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sjsmith56 · 1 year ago

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Complicated - Day 1

Summary: Bucky is on his way to Louisiana on his motorcycle when a woman in a wedding dress asks for a ride out of town.

Length: 4.2K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC (not described except for long hair), Sam Wilson (via phone call)

Warnings: Talk of forced marriage, woman offered as collateral for gambling debt, bad mobsters, guilt.

Author notes: This started out as something lighthearted but got dark real fast. Two more parts.

🏍️👰

After receiving the bill for his lunch at the diner in the small Alabama town he stopped in, Bucky Barnes took the slip of paper with him to the cash register. Pulling his bank card out he smiled at the server.

“How was your meal, sir?” she asked.

“Excellent, thank you.”

He followed the prompts on the readout and entered a good tip before tapping the card on the portable terminal. A beep signified its acceptance, and he took the receipt, folding it into his wallet. He knew he could have waited until he got to Delacroix to eat but this diner had great burgers and pie, and the best way to end a good meal like that was with a slice of homemade apple pie. With a polite nod he stepped out into the hot afternoon and took the few steps to his motorcycle. In a couple of hours, he’d be sitting on Sam’s porch, a cold beer in his hand, and a quiet evening to look forward to with his adopted family. Pulling his helmet on, he straddled his motorcycle, turned it on and headed towards the main road, looking for the signs leading him back to the highway towards Louisiana. Suddenly, a woman in a wedding dress ran onto the middle of the road, waving her arms to get him to stop.

“Are you going out of town?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Yes,” he replied, puzzled.

“Take me with you, please,” she pleaded. “I have to get out of here before they realize I’m gone.”

Her face was flushed from the heat making her glow, but her eyes were desperate, that is when they weren’t looking in the direction she came from. By the way she was breathing and the signs of fear she was giving off, Bucky knew this woman was afraid for her life.

“Okay, but you’ll have to wear my helmet,” he said, undoing it.

“Deal.”

She yanked her veil off and jammed the helmet on, doing up the buckle. Gathering up the skirt of her wedding dress she climbed on behind Bucky and pulled herself close to his back. Tapping his belly as she wrapped her arms around him, she told him to go. With a grim smile he applied the gas and pulled away, listening to her cry in relief. An hour later he pulled into a rest stop.

“Park where they won’t see you,” she suggested.

Slowly, he drove around to the back where there was a small park with picnic tables. Turning his motorcycle off he waited for her to dismount before he did the same. She took the helmet off, giving him the first extended look at her in her wedding dress, which she had bunched up and was holding in one of her arms.

“Bucky,” he said, offering her his hand.

“Just call me Rita,” she replied, shaking his hand in return. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Cold feet?” he asked, knowing there was much more to this story.

“No, forced marriage. I was put up as collateral for a debt by my prick of a boyfriend … ex-boyfriend.”

He really didn’t know what to say to that and she didn’t offer more information, so he decided to play it neutrally.

“Well, you’re not exactly dressed for travelling. You’ll be pretty obvious in that dress.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking at the thick bundle of wedding dress in her arm. “Where you headed?”

“Delacroix, near New Orleans,” said Bucky. “You could hide out there.”

She considered his words, looking around, then let out a breath.

“Alright,” she said. “First, I need to cut some of this dress away. You have a knife?”

A sly smile passed across Bucky’s face, and he slid a knife out of his boot. Her eyes widened but she kept her smile at the sight of it, recognizing it as an actual weapon and not a penknife like she thought she was asking about. She took it and started hacking away at the hem, but he stayed her hand and took the knife back.

“Stand still,” he ordered, studying how the dress was constructed.

Locating one of the side seams he ripped through it up to her knees, then used the knife to make a small horizontal cut in the layers of fabric. Handing the knife back to her he pulled the rip apart through all of the layers at one time, tearing it across her knees to the other side, where he resumed ripping the seam back down to the hem. He repeated the process on the back part of the dress, ending up with an almost even hem that would pass a quick look. Opening one of his saddle bags he looked through it and pulled out a hoodie.

“This should cover you more effectively and disguise that you’re wearing a wedding dress,” he said, looking critically at his handiwork. “I’ll have to stop somewhere and get another helmet. A pair of pants for you would probably be a good idea because you’ll freeze your legs quickly on the highway.”

“I have no money,” she said. “They have it all … my money, my ID, my clothes.”

“Not a problem. If there is anyone who knows how to hide, it’s me. Let me help you.”

Rita, frowned, looking at Bucky again. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

“You look familiar,” she said. “Are you wanted?”

A slight grin formed on his face. “I was a number of years ago but I’m legit now,” he said.

She was still frowning so he took his gloves off and showed his left hand to her. Instantly, she flashed her eyes up at him.

“You’re that Bucky?” she asked.

“I’m that Bucky,” he confirmed.

“They’ll come looking for me,” said Rita. “They’re Russian loan sharks and they were marrying me off to the son of one of them, a real bastard as well.”

“Russian mobsters can be like that,” he replied, looking back out at the highway. “Since you know who I am, you know I can handle myself with guys like that although Delacroix might not be such a good idea.” She looked at him questioningly. “Too many innocent people there that I care about. I can probably get you to wherever else you want to go, although your ID might be an issue. Might be able to set you up with some false ID.”

“Alright. I guess I don’t have much choice.”

He got back on the motorcycle, while Rita got on behind him, tightening the helmet strap. Checking his phone, Bucky located a place to buy another motorcycle helmet and some clothes for Rita. It wasn’t far, maybe 10 miles away. As he started up his ride, he smiled when he felt Rita clutch him tight. Without the bulk of the dress between them he could feel more of her body against his. Putting his motorcycle into gear he headed back onto the highway.

Less than 15 minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of the motorcycle shop. Bucky walked in and asked to see the helmets, picking one out for Rita. Satisfied with the fit he asked about women’s clothing and was directed to several racks. She flipped through them, finding some T-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a jacket. When she saw the price on the jacket, she put it back and Bucky checked the tag.

“Take it, I can afford it,” he said.

“But we don’t even know each other,” she replied. “I can’t pay you back.”

He looked at the clerk. “Can you give us a moment?” The clerk moved away. “Did I ask for repayment?”

“No, but no one gives anyone anything for free,” she said. She clamped her mouth shut for a moment trying not to cry. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I can only pay you one way and ….”

Bucky took a deep breath then patiently looked her in the eyes. “I’m not asking you to pay me back, especially not that way. That’s not the kind of man I am. When I was on the run, I was terrified of everyone that came near me but there were kind people who helped me with food, money, clothes, and even a place to sleep. It was hard, really hard to accept that help, but I did, and although a few took advantage of me, most of them were just being kind. Let me help you, please.”

She sniffed, wiping some tears from her face. Reaching into his jeans he pulled out a neatly folded cloth handkerchief and handed it to her. Accepting it, she wiped her eyes then nodded her head and took the clothes to the change room. When she came out wearing the jeans and one of the T-shirts, Bucky asked what else she needed.

“Underwear, socks, and footwear,” she replied. “We can go to a Walmart for those.”

“We’ll take these,” he said to the clerk, putting the other items on the counter.

The clerk gave Bucky a pair of scissors so he could cut the tags from the clothes she was wearing. While he waited Bucky noted a pair of security cameras. Leaning towards the man Bucky pointed at them.

“I’m helping the lady leave a domestic abuse situation,” he said. “I’m worried her ex will come in here looking for her. How much to remove her presence from the record if they do?”

The man glanced at Rita, still trying to calm herself down. “No charge,” he said. “My sