with purple that the night sky brings.

Soon enough Fjord taps you on your shoulder telling you softly that you watch is up.

With a soft smile you give him a small hug and a hearty goodnight, wishing him a peaceful sleep. The tall half orc only splutters out a ‘You too, goodnight (y/n).’

You have developed a soft spot for the half orc. You hug him once more him now sitting down and you bending down to do so you say your finale goodnight.

It’s a short walk to your tent, it’s very hard to miss, the patched up striped reds and pokkadot patterns stand out even in the dimming lights of the night. With a long stretch, your arms raised above your head, you walk into the tent Molly already in his corner of the tent.

‘To bed this early?’ you muse as you take off your boots and light armour.

‘Need my beauty sleep.’ He jokes sipping on a little flask presumably of some strong alcohol.

‘Well sleeping does help with beauty sleep.’ You joke back as you like down in the middle of the tent, leaving a gap to you over side for Yasha or any other person who feels like sleeping inside your tent (though it’s always been you, Molly and Yasha inside the colourful tent.)

For a while the two of you talk, mostly on the subject of setting up Yasha and Beau up like the good friends you both are but soon the talk turns to who Molly might want to set you up with.

‘You fancy someone don’t you?’ he teases knowing full well that you do have a thing for someone in the Mighty Nein.

‘Shut up Molly!’ you mutter turning away from him and snuggling into your covers.

Your try to sleep but he keeps on talking.

‘Is it… Caleb, you two share a similar quiet and shy nature, though you actually wash.’

You ignore him.

‘Or Fjord? I think he likes you and your hugs?’

You cover you head with your blanket.

‘Oh, are you into one of the lovely women of the group, Jester has been spending a lot of time around you lately?’

‘Mollymauk Tealeaf I will smother you if you don’t let me sleep!’

The purple tiefling chuckles but drops the questing, allowing you to fall asleep.

You wake up in fear, cold sweat dripping down your neck and back, the white of your shirt surly soaked. Your eyes shift around quickly to the people sleeping soundly in your tent. Molly is were he was before, deep in his beauty sleep. However, you are now sandwiched in between him and Yasha.

She must have fished her shift for she is fast asleep stealing part of your blanket.

Your breathing is laboured and you feel weak.

‘It was only a dream (y/n).’ you try to reason with yourself, sitting up and throwing the rest of your blanket onto Yasha.

Surely you can’t wake them up now, right?

The feeling you have is panic but you aren’t in a full blow panic attack yet, Molly and Yasha know what to do to calm you down. But they are asleep and you fear that if you wake any of them that they’d be angry with you.

They certainly won’t be angry with you but your brain says untrue things to you when your panicky.

First you try some breathing exercises.

They do not work.

You then try and search around for your sketchbook. Jester had drawn a cartoon of you and her in it that automatically makes you feel happy.

You can’t find the book in the dark.

You truly don’t want to wake up Molly or Yasha, you really don’t.

So, you scramble out of your tent, no shoes or coat, you just need to get out.

The cold early morning air hits you, the sun not even up yet but the moon low in the sky.

When you had first met the Nein you had tried to get to know everyone, despite your more introverted nature compared to the more colourful characters of the group. One night you had helped Nott pick pocket a rich man, not your greatest moment but it was very fun.

Out on that little stealing adventure Nott had said something that has stuck with you.

‘Sometimes just walking about outside calms me down, stealing helps as well.’ The stealing part might not help you but the walking part might.

With socked feet and hands stimming you begin to walk towards where you were earlier taking watch.

Molly, Yasha or Fjord won’t be there but there must be someone there to talk to before your start to cry.

The short walk towards the watch area seems like you’re walking a mile and your breaths start to become even more infrequent, you forgetting to breath out when you inhale a large breath. Tears begin to rim your eyes and your hands carry on shaking.

You’re not going to make it to whoever is on watch, you are going to break.

You stop and drop to the floor, legs crossed and hands going to you face, wiping away the now falling tears that don’t seem to stop. In this sitting down position you begin to slowly rock back and forward, tiny sobs escaping your lips.

Unknown to you the place you have decided to sit down and cry in is near enough to the person on watch that they can hear your sobs.

Caleb stands up, looking over the camp, seeing you breaking down on the forest floor.

He has no clue what to properly do.

Normally he is alone when he had any kind of panic attack but then he realises something. The last couple of attacks he has personally had Nott was actually around to help him. Nott was always there to calm him down with cuddles and calm words.

Could he go and get Nott?

No, that would get more attention on the panicked you.

Who else helps him?

Frumpkin!

Caleb quickly summons the cat familiar and he points over to you.

‘Go over to (y/n), ya?’ the Bengal cat nudges his head into Caleb’s legs then pounces off to the crying you.

As soft lump steps into your lap and nudges to hand covered face with its soft fur.

You nervously take down a hand to see Frumpkin nudging you in the way only cats do. He pauses for a moment but proceeds to carry on nudging you when he still sees tears dripping down your face.

Your breathing hitches but there is some kind of clarity as the cat nuzzles the wetness of your cheeks almost like he’s purposely wiping away your tears.

‘…Frumpkin…’ tears well up again but not in sadness per say, it’s a combination of still being panicky but also happiness that the ginger cat is trying to calm you down.

Your arms snake around the slim cat in a small cuddle, you still rocking just a bit.

‘D-did Caleb send you?’ you whisper to the cat in your arms, knowing the answer to the question.

Once your wobbly words are spoken you look up to see a nervous looking Caleb standing near. He fidgets a bit, not looking you in the eyes, though you aren’t looking at him directly either.

‘May I sit down meine liebste?‘ he asks. All you do is nod your head.

He sits down about a body away from you but you automatically nudge up to him so your legs are touching, Frumpkin purring at the two of you.

Your breathing is still a bit funny, a breath being held in. Caleb pauses as he, his hand stops pats Frumpkin’s head.

‘Let your breath out, breath.’ you look at Caleb and try to match his breathing.

‘Thank you, Caleb.’you eventually say.

Your body is still hunched over but you have calmed down, the panic attack has passed, which is very different to normal.

‘Not need to thank me (y/n), no need to thank me.’ He takes his had off of Frumpkin’s head and pats your knee, albeit a bit awkwardly but it gets you both looking up to each other.

You give him a small smile which makes his ear turn red in a blush.

‘C-can I take watch with you for a while?’ you ask.

‘Ya, we can watch the sun rise together.’

i had a bit of a hard time formatting it so sorry if it looks odd.

also, please send in some more critical role requests! (do mind that i’m new to listening to campaign two.)

#critical role #critical role x reader #caleb widogast x reader #the mighty nein x reader #the mighty nein #caleb widogast #frumpkin

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fictional-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Bitter

nsfw. the mandolorian x reader

warnings: slight angst, smut w a hint of rough sex, rollercoaster of emotions in dis bitch

words: 5.8k

He’s standing outside her door, feeling a thousand feet away but it’s only a lock and a few inches of wood separating him from you. His gloved fingers tap nervously on the hilt of his long weapon, under the helmet he’s chewing his bottom lip, colouring it red, contemplating, thinking, smoothing over the idea in his mind.

He can’t see her now.

He’s a mess, still pumped on adrenaline from returning from his last job, it ended brutally, all he remembers is blood running down the street in thick streams, cracked open skulls and the dim echos of screaming. His eyes close, dark lashes kiss his cheeks and he’s erasing the memories from his mind, only wishing he didn’t have to knock on that damn door, pass over the threshold and finally be rid of recollection.

Surely she’d answer. She always did.

What is holding him back? His own guilt of betrayal? His errors of the past haunt him, soak deep into his skin he nearly finds himself turning away from you when he needs her most. That’s it. The Mandalorian is chewing on the idea that he does need her, it feels sharp on his lips, its thick and sickly sweet, a poisoned wine he’s desperate to try and accept. The thought of her is held high over his head, a knife of vulnerability threatening to drop over his skin, slide and peel back the foundations of his history. He’s alone in the galaxy, a hunter, a killer, torn from all things the world says people need in order to survive.

She’s not that.

She’s everything he knows he would want to be.

And he needs her. Maybe not forever, but not another moment should go by without him near her.

The Mandalorian sighs deeply and lifts his fist to tap on her door, number 017. He’s been there so many times the number greets him with familiarity. He’s rolling his sore neck, the helmet tilted and he’s staring at the ugly brown ceiling as short steps approach the door, its creaking open and his heart is starting to beat faster, trapped under the confines of his ribs it’s threatening to escape.

The world calms and she’s in front of him, dressed down in casual clothing she’s barefoot and her hair is let down. It’s warm light and the smell of home, wrapped in her curiosity filled eyes he’s finding no words to speak. It’s been so long.

“Mando,” she’s whispering softly but no one is around to hear the gentle way she’s saying his nickname she claimed as her own. Her arms cross, there’s a chill in the hallway and he sees her shiver. Her eyes scan him over, searching for a wound or ailment. The Mandalorian is okay, he’s safe and she’s been worried over nothing. His armour clinks as he shifts his boots on the hard ground. “Come in,”

She’s stepping back and offering him room to pass over the threshold, his aura of power and destruction follows the soldier into the room. Her eyes are on the guns and the knife concealed on his lace up boot. He’s still the same. The door closed behind him and he’s alien to her homely flat, plants and books stacked everywhere he’s picking small details about her place he doesn’t remember from the last visit. It’s all her own personality turned into a place where even he feels welcome.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he thumbs a green plants soft petals and stares down at the short bit of life in the pot. He feels her eyes on him, soft and bright they’re unwavering and he feels the pressure to gaze back, to look across the room as if she’s stars away.

“I’d never turn you away,” her arms are still crossed over her chest, she’s freezing. The Mandalorian sighs, he’s brought icy winds with him and the frigid night air. He turns and sees just how little she’s really wearing.

She can’t tell but through the visor he’s gazing into her eyes, searching for a clue of what she’s going to say next. He’s never been able to read her. “Did I wake you?”

He nearly takes up the bulk of the small flat with his broadness and layers of armour but you don’t mind. He’s here and she’s unsure of what to say, her eyes downward she draws an invisible pattern on the wooden floor with her bare foot. “I’d just fallen asleep,” she’s lying but how could she tell him she lies awake most nights and pray he’ll show up at the door? Not injured or broken but whole and wanting for her company; though she wouldn’t mind him to be broken, bruised and in need of her help. That’s never happened and she knows the Mandalorian suffers alone.

“I can leave if you wish.” He turns with a step towards her and he’s looking down, her body so small compared to his, she’s beautiful in the semi darkness, it reminds him of sunsets on the horizons and lunar eclipses, of dying stars that shine so brightly in the last living moments — things he never thought to take notice of before he met her. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Regret seeps through the particles of air all around them, sucking the space and drowning out the noise of the world. He’s slowly breaking as she looks up, hurt in her eyes. The Mandalorian sighs, he didn’t mean that. He rarely speaks the truth and it’s hard even with her. The bounty hunter is skilled in many things but expressing the art of softer emotions was never on the list.

They’re close and she’s thinking of what to say, her mind a cage of birds. She should be bitter, angry and cold towards him, blocks of icy bricks and unbreakable walls made of iron. But she’s soft and can’t bring herself to hurt him more than he’s hurt himself in the past. “Stay,”

She’s staring at the visor, where she knows his eyes are, she can feel the deeper eye contact, sense his dark eyes connected with her own, each afraid to break the gaze she’s feeling her breath pick up. She’s missed him.

A glimmer of hope sparks and the Mandalorian is releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Thank you.” The helmet manipulates his tone and he’s sure his words sound heartless to her, of forgotten promises and crumbled love letters, spilled ink and empty words. He cannot give into that again, he’s a Mandalorian, a fighter, unbreakable and strong. It’s a tangle of his history and oath, his chosen path of culture and personal dependence, welded to his life, he’s stuck in time.

“Why are you here, Mando?” She’s pulling at the strings of bitterness, her gentleness has morphed into hints of resentment blended into her question. She’s close to him and yet so alone.

He’s not looking at her but removing his weapons from his form, the weight they carry is pulling him down, the very objects behind his life, his only possessions besides the ship he flies through the stars from planet to planet. He wishes he had more, but of what? What could a wandering hunter possess? The long rifles set down, its base thumped on the ground and the length is leaned against a dark bookcase and his blaster goes next to it. The knife is set down on the shelf with a careful hand. There’s more but they can come off later. “I’m here for you.” His gravelly tone is curling around her ears like a thousand deadly drums, beating out in time to the time of her breathing. He’s sincere and getting closer to her. “I want —”

She’s soft but not stupid. “You want to forget.” Shaking her head she’s a little hurt, a little on the edge of a steep cliff but it’s all foggy, unknown and he’s so close is suffocating.

He’s pausing and the grips on his heart fade away. She knows him so well and it’s slowly tearing him apart, you’ve always been there to become a beacon and block the echos of his past. He thinks back to a time where he was caught after a battle, war torn and crushed he arrived at her door, tearing from him his battle gear and allowing her to blindly feel his scars, map this history of his body, he devoured every breath she took, sunk into her warmth he never wanted to leave. She’s never turned the Mandalorien away.

“You’re right.” He can’t lie, not yet.

She’s unfocused, her lip drawn under her teeth, bitten to a soft red, swollen under pressure. The thumping of her heart in her chest is loud enough for it to echo in her mind, she’s pulled in different directions, to remember the bitter past or take soul advantage of the present before her. She’s torn, spread so thin. He looks the same, and you can only really wonder who he was under the mask, though a little bulkier and clad in new armour he is still the Mandalorian, he is still yours. It’s all a mess but didn’t they used to thrive on the chaos? Get off to the secret, the whispered words and hidden touches. They were so young and blind and bonded together, it felt like ages ago. “Its just been so long,”

She’s missed him.

He’s stepping closer and sees just how small she is, compared to him. Metal to silk, ash to spring like winds she’s all the light in the world and he can only be her match. Their words built on an equal balance of light and dark, of shifting tides and uncertain times but in the end, one shall always meet their match. He’s exhaling shakily and he’s never one for words but he wishes to tell you everything, his sins, his purging of the innocent and its only a job but its not. It’s wearing him down to slide back into his bunk every night with his thoughts on you and what you once were, to him. Please, he’s thinking, its burning and rocking inside him and why cant he just tell you what he wants.

“Mando...” she’s looking down at his hands, his right curled over her own wrist, thumb rubbing circles.

The glove is worn and soft, leathery and not what she wants. He is silent and she’s tugging the gloves from his hands and tossing them to the floor. His tanned hands are bruised and split knuckles, trophies of his winnings.

“I don’t want to relive the past.” He tells her, tone neutral and softer, only for her. He cant think back to the times they’ve hurt one another, times when the moments never ended and they knew it would be alright in the end. But things like that never last. “I just need -”

“Me,” she’s completing his sentences and he’s alive with hope, waves of curling heat are smoothing his skin. And he tries not to go fast but he’s got her pulled into his arms and she’s so smooth and soft in his hands he’s nearly saying her name in prayer. Her backs arched to him and she’s got wonder in her eyes, he feels her hand slide over and up his shoulder and he’s suppressing the shivers that run through him, lit from a fuse thats connected only to her. “I can’t promise things will be the same,” she’s whispering through him, her hand on his cool helmet, just where his cheekbone would be and the Mandalorian is leaning into her touch. At her words his hands spread and squeeze her waist.

“I don’t want it to be the same,”

She’s being backed up, slowly and careful steps and she’s pressed into the wall. “We can make it better.” She knows the Mandalorian, she’s been his home, his secret for years and it cant ever be the same. She knows all he wants is to burry within her and forget the sounds of bombs, the taste of blood and rustic metal and smoke. “Mando,” she says his name and he’s already helping her from her clothes.

Gods, he’s feeling chunks of himself melting and falling to your feet, his girl, tender and lovingly she’s a mess of bittersweet romance and the feeling of flowers that you can only touch but not pick from the garden it’s planted. Is that all she is to him? A beauty to only observe and continue on the journey? “Mando, wait,” she’s gasping softly and he can barely stop, his hands splayed over her ribcage, the bumps of her bones under taunt skin he’s waiting for her to continue, her voice sending sparks to alight within him. He’s got his hand cupped around her jaw and the other sliding downwards to span her thigh, he’s going to lift her to the wall and push himself onto her. “Mando,” and he stops, leaned back he’s watching her to make sure she’s okay. “The blindfold, its, its in my room,” she’s flushed and stumbling on her words and he’s only wondering how such a beautiful thing could be in his grasp.

The Mandalorian shakes his head lightly. “Not yet.” His armours being untied by your careful hands and he’s silent, watching her work, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. Hotness seeps into his stomach, it’s craving and desperate. Bit by bit she’s pulled the metallic layers away, stripped him of his defence, he’s just as bare as you, with thin clothing thats close to the skin, close enough to feel the radiating heat. “Can I trust you?”

She’s mustering a soft smile and nodding, “’course, Mando.”

“Close your eyes,” his voice is rough and tender, sandpaper and featherlight and seeping into her skin: she obeys, letting her eyes slide closed she’s surrounded by darkness and the gentle click and hiss of air as the Mandalorian is removing his helmet. He lets it drop to the floor and she jumps at the noise but he’s already pulled her close, he finds her lips and its a clash of rough remembrance, of slick and stolen moans he’s kissing her so hard she might just shatter in his arms. He feels himself weaken as she’s winding her arms around his neck, fingers swirled in the tendrils of his hair she’s so perfect and he just wants her now. It’s growing faster and more desperate, he’s got his hand curved around your jaw and his tongues flicking in between her lips and she’s a whimpering mess of sweetly melted emotions.

She’s got her eyes squeezed shut and her heads thrown back as the Mandalorian is moved down to the curve of her neck, he’s lined her throat with slicked kisses, his hands slide over her breasts and she’s moaning softly. His attention to detail is immaculate and he’s got her whimpering in moments with the curve of his hands on her tits and lips on her throat, he’s greedy and she tastes so sweet. He’s breathing is picking up and the sounds catch on a gasp as her hands trail down his chest. “Please,” she’s blind to him, her eyes never opening but picking up on every slight movement he’s making against her pressed to the cold wall. Use me.

Without warning his mouth leaves her own and he’s got her turned, front to the wall and his own pressed to her back, his large hands curved over her ass he’s groaning at the feeling, his lips on her shoulder and neck the Mandalorian is living for the soft sounds she’s making, without the helmet obscuring his vision its all the more real and he’s watching her hands close into fists as he’s pulling at the lobe of her ear with his teeth. He gets an idea. “Wait here.” And he’s gone.

She’s already slick and her stomach is tense, she’s resting her forehead to the wall as the Mandalorian is turning down all the lights, she hears him blow out a candle on the desk and she realizes he doesn’t want the blindfold, he wants it to be raw, unconfined and free. His steady and slow steps are closer and soon she’s whirled around, crashed into his chest. Its dark in the room, in contrast to the stars above the room could be dark as night.

Its soon a mess of stripped clothing and her nails are carving marks into his naked broad back, skipping over the flexing muscles she’s got her head thrown back as his mouth covers her breast, its the art of passion drawn with sound and the unspoken rule to give in to one other and forget everything else, from one broken soul to another.

She’s bare and exposed to his hands, rough and tugging he’s got her so ready for him she’s feeling weak. “Bedroom,” she pants, he grunts softly in response, his hand slipping between her thighs he’s pulling aside her underclothes and she gasps, his fingers gather her slick and curl up into her its sending shocks through her system.

In the darkness he’s so close to her, too far gone to tell her how good she is, how he’s barely holding it together, he wants them to fall to the ground, lay her down to explore every inch of what she has to offer, he’s going mad with the feel of her quivering with only his fingers inside her and his teeth on her neck and god she’s so wet and he can tell she’s needed this. Needed him.

“Gods, Mando,” she has a grip on his shoulder and the other moves to graze over him and its sending him into a shock. He’s in denial of the feelings she’s giving him, and soon its all too much and his fingers leave her warm cunt and he’s tasting them on his tongue.

She’s growing more frantic with every second as she leads him to her bedroom, sliding her hand along the smooth wall she finds the door and the Mandalorians quick to push her to the bed. She’s pulling his bottom lip in her teeth, her hands knitted in his thick hair, thigh curved around his waist, hes so close and so hard against her through the restricting fabric. He’s groaning softly as her hands move downward, it’s been so long and Mando quietly gasps against her swollen lips. She’s realizing that she’s using him too, to forget the pains of the past, of forlorn moments and bitter goodbyes.

She’s under him on the bed, curved to his body in the eerie darkness. It’s just like old times except he’s different, he’s more quiet and controlled, rough on the edges and confident. He’s dragging her underclothes down and sinking past her thighs, forehead leaned onto her stomach the Mandalorian takes a moment, eyes closed, breathing in her sickly sweet scent that’s all her before he’s burrowing his head in between her legs it’s a mess of his lips on her soaked cunt, he’s fast and his fingertips dig into her hips, spanned over the ridges of her hipbones; his mouth is on her sweet slick and not stopping until she’s close.

She cries out, whimpering his name and her hands fly to his head, her thighs ache, they close around his head and the warmth of his tongue sliding across the softness of her core is pulling her closer and closer to the edge, controlling her form.

Then he’s gone, pushing her thigh off his broad shoulder his tongue is replaced with two fingers, curved deep inside her — hot and tight around him, she’s got a grip on the while sheets under her and he’s swallowing her moans, lips against hers it’s fast and messy, she’s gasping into his mouth, her hands taking advantage of the removed helmet she’s mapping out what he looks like through the darkness, his hairs thick and turned with soft curls, she feels the contours of his jaw and cheekbones under her fingertips, raised lines of scars and indents of a once broken nose — he’s beautifully tragic, compiled of her imagination he’s everything that and more.

He’s beckoning, sliding his fingers into her she’s panting wetly against his skin, it’s so dark she can only see the outline of his body over hers, blocking out the light she’s picking up on the small details, the scars on his shoulders, of bullets and knives, stitched by his own hand? She’s feeling lower and he’s packed on muscle and bulk until she’s sure he could crush her if he so pleased — not that she would complain.

The Mandalorians never been so exposed, he thinks his oath is broken, his ties to his own religion snipped away. But as the light panels over her, he’s easing his fingers from her cunt, they’re slippery with her slick and it’s carving out his innocence of pleasure and shaping him into a place wretched and sinful. He’s looking down at her, beautiful, gentle, and the Mandalorian wants to ruin it. He’s raising his hand, sliding over her chest, past her pretty neck and slips his two digits past her parted lips. She moans at the sharp taste of herself, tongue curled around him she’s sucking hard and he’s nearly done for. His head lowers to her tits and teeth close around her nipple, pulling, tugging he’s buried in the softness of her skin. His lips span over the arches of her breasts, stopping to kiss her sternum, the valley in between.

She’s biting down on the tip of his pointer finger, smiling through a moan as he looks up at her, wonder and adoration swirled through the darkness. “What do you want?” He’s recalling their past, her favoured touches, sweet spots — he can’t think of just one, to bring her to the edge, to hold her down and have him engulfed within her, his hands moulding her flesh, dragging his teeth over her throat, catching her soft cries and matching her with his own.

His fingers slip from her lips and he’s gripping her jaw, shifting above her he’s pressed so tightly it’s hard for her to breath but it’s so worth it. Use me, she wants to plead, to have him grip her tightly, take everything he has out on her, break through the barriers of bitterness, soothe her wounds. The catch, there’s always one, the catch is: will he leave again? Vanish without a word, escaped into the night, never to see her again?

It’s happened one to many times. She should hate him for it, slam her door in his stupid fucking helmet face, one she’s never seen underneath and banish him from her life. But, in the months past, the Mandalorian just feels too good between her thighs, his hand around her throat or gripped in her hair, guiding her head down on his hard cock — he’s ever so tempting, a rush of adrenaline, he’s a drug in her veins, and she’s not broken her addiction.

“You,” she bites her lip, “just you.”

He’s kissing her, feels his tongue slip against hers it’s hot and heavy, messy and wet and bruising. Hands pulling at the ties of his pants they’re undone and she’s jerking beneath him, a wave of flushed arousal, unfurling and powerful she’s welded to him, darkness to light, magnetic force, of blinding stars and broken planets. “You’re so good,” he’s growling into her skin, pushing her thighs upwards he’s sliding against her, teasing, held back. He can’t, it’s the pounding of the air around him, the world blinks out and all he has is her, her body, crashed to the planets, exiled down from the gods she’s surely an angle, dammed to give herself to him, and he in turn, gives everything to her.

But he just can’t.

She’s surrounded by soft sheets, her beds worn and warm — how is she so soft? “You’re,” he’s groaning, pushing himself against her, large hand curled around her jaw she’s whimpering, chewing on begs, his name mixed within the words. “You—” he’s inhaling shakily, his nose follows up the line of her throat, behind her ear she’s covered in goosebumps and he’s sucking and biting her skin. “You’re mine.” He’s trying to convince himself of that, she’ll never be anyone’s; she’s her own. He’s never allowed himself to pin her down, fuck her and call her his to keep.

She’s nobodies. All her own.

But in between the moments of shattering lust and forgotten anger of abandonment, she could be his. The Mandalorian is the only one who’s cared, given a fuck — but it’s never been enough. She’s not accepting his words, she’s not his. “Shut up,” she’s turned her head away and his lips follow, sliding from her jaw to her own swollen and pink parted lips, his body heavy on hers she’s alive with desperate longing.

She’s pushing at his shoulders, roughly pulling herself from under him and before he’s complaining she’s shoved him back to the bed, he’s staring at her form through the darkness. She’s changed. It’s rough and she’s climbing into his lap, he groans as her soaked cunt slides over him and she’s surprising him with her nails dragging down his chest, skimming over the hard ridges of muscles.

It’s a game, teasing and seductive she’s on top of him, her lips on his throat as his large hands take handfuls of her ass.

She’s wretched, complied of what the stars wish they had she’s furious, kissing down his throat, she’s trailed hot spots down his chest, her warm breath fanning over him, his taunt muscles tighten and she hums in approval, her delicate hand trails over his rigit abdomen, bending down she’s licking a trail up and closing her lips around the collom of his throat.

“Gods Mando,” she’s an absolute angel, cursed to the darkness and awoken sin she’s grinding her hips down over his. It was never his, she’s claimed him and as she’s twisting her wrist, fingers slicked and wrapped around his cock he’s realizing it’s always been her.

Mando relaxes into the bed, his muscles strain and all he wants to do is sit up and jerk her up to straddle him properly, he’s groping her ass and it’s all he can do but not lift her, pull her close and sink her soaked cunt around him, a battle between logic and fantasy — he’s getting harder thinking about her, fucking up into her, hand wrapped around her throat, pursing the chase. She’s so good.

Lets not relive the past she said. It can be different. I can make it better.

All this? To be his beacon of light, a glimmer of hope in this bitter and isolated life he’s chosen? She’s whispering praise into the Mandalorians ear, her guts rolling with arosual and he’s not even inside her yet. He’s achingly hard, it’s closing in around him, how quickly everything would be over after he’s fucked her one last time. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have knocked on her door. It’s going to be over and he’ll have to leave again.

He’s swearing, his voice deep and guttural she’s grinding down so hard the thoughts are slipping from his sober mind, he’s drunk on her skin, stuck in a daze of boiling emotions, tucked just a little too far away to reach.

The Mandalorian is getting frustrated, he’s preparing to slide his hands around her and throw her under him, have her whithering and saying his name like it’s the only thing she knows. “Wanna, wanna fuck you,” the words come out harsh, clipped with the moments of blinding pleasure, he’s so close and she’s only grinding faster, pushing her anger into him. “C’mon—”

She suddenly stops, gasping she fills her lungs with air. Both her hands cupping his face, it’s suddenly gentle — intimate — and the moonlight seems to be inline with the art of the lovers, a sliver of the dim and glowy light is passing by the window, it pans across the floor and the Mandalorian can finally see her, her eyes have softened and they’re almost nose to nose, her finger strokes down his cheekbone and he’s realizing she can see a part of him.

They’re sharing the light and their breathings in tune with one another. Her lingering eyes drop to his lips and she’s soft, a silken cloud, kissing him so softly, it’s not rushed, it’s stopping the planets circles around the moon, and suddenly time doesn’t exist.

She’s melted down, her anger and bitterness cooled to a point of gentle adoration, her lips fit with his, he’s made for her, made for her to care for him.

Surges of softer emotions swell inside her chest, it’s brimming and she feels her throat tighten. She can’t cry. But it’s all too much and the memories coming back, of waking up with the Mandalorian vanished from her bed, no sign he’d ever been there aside from her wrinkled sheets and marks of his passion etched into her skin — but even those fade over time.

Her breath catches and the Mandalorians pulling her close, curling her in his arms, brushing slim fingers over her blushing cheeks, he’s searching her face, gazing up at her and they both know the unspoken words.

“Mando,” she’s whispering, letting him shift her, settling her over him properly, skin to skin they’re the only two lovers in that moment. “Please,” don’t leave again.

The Mandalorians silent, spreading his hands over her hips she’s helping him move her upwards, lined up she’s got her hands braced on his broad shoulders. They both utter soft groans, she’s sliding down around his length and she’s shivering, her back arching, pressing her chest to his as he’s sitting up, curved his arms around her waist the Mandalorians done for. She’s panting, swollen lips glossed over and parted, she’s a mess of sweat slicked skin and burned and blackened passion. She’d scratched down his chest, raising thin red lines under her nails, she’s tearing him apart, devouring all what’s given to her, only in the fear if she doesn’t this will be the last time.

Everything’s okay, she cannot physically get any closer to him, flesh to whatever he’s made of, of metal and the war. He’s got his hand on the back of her head, chin tucked into her shoulder she’s seeping into his form, her fight gone — vanished, forgotten once more as the tides change, they’re gentle to each other. She’s moving over him, fists clenched he’s filled her perfectly, it’s a balance of their moments, of his hands lifting her again so she’s pressed to the bed, her back once more against the smooth sheets. He’s inside her again, his hand pulling her thigh up — smooth, fluid. She sighs softly, at each strokes he’s pulling her release closer, to feel the warm waves crash and battle within her.

The lovers are quiet within one another, her body curved to his its not a mess anymore, things have fallen into place and she’s so so so close, her hands tug at his hair and he’s kissing her neck, holding back from having his own way with her, keeping the rush at bay. She’s pleading his name, lip caught under her teeth she’s suddenly gasping, tense and quivering beneath him.

She’s got her eyes screwed shut, “don’t stop, don’t stop,” it’s a winding and beautiful build up, hotness pools into her core, thick and spreading through her nerves she’s trying to stay still, but he’s chasing the fleeting moments with rough movements, his hands on her skin, lips at her ear he’s so close it’s nearly unbearable.

“Come for me,” his gravely voice sends vibrations through her and she falls apart under him, her body floating through a daze it’s fast and coming in waves, she chokes on a gasp, tasting the sparks of heat, they’re smooth on her tongue and she’s seeing everything all at once.

“Gods,” she’s gasping, sensitive, overworked, but the Mandalorians going, his hand curved around her breast, he’s shaking and suddenly it all stops, he’s dropping from his high and the electricity of his release is explosive, wrapped in pleasure it’s blocking out everything but her, her tightness and warmth and the feeling of him buried so deep he’s unable to stop, she’s catching his moan, parted lips against his own they’re falling together, crashed to the ground with unfurling webs of pleasure.

The Mandalorians slicked with sweat and he’s tangled with her, his chest heaving he’s telling her only the way she’s made him feel.

He’s got his eyes closed and when he opens them, it’s not a dream, she’s there, tears brim her eyes and her hands trail down his shoulders. They’ve forgotten, all he hears is the sound of his heartbeat and the echos of gunfire is gone.

“You’ve always been there for me,” he’s saying, hours after the battle of passions and forgetting of the past. His tone is kept of the brimming emotions that had broken free of his cage, birds of flight they’re taking off, flying just from his reach. “I’m n-not enough for you.” He’s catching the air that’s not going through his lungs fast enough, lying next to her he’s unsure if this is all real, not a work of fiction. She’s got her head on his chest and his hands are sliding over her lower back, feeling the softness of her hips.

“I’ve never thought less of you,” she’s sighing, sleep digging its self into her body, she’s bruised, wrecked and exhausted; her thighs ache but it’s a good burn. She turns and pressed a short kiss to the middle of his chest, pulling her arm from the warm blankets she’s trailing a slim finger up and down his skin, tracing a slashed scar.

“Stay with me.” She looks at him, it’s still dark but the suns nearly about to rise, it’s golden rays peeking over the mountains outside the city. “Please?”

The Mandalorians hand comes up to smooth her hair from her face, running over the top of her head he’s watching her lean into his touch, angelic, perfect. “You know my chosen path,” he’s tearing him apart, he’s drowning. “I made a vow, long before ...”

“Before me,” she’s got a distant look in her eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. She’s too weary, too beaten down with emotions she’s not used to feeling, she sinks into the bed beside the Mandalorian and allows him to curl around her, hold her for the last few moments before sleep takes her.

She wakes alone the in bed. The sun high in the sky, her room is filled with a golden yellow glow and her skins warm against the sheets. Sitting up she’s looking for the Mandalorian, he’s not beside her and she’s cursing herself for drifting off to sleep.

He’s got to be here.

Dressed in her wrinkled oversized covering from the night before, she pads into the open flat, flooded with light she looks around and realizes she’s all alone.

—

thank you for reading!! sorry for all the mistakes i just really wanted this posted, i’ll come back and do the editing tmrw! feedback is always appreciated ♥️

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #the mandolorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #baby yoda #my writing #pedro pascal smut #mando x reader #cara dune #the mandolorian x reader

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umblebumble · 3 years

Text

Dragon Age: Inquisition Daemons

So here’s another group daemon selection. I make my choices based off of a mix of analysis (The Daemon Forum is my favourite spot, link) and general vibe as well as plot/thematic things. For this, a lot of inspiration has come from fanfiction I’ve read where the daemon choice just makes sense. There will be minor spoilers for these characters personal plot arcs. Please let me know what you think, and share your own headcannons!

*As a note I tend to pick more mammals than anything else and I am working on widening my selections, but I still run very mammal-centric.

Solas - Common Raven. Raven’s are very clever birds and are great problem solvers and strategists. They go after what they want, and while they can roam in groups, they can work on their own as well. They are also mischievous and cocky; they will pull the tail feathers of larger birds to distract them from food or just for fun. This clever, cocky, proud bird is a very good match for our not-so-humble apostate. Thematically, ravens can be seen as death omens since they often eat carrion. However, they are also called ‘wolf birds’ because they have been known to have working relationships with wolves for hunting. Therefore a raven on the shoulder of a wolf would just make sense thematically to me.

Dorian - Scarlet Macaw. Parrots are far too clever for their own good and boredom is their worst enemy. Along with being bright and flashy to match the sparkly mage, their also very loud and opinionated and dramatic about everything just for the hell of it. I think a Macaw would be bold and striking on Dorian’s shoulder, and would have a razor tongue like the mage. However macaws can also be easily stressed and fall into self-destructive behaviour in bad environments. Thematically I think this parrot would have little bald patches hidden under its wings from where it would stress pluck. An interesting healing arc would be the bald patches growing back in as Dorian is accepted for who he is and doesn’t have to hide himself anymore.

Vivienne - Mute Swan. It can be said of water fowl that they appear graceful and serene on the surface but that’s because you can’t see the intricate paddling going on underneath. I feel that summarizes Vivienne well; she is serene and powerful and graceful at first glance, but behind the scenes there’s a lot of work and whispers and gathering of information. Swans are also very strong and assured. They could break bone with the strength of their wings, and they are confident and assured in their place and their power and status. Furthermore, they’re dedicated to their goals and will put in the work to reach them. However, I also like a swan for Vivienne because they mate for life. They are devoted to a single partner, and when that partner dies they mourn heavily. Vivienne appears unruffled and absolutely pristine to everyone around her and that’s because very few are allowed past her mask to see the softer heart inside that loves and then mourns her loved ones.

Iron Bull - Wild hog/Boar. Pigs are very underestimated animals - they appear big and slow, but they are vicious and incredibly intelligent. Pigs are seriously violent and I think this matches Bulls blood-thirsty battle-lust. But like Bull, his daemon would be underestimated; a war machine on the outside but the mind of a great spy on the inside. They’re social animals, and highly adaptable to a range of environments, and they can be very defensive and protective of themselves and those they care about. Overall I think a boar just suits every aspect of Bull visually and thematically.

Cassandra - Ram. *I initially said Mountain Goat but I had meant a Ram/Big Horned Sheep. Usually I headcanon Cassandra with a dog, a hound of some sort, but this was just very interesting and I quite liked it. When looking at a description of a Ram*, I just felt like it spoke for itself: “ Thick-skinned, competitive, and proud... Assertive and quick to put others in their place when they're crossed, definitely the confrontational sort. Highly defensive of their personal projects and themselves. Highly confident, not ones to doubt their abilities... Likely stubborn and highly straightforward, possibly blunt. Possibly planners, probably quite determined and persistent.” Cassandra is a hard-worker, determined and stubborn. She’s definitely the kind to attack a problem head-first, but she does have the capability to be quick, light on her feet and strategic about her approach. Rams are of the sheep family, and thus are very loyal and close to the people that belong in their circle.

Blackwall - Milksnake. Snakes are generally non-confrontational. They don’t pick fights but they will finish them, which is something I can see reflected in Blackwall’s more laid back attitude towards battle than the other warrior companions. Milksnakes are also very adaptable and will do well wherever they are. They’re a mix of solitary and social, they like being around others but also need their own space. They’re also rather internal and have a lot going on inside they don’t let show, not the kind to wear their heart on their sleeve. Mainly I enjoy the thematic meaning of a milksnake. Milksnakes are adapted to mimic a poisonous snake. Their colour pattern is close to that of a much more dangerous snake, and as such they often trick predators into thinking they are something they’re not. I like this thematically for the not-Warden who is pretending to be something much more fearsome than he is.

Sera - Rat. The common rat is an incredibly adaptable, resourceful, hardy creature. They will find a way in whatever circumstances and use whatever they have to their advantage. They are highly social beings and are made to work in groups, in teams and with others - a network much like the Red Jennies or little people. They’re bold, assertive, and even a little aggressive at times. A rat is seen as vermin and unwanted, but they’re everywhere and are clever and have their little hands in everything. Also, rats are thought of to be tricksters in mythos - the Chinese zodiac being an example of a rat tricking its way to the top. Sera uses her tricky playfulness mainly to pull pranks and cause mayhem, but she also uses it to stick up for others and assert her place in the world.

Varric - Vampire bat. Now I like the headcanon that dwarves don’t have daemons due to Fade-connection stuff and instead have weapons/armour like Armored Bears, but for the sake of argument I wanted to find what his daemon could be. A vampire bat is an unusual animal, and I think it, like Varric, would be the kind of person you don’t easily forget encountering. They are very sensitive, aware animals and are very in-tune with their surroundings and whats going on. They’re very social animals and thrive in groups. They have great communication skills and form close bonds with those they’re close to. Varric would do anything for the people he is closest to, and his natural environment is surrounded by people spinning tales and connecting with others. I think it’s an unusual daemon choice but I also like the idea that its a fun parallel to a surface dwarf - an underground animal, i.e. a rat, but in the sky with wings.

Cole - Unsettled. I think that if Cole did have a daemon, it would be unsettled. He is a spirit and he is in constant state of flux, despite having a central purpose of compassion. And even if he becomes more human, he is very reminiscent of a child learning the world and as such I do not think he would be settled until he becomes more settled in himself. (I do have further headcanon ideas about this spirit-daemon stuff but that may be another post, or a later addition to this one. Let me know if you’re interested)

Leliana - Mongoose. Leliana was harder for me because I don’t know her as well. I didn’t play Origins, but from what I know she was a much younger, more playful, less burdened and jaded person back then. I think this suits a mongoose very well. They can be very inquisitive and open and playful in their youth, unfearful of the wide world and ready to investigate anything to learn more. But as an adult they are more cautious and guarded. Mongoose are incredible predators and are very adaptive, able to take on even snakes that others don’t dare attack. They are more solitary and secretive, and I think an elusive, mysterious mongoose would be a wonderful hint at the fierce power hidden behind the cooler facade of her everyday persona. Brutal, subtle, and unexpected, a mongoose fits the spymaster well as far as I know her.

Cullen - Border Collie. I always knew Cullen would have a dog daemon, it was just a matter of which. He’s loyal and extremely hardworking, and so I decided on herding dogs. I chose Border Collie specifically because of their intelligence, independence and ability to think strategically. This is the kind of dog that will happily take orders and follow command, but will also work on its own to get a job done. Of herding dogs, Border Collies also have the ability to be a bit more ruthless, I feel. They aren’t timid dogs and if left to their own devices could become destructive and rough due to boredom and lack of stimulation. Also, they are predisposed to listen and obey and thus could fall prey to poor leadership (as seen in Kirkwall). Any dog I think could fit for our loyal, hardworking Commander, but I think Border Collie is a good fit. A bit of a farm-boy turned soldier, follower turned commander aesthetic fits thematically with his overall arc.

Josephine - Zebra Longwing. This kind of butterfly is beautiful and poisonous, a perfect combination for our ambassador. Butterfly’s are social creatures and do well around others. Furthermore this kind of butterfly works in groups to achieve its goal, suggesting a calm, diplomatic mind that is good at working with others towards a goal. Furthermore, butterflies are very sensitive and aware creatures; they pay attention to their surroundings and are very intuitive about the environment and others. Lastly, with a slightly toxic nature, these insects warn off predators with their flashy pattern that advertise them as dangerous. I like this because I think Josephine’s daemon would be a great hint at how not-helpless she is, a bit of a giveaway to her power and abilities. Plus I think a pretty butterfly perched like a beautiful broach suits her aesthetic.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #daemons #daemon headcanons #wow that was long #daemon au

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quartzcraft-mc · 3 years

Text

A Tale of Foxblossom

[Word Count - 1637]

For our Pride Month Competition, we hosted a few compeitions including an Writing Competition! Thunderbird25 was voted for 1st place with their amazing piece called ‘A Tale of Foxblossom’. Thunder wrote a lovely story including some of the other player’s OC’s within the story as well as their own, depicting a normal day on the server!

VVV Read Below!!! VVV

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She stared at the map in her hands. Then squinted. Pressing her face to the worn paper, she mentally calculated how far it was from here, in Foxblossom, to the railway line west of her current spot.

It was maybe a thousand blocks? But the ground wasn't totally flat- she'd walked the distance and left her both winded and wet, having crossed through a swamp and back- If she went as the crow flies- no, should she? That would mean digging a tunnel, and who knew how long that would take.

This was making her brain hurt, but that might have been the eye strain.

With a deep sigh, she picked up her diamond shovel. Fully enchanted - of course, it was her – but it had several thin cracks running through the wood handle and extended underneath the blade. She should make a new one; this would break soon. Future her problem!

She had a plan. She would mark out a road five blocks wide and dig in a straight line until she met the railway.

This was going to take forever.

Thunder wasn’t entirely sure why she'd decided to dig a road about a thousand blocks long, only that she'd woken up one day and had had nothing to do. She… didn't like to stay still. Better to be productive, to do things with her mind and hands. It kept her occupied, kept her from fretting, from worrying. Of course, it helped to have a schedule.

Not that she didn’t have lots to do- she had her shop at the mall to stock, resources to gather, the Lorebary to manage –

But she was just so tired. Her sleep had been abysmal recently, filled with nightmares and strange images. Sometimes it was of her home, going up in flames. Other times, it was of the End, looking into a memory of the people there- those dreams, she suspected, may actually be real. On the other hand, maybe it was her magic reacting to the magic in her elytra. But, of course, who knew if it was real or not? Regardless, she was feeling a bit crummy and needed to just go. Do something mindnumbing and repetitive. It had helped when she first went to the swamp. Maybe it would help now? Tire herself out enough that she could actually sleep for once?

The logistics were a little tricky- but she figured she could dig a small initial tunnel then widen it later. Getting up at the crack of dawn was a bit of a struggle – it was bloody freezing, her breath misting and turning to ice as she breathed. She could see Annika at her farm, taking her animals out to graze – the small figure whistled and gave a brief wave as she turned back to her cows. Thunder smiled, giving a wave back before she trudged towards the town centre.

Her boots crunched on the dirt and gravel path, loud and intrusive in the early morning. It felt like she was disturbing the stillness that hung in the air, like she was the only one here, awake. There was no breeze – thankfully since the temperature was certainly cold enough! The land was asleep. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd chosen to come to such a cold place – it was a far cry from her homeland and the Nether, places made of fire, of heat, of never-ending summers. Winters were considered a distant dream, a fantasy in the relentless land of sweat and discomfort and danger. She still remembered her first bushfire – on the outskirts of her city, the smoke staining the sky black with ash falling from the sky like snow. It was terrifying, the thousand block fire-front creeping ever closer; would they lose their homes like the other towns? It had lasted a good week, with casualties and refugees streaming in from the surrounding cities; lives had been spared, homes lost.

It was a stray storm, traveling south from the battered northern regions, that turned the tide.

Smoke had hung in the air for weeks afterward; it was in her hair, her clothes. Soon, it was considered odd to not smell smoke; fires were commonplace. But here? The cold felt like it gripped the land in a lover's embrace, a different kind of danger. One that she wasn't used to.

She had reached the edge of the town center, her mind running away from her. Focus, now. Yes, her self-appointed task. She tended to use whatever supplies she had on hand - birch and oak planks, gathered by herself, with extra bought from the mall. She figured she’d work as she went, but this would take a while. The road would start next to the town map and visitor’s log- cutting directly west, through the birch and oak forest, the swamp, and the spruce forest.

Shoveling out the dirt was easy, under the effects of the nearby beacon and her enchanted shovel. She just needed to shore up the sides as she went- cobble worked well enough, and enough was lying around. The stone was tricker- her enchanted pickaxe still made short work of the stone, carving deep gashes in the earth before being scraped away- but it was backbreaking work, and she quickly tired. Falling into a routine was easy- it was similar to carving out her swamp base, both relaxing and mind-numbing at the same time.

She'd dug out the first stretch of the tunnel, taking a few days. It was maybe a third of the way. She'd just finished putting up the torches - she'd dealt with enough mobs with her recent adventures, she just wanted a break!- when footsteps echoed down the rough tunnel. A soft purple gleam in the darkness caught her eye when she turned, and the footsteps got closer-

“Thunder! Wow, this is a long tunnel. How long have you been building it for?" Marina's cheerful voice echoed off the tunnel walls, bouncing and amplifying. She grinned, wearing enchanted netherite and carrying a complete set of enchanted netherite tools - Thunder's own tools were looking a tad shabby at the moment.

Thunder paused, standing up to stretch and rest her arms for the moment. They hurt, aching fiercely, with nicks and scratches from where she'd been hit by flying debris and her own occasional clumsiness. Then, scratching the back of her head, she shrugged with a smile. "What day is it?"

“Sunday.”

"Day three, then." The other woman blinked. “Woooow, that’s a while. Are you going to the railway?”

"Yeah, I figured it might be handy to have a railway connecting Foxblossom to the track. Didn't think it would take this long though," Thunder laughed, sheepish. She shrugged. "I still need to put down a proper path, though. I was planning on using oak wood and birch."

“Oh, okay! Would you like some help, nya?” Marina tilted her head to the side, swirling her pickaxe.

Thunder blinked. She was offering to help dig the rest of the way? It was still over five hundred blocks. “I… wouldn’t say no?”

"Nya, of course, dear! What do you need me to do?"

She was too kind. Showing Marina, the tunnel's dimensions was easy. Then the woman set off, digging with a single-minded focus that was honestly impressive. Thunder had finished placing the wood path down for the first section, and turning back to the next chunk of the track, she found-

A massive tunnel, carved through the nearby hill, sunlight filtering through to the other side of the tunnel. It glinted off the swamp water and Marina's armour, catching her eye. The other woman was already constructing a path across the water out of stone and brick. It looked strong enough to support a rudimentary path and would work well enough. There was idle chatter as they worked to build the bridge across, the sun making its slow march across the sky. Thunder only noticed when she stood up to stretch and wipe her forehead on her sleeve. It was hard work, and her armour was being safely stored within her inventory. A vast array of colours were splashed across the sky, the sun painting the clouds a mix of orange, pink and purple hues.

It was- it was beautiful. The light filtered through the spindly leaves of the spruce trees, casting soft, growing shadows across the ground, dancing in the water near them. Clouds were painted varying shades of pink, ringed by bright, golden light. Water lapped softly against the edge of the bridge, the wind slowly picking up. Thunder placed her pickaxe on the wood next to her, swinging her legs over the side. The water was cold, almost shockingly so against her bare feet, and the night was slowly encroaching on them. She could just hear the call of a phantom starting to prowl the sky and the low, baritone moan of a zombie. The gurgle of a drowned and the skittering of a nearby spider. Danger, reasons to go home.

Marina plonked down next to her, giving her a smile, turning to watch the sunset. Fierce, burning happiness sparked through her, from her freezing toes to her stomach, to her heart and head. Things might be a bit messy and may not be okay, but she was so fucking glad to be here. To be tired after a long day's work, with a friend next to her, enjoying one of the best sunsets she'd seen in a long time. Once the sun had set, the sky a deep, indigo purple, she'd stood up, offering Marina a hand. They'd made their way back to town, parting ways with a soft goodbye. It seemed… wrong, almost, to disturb this strange feeling of peace.

It would take a few days of work to finish the road. But she slept easier that night.

#minecraft #minecraft server #lgbt minecraft #pride month competition 2021 #minecraft smp #QCFanart #writing #QCSurvival #story

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

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Shielded. Chapter Five: The Repair Shop.

Anonymous said to

imagineclaireandjamie: Ask and you shall receive.

After a break last week, we’re back with Sunday Shielded. I hope you enjoy <3 MBD.

On Saturday, much to her surprise, Jamie was down in the kitchen -his pyjamas still on- frying up some bacon. Having smelled the food, she had woken later than usual and quickly gotten herself dressed to come and investigate.

“Morning.” He said, cheerfully.

“No work today?” She asked inquisitively. It had been two weeks since her arrival and not once had he taken a day off to rest.

“I thought maybe we could spend the day together, if ye like?”

He hadn’t exactly planned on staying in, but having her open up to him made him feel as if she were now ready for company...and he found he was interested in getting to know her. His neighbours had often joked that he’d find himself missing human company at some point but it hadn’t been until he’d had Claire in his house that he finally realised that they were right.

“Oh, well,” she replied looking a little shocked. She’d paused for so long that it gave him time to think and regret his decision, maybe she still needed time by herself…

Replying, finally, she looked down at her blank phone, “I’ll have to check my busy schedule and see if I can fit you in - I’m in demand, you know?”

Chuckling under his breath he passed her a breakfast sandwich before turning back to take a bite of his own. “Feeling humorous today, are we?” He jested, immediately panicking that it might have been the wrong thing to say.

Smiling around her sandwich, she blinked slowly and made her longest assessment of Jamie since meeting him. He was much taller than she’d remembered. She could see that as he ducked through the doorway into the pantry to collect the tomato sauce. It felt as though the house hadn’t been built with such dimensions in mind.

Sensing her eyes on him, Jamie poked his head around the door in time to see her hair settle back against her shoulders. She’d been quick to avoid being caught, but not fast enough. Biting his lip to stop the laughter from bubbling up he watched her fingers rest gently against the skin of her neck. The first thing he’d noticed was her height, small shoulders and a long shapely neck. The curls of her hair had been pinned up, but this morning she’d left them bobbing just shy of her collarbone. Somehow it gave emphasis to the muscles that ran seamlessly from her arm and up to stop beneath her ears. Pretty, he thought, more striking when she turned and he caught the deep blue hue of her irises. They were almost golden at the edges, like the tip of a wedding ring as the sun catches the metal.

He couldn’t stop the image of her in a long white dress springing to mind as he stumbled over a rogue stone on his way back to the sink and he had to shake his head to rid himself of the vision.

Silly, he thought as he sat in front of her.

Jenny, his sister, had been on the phone the night before talking about memories and he tried to play it off as if those conversations had merged though a strange spinning in the base of his stomach continued to bother him.

Seeing a strange confusion pass over his face, she coughed, wiping the crumbs from her mouth as she finished her breakfast. “What did you have in mind?”

The atmosphere that had subtly hung in the air vanished as fast as it had developed and, looking out of the window, she glanced at the clouds as they hovered overhead. It felt like rain, a day for being indoors no matter whether you were allowed out or not. Turning her attention back to Jamie, he tilted his head very slightly. She had no plans, obviously and had only thought as far as getting herself downstairs for a cup of tea.

“I could do wi’ some help, if ye dinna mind?”

“Of course!” The smile that spread across her face was honest, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of being some assistance. “I can’t promise that I’ll be great, it depends on what you need help with, but I’m all yours for the day.”

As it turned out, Jamie had a few pieces of furniture in the back of his bedroom that had various issues. One table with a missing leg, a chair with some damage to the woodwork along the back and some shelves in need of serious renovation.

“I saw yer books sitting in the suitcase you have, I thought maybe we could sand these down, gi’ them a new coat of varnish and put them on the walls in yer room. That way you can unpack, make the space your own?”

Holding the planks up, Jamie twisted the wood between his hands. There was a lull as he sized up what he’d got, making sure they were wide enough to hold a set of books. “Or we could paint them, if ye fancy some colour? I’m no’ totally averse to covering up the original oak but I ken enough about ‘Changing Rooms’ style that it can go horribly wrong. What do ye think?”

“I feel like a heathen for covering wood - varnish would be wonderful, though.”

“Do ye think designers are hidden behind the panels, just waiting for you to commit some crime against interior design?”

That thought remained with her through mid-morning and into the afternoon. When they finally stopped for lunch, the back utility room was covered in shavings, as were Jamie and Claire. Washing her hands, she tried to pick as many of the larger chunks of wood from her jumper and leggings. They’d managed to revitalise the former shelves and give them one coat of varnish. Now they were drying Jamie had suggested a cup of tea and something to eat before moving on to the other items.

“Have you ever thought of engraving?” Blowing across the warm liquid, she had in mind some of the more discrete carvings she’d seen on wooden furniture whilst frequenting antique shops in Oxford. “Not just initials - we could come up with a logo of sorts. Or a crest? Your family has one, doesn’t it?”

It had been one of those long nights a couple of days ago when she’d found his family crest. At first she had been amused, pulling the secret door open where it sat at the top of the stairs to find an array of hidden gems including a complete knight of the realm suit of armour. The crest had been embossed into the metal, its stylish swirls standing out clean and proud on the breastplate. She had been tempted to put it on for about a second, but had then relented, closed the door and moved on with her search.

It wasn’t until they were knee deep in their project that she’d had the idea.

“I suspect I’d need some practice if I were going to try and add that, there’s quite a bit of detail on it.” There was no surprise in his voice, but she did notice the subtle change in his face as he put his sandwich down for just a moment. His almost undetectable shock soon turned to amusement as he took a crisp from the bowl between them.

“Take a rubbing, that way you already have an almost identical copy of it.”

“Aye, good idea. What next to get it on the wood?”

“You use something sharp. I’d say a compass would probably work alright. Et voila,” with a flamboyant flick of her wrists, she pointed towards where the half broken items sat waiting their turn for sanding and fixing. “You have yourself the beginnings of your own engraving. A personalised signature on your recreations.” She looked excited at the prospect, which, in turn, made Jamie feel similarly joyful.

“My mam would have liked you.” He said without thinking. For a second he felt abashed at his words but when he saw that it hadn’t phased her, he took a deep breath and a gulp of his tea.

“She wouldn’t have been worried about you taking in waifs and strays, then?”

“Nah. She would have encouraged it. Especially since yer so handy wi’ hints on how to continue the Fraser legacy - it’s something she would have been keen on too.”

Sitting back in her chair she tried to picture what his mother might have been like.

“I’ll get out the albums later, if you like? Show you some pictures of her and da.” He said, answering her silent question.

“Sounds perfect. Now,” sitting up straighter, she put her hands flat against the table, “let’s get these chairs mended and back on form eh!”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself, Claire.”

With purpose, she nodded and stood, the name (though natural on his tongue) still feeling unnatural to her ears.

“You start the sanding, Jamie, and I’ll go and take the first rubbing of the crest.”

#anonymous #;mod mbd #shielded #Jamie X Claire

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wowheadquarters · 3 years

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don't be shy, drop ALL your Kel'Thuzad headcanons~

All of them? Hm. I don’t know if I remember all of them. Also, I stopped keeping track of WoW some time in the middle of the Battle for Azeroth, because it can either be WoW whcih I enjoy or shitwreck, and I chose WoW, which isn’t what Blizzard/Activision is currently serving- I meant to say that most likely my headcanons aren’t Shadowlands compatibile.

Anyway. Kel’thuzad headcanons of various importance as I remember them.

Kel’thuzad is his actual given name, it’s not a pseudonym or anything.

In Thalassian “kel’thuzad” mean “seeker of the truth”. (In Darnassian the same phrase is “keil tassad” and in Zandali “kel’ta sad”.)

Kel’thuzad speaks Common and Thalassian fluently. Before the Dark Portal opened he knew some phrases in Dwarven (conversational) and Gnomish (related to transport industry and mathematic). He can also speak Zandali with varying accents (mostly Amani), but he knows only five or six Zandali signs (he can sign his name, but that’s it).

After the Dark Portal opened, Kel’thuzad tried and failed to learn Orcish. He gained the skill later when it was a trial-and-error learning by communicating with Ner’zhul. Due to that Kel’thuzad’s accent when speaking Orcish is not “Human,” but distinctly Shadowmoon.

He also learned Nerubian from... well, the dead Nerubians. He can now both speak and write fluently even with encryption.

(There are 3 ways of Nerubian ecryptions and they can be simultaneously applied. This way there exist 7 versions of encryption plus 1 unencrypted text. These are known as the Eight Webs of writing. Plain text is written in the First Web, triple encryptin is the Eighth Web.)

He can read (but not speak) Nathrezim, and somewhat read and speak Shath’Yar, the language of the Old Gods. He would understand Quiraji if he ever encountered it, because it is very close to Nerubian (like Czech and Slovakian, I imagine).

The Language of Death, by the Scourge usually referred to as Deathspeak, is an artificial language created by Kel’thuzad. It is based on all languages he knew at the point of creating it, and is fairly easy to learn if you find a willing teacher. It was created for the members of the Cult of the Damned to understand ach other without them feeling like one language/race is put above the other, and to partially control their thoughts, as the language specifically hasn’t got some words or phrases (such as “rebellion”). Orwell would be proud.

He was brownhaired, but he greyed out fairly quickly when Ner’zhul settled in his head without paying any rent.

He was from Kul’Tiras. (I still want him to necromance a sunken ship. And a chalk cliff.)

His family name is Naxrierre. There is a theory that Naxrierres were a witch coven that became civilized with years, which is mostly spread by naysayers to explain the family’s talent towards magic. Another theory claims that they are a part-elven bastards which would besides the magic explain the name.

Kel’thuzad took the elf-Naxrierr theory to heart and in his ambition for one of his sons to make it somewhere else than the navy agve him a Quel’dorei name.

The suffix -ramas in Nerubian signifies not encessarily a necropolis but any place to permanently home dead bodies. “Naxxramas” is basically “Nax(rierre)’s tomb” but in Nerubian.

As a mage in Dalaran Kel’thuzad studied arcanophysic, a way to describe and measure magic. This field is where all the calibration of spells or even negating spells comes from. He became the sole teacher of it in Dalaran, because he was the only one enthusiastic enough about it to bother.

He was that type of teacher who didn’t give homeworks, he hated correcting them. He also had his classes in the most unreasonable hours, such as 3 AM, because he had a busy schedule and non-existent sleep pattern.

Since Kel’thuzad’s banishment the knowledge of arcanophysics among the Dalaran mages has drasticaly declined and is nearly nonexistent nowadays. All books Kel’thuzad had written on it have been sealed away, which removed nearly all reliable sources from the public access.

Kel’thuzad actually had good relationships with his colleagues. He helped Alonda with her fild research on Trolls (hence his speaking Zandali).

His closest friend was Anthonidas. They used to be classmates once upon the time.

What really undermined Kel’thuzad’s trust and belief in Kirin Tor was what happened to Khadgar. He realized that Kirin Tor is not going to act if given a warning, and not going to help if hearing a plea.

He still tried to warn Kirin Tor before what he didn’t know was the Scourge. He had noticed the Amani “moving out of the way”. “Whatever will happen, and I believe that this time it will be the dead, because the demons haven’t tried that yet, it will happen in a single line from Lordareon to Quel’Danas. We know the Amani can see into the future, and they are clearing out of this path.” Dismissed as a doomsayer, he wasn’t really persistent in his warnins.

Ner’zhul’s talks to Kel’thuzad began as especially persistent migraines. Whenever Kel’thuzad tried to tell Anthonidas that his condition is serious, he was sent off with a mug of peacebloom tea and an advice not to stay up so late, and maybe lay off some stress.

The teacher who taught Thrall in his early years such stuff as writing, that was Kel’thuzad in disguise when he was rectuiting in and around Durnholde Keep.

No, Kel’thuzad has no idea the little pet-orc he was trying to groom and later kidnap for the Cult of the Damned (What a better liteunant than the one you raise yourself?) is Thrall, the Warchief of the Horde.

Kel’thuzad was tasked with finding and preparing the perfect new host for Ner’zhul. He was trying to overthrow the Lich King, so he picked Arthas as a paladin of Light whom he believed strong willed enough to handle it. And at the start of the story Arthas was.

His second choice for Lich King would have been Kael’thas.

He shuffled his cards in the deck of “Scourge politics” so that Bolvar Fordragon would take the Helm of Domination after Arthas. Players greta victory? Just according to keikaku.

He had (and still has) a “wanted poster” for Garrosh Hellscream. He really wanted him into the Scourge army. The reward was a whole necropolis with units.

Naxxramas had a dedicated “catkeeper” tasked with taking care of Mr. Bigglesworth and cleaning the acid/slime vats. Her name was Gwendoline, usually called Gwen, she is now one of Garrosh’s ghost children. Gwen died during the attack on Theramore where she was working as a spy for the Scourge.

Liches feed off people emotions and minds. The Lich Kign keeps it secret (even from Kel’thuzad) to keep them starved and obedient. The passive “nibbling” causes that people around liches start to be unfeeling.

Kel’thuzad has developed the Cure for the Plague quite early on. Ner’zhul made him test the plagues seeds on himself.

Speakig of that, Ner’zhul (and later Arthas as the Lich King) had a complete control over Kel’thuzad’s body, so if he refused to carry out an order, Ner’zhul could just make him do it anyway.

Additionally, the Lich King could kep him going despite injuries, exhaustion &c. Arthas fancied himself thinking that h killed Kel’thuzad, but the truth is that the cumulative injuries (several broken bones, stab wounds, a concussion, frostbites, poisonings), exhaustion and starvation were enough to kill Kel’thuzad twice over, no hammer needed. Ner’zhul just in that moment let Kel’thuzad die, because that was what he needed.

He used to play Hearthstone a lot when he was alive. He had a very good Hunter Murlock tribal deck.

He is asexual, and quite possibly aromantic too. In his words: “I believe in love on the first sight. And I am probably blind or something, as it seems.”

His favourite colour is purple.

Shortly before the capture of Bolvar Fordragon Kel’thuzad re-bound his phylactery from the whole urn to a single shard. The shard was sold by a cult of the Damned agent in Kul’Tiras to Taelia Fordragon as a lucky amulet.

Whenever as a lich Kel’thuzad regained his form, he always found himself knee-deep in water due to some fucking coincidences, starting with the Sunwell.

Speaking of Sunwell, he carries in himself “a spark of Sunwell”. this has many benefits, such as power or not giving a fuck about Light being super-effective against the undead. It is a thing to be revealed out of the blue without prior warning when we need to reset the Sunwell (again).

He has enough knowledge of Troll and Orc shamanism to be considered a shaman, and too analytical and scientific mind to be actually good at it.

He also had made an oath to the Amani tribe that everything he’s learned from them would never be used to harm any Troll. It is why Kel’thuzad was not responsible for the havoc wrought in Zul’drak.

Naxxrams “responds” to Kel’thuzads emotions and feelings and even physical state. When he gets discorporated (killed), Naxxramas enters “save battery” mode. Naxxramas’ usual is “cold and static” and “cold and slightly shaking” which is Kelthuzad’s “bored” and “irritated” respectively.

He doesn’t like sweets, but he enjoyes crunchy stuff, be it cookies or fried potato slices. He craves the crunch.

He ate the flesh of several sapient beings. In several cases he knows it and the memory of ti makes him retch, even now when he is dead.

He likes dragons. He wants his own dreagonflight. (I have a headcanon abbout Sapphiron’s “Ivory” dragonflight of undead dragons.)

He has a saronite armour to match with the Bloodsurge. It decorates a ziggurat somewhere in Plaguelands. el’thuzad honestly doesn’t care. The armour has spikes on the inside, so if you put it on as a living being, you can’t take it off without bleeding out. A very emo move.

And I am tired now, so this will have to do for now. It’s not all of them, I am sure I haven’t thought of some area. But here we go.

#Kel'thuzad

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minecraftrelatedrandomness · 3 years

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MCSM AU: The YouTubers Get Involved

The basis of this AU is where the YouTubers go questing with Jesse. There are two variations for this AU -- one where the surviving YouTubers go with Jesse post-Mansion, the other one where Stacy and Stampy join the questing in Season 2 Episode 2, Giant Consequences, and in both situations, they get wrapped up in Jesse and their gang’s shenanigans as well. I’m more going to focus on the second one (Season 2 only) rather than the first one.

The idea was inspired by the fanfiction The Adventure Story by Alice Forshadow (based on AU version 1) and fuelled by a discarded self-insert AU featuring the YouTubers.

General

Stampy spends the entire quest comparing the Admin to HitTheTarget, about the colour scheme, the overusage of lava, spiders as guards (this last one was taken from his playthrough of S2E3), blocking out the sky, insulting people's builds...

“At least he doesn't build out of mainly nether brick, or I'd have confused him for HitTheTarget MK II.”

“…Who's HitTheTarget?”

“…I'll… tell you later. Once we get out of this mess.”

Stampy also spends the entire quest going along the lines of “Radar sus” (like how Stacy went “Lukas sus” in S1E6 -- it's a playthrough thing)

Both YouTubers get custom armour at some point, based around their colour motifs (orange/white and blue/white, respectively)

Stacy adopts literally every animal in their path, which includes and is not limited to Lluna, Waffles, Blocco, the llama at Romeoburg…

Jesse had no idea that the YouTubers knew how to fight people as well as hostile mobs -- “I didn’t know you could fight this well, [insert name here].”

Cue determinant quotes: “I used to be a sheriff, Jesse, ‘course I know how to fight.” -Stacy [started out as a YouTuber through MC Hunger Games] / “The Tri-Block Tournament wasn’t just redstone contraptions, Jesse.” -Stampy [also played plenty of MC Hunger Games and PvP games overall, and also Ten In A Row Challenge ring a bell?]

Episode 2: Giant Consequences

The YouTubers join the quest to help save Beacontown

Wink is left behind to guard Beacontown

Stampy goes with Lukas and Radar, Stacy goes with Petra and Jack (and Vos), as per their respective playthroughs

For the mission to get the clock, you have to make two choices: Petra VS Jack, and Stampy VS Stacy. This affects the outcome of future episodes like it does in canon already

I’m not sure who gets the gauntlet though... maybe the gauntlet gets doubled? I mean, the Admin can do that, right?

Episode 3: Jailhouse Block

If Stampy makes it into the Institute (i.e. Stacy helps destroy the clock), he would meet up with Anthony and they'd be friends, because they knew each other already -- it's nice to see a familiar face around for a change

Jesse also gets to learn more about their backstories this way

If Stacy is there for the Mooshroom Choice (i.e. Stampy helps destroy the clock), she would viciously defend Oxblood and refuse to shear Geoff. If Jesse chooses to shear Geoff, she would probably be horrified and be on less good terms with Jesse for a good long while

Depending on who destroys the clock (you have to pick two this round), the YouTubers also get outfit changes

Stacy's sweater would turn to red and black stripes, kind of like her Halloween sweater (orange and black)

Stampy's hoodie would go red and black (reference: the thumbnail of this video) and obviously he's salty because they're his enemy's colours

Their respective armour would also turn to Romeo’s colour scheme

The group stumbles across a room full of parrots in the Institute (which also inspires the determinant “pecked to death by prison parrots” comment from Radar) and Stampy is prompted to adopt them, so he still gets his Parrot Prince moment eventually

Their respective Institute!outfits are different too, obviously

Stacy’s looks lowkey like Institute!Petra’s but you know... blue and white stripes

Stampy’s looks “standard” and is still salty about losing his hoodie because of course he would be... bonus points if the hood is used to hide... I dunno, cat ears or something (hey, Oxblood literally has red skin and horns over there, why question cat ears?)

An alternate way for everything to go is to have the YouTubers being taken as part of the hostage group, in which everything before Episode 3 would go as canon goes, meaning they both enter the storyline proper in Episode 3

Episode 4: Below the Bedrock

It's also interesting to note that both YouTubers chose to join as associates and refused to shear Geoff. Yes, both of them… maybe they would have become associates as well in this AU

In this case I'd need to work on an associates design then…

Episode 5: Above and Beyond

Wink finally reunites with Stacy :)

Stampy returns to his house in Beacontown and finds the new Love Garden's pond being filled with lava… and is not happy about it, to put it lightly

#minecraft story mode #minecraft story mode season 2 #mcsm au #my post #my thoughts #i accidentally posted this before it was finished… oh well everything of note is under the cut #stampylongnose #stampylonghead #stampy cat #stampy #stacyplays #stacysays #stacy plays #mcsm stampy #mcsm stacy #11 january 2021 #mcsm jesse #mcsm headcanons

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viviswtings · 3 years

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Sinners. (Mature).

So this is something I thought for the novel I’m actually writing (or that’s what I tell myself). The boy mentioned is completely based off Hwang Hyunjin. But I never name him so he could be whoever. Just like I never say the princesse’s name just to let you all live your dream (and by that I mean me. I wanna live my princess dream with Hyunjin).

Words:1764.

Warnings: It’s very angsty. It takes place in an ottoman harem like setting, so some of the expressions could be politically or socially incorrect. Also there is mentions of blood, loss of family members, fratricide and prostitution.

She wasn’t meant to be there at such an hour. It was too early, to soon to be wandering around the cold stone halls of the palace. Her satin slippers clicked softly against the marble floor, the freezing feeling creeping up her heel towards her leg, making her toes numb.

But she had heard the screams, the cries of agony, the many different prayers, and the pain had gripped her heart so tight, she no longer could sleep. If she closed her eyes, those of whom she once called sister looked back, void of emotion. The blank stare judged her, pale, cracked lips called her name softly, asking her for help, a help she would never be able to deliver.

So, she walked in the shadows, the veil around her frame mimicking that of night, covering her deepest sorrows and sadness. Hiding them, and her, from the sight of those who guarded the many doors and treasures behind them. She followed any noise that reached her ears, any little stimuli that got to her. Just to get rid of that anguish that threatened to end up consuming her.

This time it had woken her up. A thud, soft and gentle, kept repeating itself, footsteps, she realised. Many of them. And with those footsteps, the drag of feet, belonging to one who did not wish to keep walking, whose step had become heavy and painful, nearly unbearable. She had heard them before, the steps of the damned.

From experience she knew not to follow them, not to search for a damned man, one who was meant to die. But weren’t them all? Weren’t they all going to die anyway? She had seen them, the rope tightening around their neck, slowly, tortuously, as if it was nothing but mocking the soul it was about to take with it.

If they were lucky, the death of warriors would be granted to them as a favour from the Emperor. The sword swiftly cutting the air with a deafening noise, and before one could even tell, the cries of the women he left behind would follow.

For those whose blood could not be spilled, a silken cord handled by the hands of the most expert medic would take them in their sleep. Yet again, only the cries of their women following the next morning. She had cried with those women, she remembered, wearing nothing but black while following a trail of dark and beautiful wooden caskets adorned in gold. The bodies of the ones she had held closest to her heart inside them, their lives, their beautiful essence, taken from them forever. Reuniting with the so-called gods above, with whom they were now feasting, even if they had left a whole that would never be filled.

A light, warm and flickering, as were those from long white candles, illuminated a small portion of the hall she was walking through. Creating a halo around the door that hadn’t been closed. From inside came voices, ones she could very easily recognise, and others she had never heard in her life. With them, soft whimpers, the cries of men. She had never seen a man cry before, so maybe they were just poor boys that had been catch sneaking around the gardens. Picking up flowers and fruits, just relishing in their youth, as she once had done. Before it was stripped from her like clothes torn away from her body.

She peaked her head, looking with her vivid eyes at what was inside the room. It was a room that was at the very limits of the harem, a room she had never even come close to. She had never known the need, nor had the curiosity to venture that far inside the eunuch’s wing. But the room wasn’t much different from those of the odalisques, with two beds and poorly decorated. A mixture between the rooms of those who served and those loved by him.

Yet, it wasn’t that insignificant detail that had her attention grabbed by the gut, keeping her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her.

A boy, not much older than her brothers, was kneeling on the floor. His head hung low, deep dark, greasy hair covering his face. His skin was pale, the shadows around his neck and wrists a sick hue of greenish blue. His body, long and slim, seemed to her, under the distressed attempt at clothing, more like those of young women and much less like the big, ample shoulders and big round bellies of men.

When he raised his head, forced by the sun-mistreated hand of a eunuch she knew well. A man covered in ugly creases and the darkest of faces she had ever witnessed, with his head shaven and shiny. She loved him very much, but, when his thick old fingers grabbed the pale skin of the boy’s jaw, forcefully making the poor soul look him in the eye, she felt as one who was witnessing the beating of a child.

His eyes were sharp as knives, dark as his hair, and shimmered with spots of gold in the candle lit room. His face was of soft features, with a small nose and round lips, his eyebrow harmoniously framing his face together. She had never seen such a face, such a captivating gaze. With hooded eyes and stern expression, yet looking like a god-sent angel to earth.

“Let him go”. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them, and the eunuch turned to her, his robes sizzling around him. She soon realised her mistake and took on a powerful stance she had learned from the Emperor’s very own mother. “Who is he? What are you doing with him?”

A smile grazed her beloved wooden-coloured eunuch’s face, softening his features and lightening the heavy weight pulling her down. She couldn’t help but smile back, softening also her stance.

“He is a gift from a king to the Emperor of The World, your highness”. Her friend’s words made her furrow her brows.

“To whom could he be a gift for, Gazlah? He is but a young boy. What use would we have for a young beautiful boy here?” Her genuine concern made the man flinch, not knowing what to answer. Even though he had known the young princess ever since she had been born and had been her closest companion in her darkest times. He knew of her deep thoughts and concerns; of the poetry she wrote in pieces of paper that later she would burn with the saddest look on her beautiful eyes. Yet, he did not know how to answer, he had never imagined himself in a situation where he would have to explain to a pure heart such a horrendous act that men all around her committed. The same men that later claimed to be knights in shining armour to her, bowing so low their hawk like noses nearly touched the ground beneath them.

“Do you want him, highness?” He asked softly, feeling for the boy. He had once been in his shoes, and a kind heart like that of the princess would have been for him a miracle sent from above amongst the pain and struggle he had to endure in his younger years.

She seemed taken aback by the offer, her doe like eyes opening, round like the moon above them. They turned back to the boy, who was looking at the candle on the desk, beautiful looks of hair like strokes of ink making him seem like a spirit, a ghost of a damned man. If she could take the pain away from his soul, maybe his happiness and joy would allow her to sleep again.

“Yes”. Was her short but assertive answer, her voice a soft croak. She finally stepped inside de room, kneeling beside him to help him get on his feet. He didn’t even look at her, probably fearing the worst was yet to come. Even when, by the looks of it, he had already walked through every hell imaginable to men. “You shall call a physician, Gazlah. Bath him, give him clothes and prepare a bed for him in my rooms. There he will stay until his health is restored”.

The eunuch looked at her as if another head had popped out of her neck. “You can’t have him in your room, your highness. He is a man”. His words took her by surprise, not even having given that possibility a thought, and she held the boy closer without hesitation. As if what Gazlah was doing was pulling him by the arm away from her. Like a child who just got her doll taken.

“He is a boy, Gazlah”. The princess looked at the poor soul’s face, his soft and pretty features couldn’t be those a man. Of that, at least, she was sure. “I can keep a kid in my room. It is no sin, for he poses no threat”. She wanted to believe the gold shine she had seen in his eye was that of childhood.

Before her friend could answer, a heavy weight pulled her down. She barely managed to not a let a scream that threatened to tear her throat out at the sight of the boy she was holding so close bleeding on her white gown. His eyes white orbs without pupils, without a trace of life in them. A high-pitched noise rang in her ear, and she held his body to her while the man called for a physician to come.

She did not know his name, or where he came from. She didn’t know his age, his history. She didn’t know anything about him. But those sad beautiful eyes had enchanted her. Maybe the princess had never witnessed features like his, for he came from a faraway land in the other side of the world. But she did know that after looking him in the eye, she could not let him die. She could not let him go without a fight. If she did, she would never know peace again. She would never sleep.

So she held him close, calling him even if it was without a name. Asking him to fight just a tad bit longer, so he could walk around the palace gardens, so he could go back home. Her tears stained his cheeks, and she couldn’t fathom yet why his wound felt so deep inside her chest, if it wasn’t hers. But the pain seemed to seep in her bones, and she could not bring herself to question it.

(It’ll mean the world to me if anyone wants me to turn this into an ongoing stories maybe? Just let me know if anyone wants at least a second part or I don’t even know. I’m so self conscious about sharing my more personal work here be kind please.)

#hwang hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #original work #original writing #fantasy writing #fantasy world #medieval fantasy

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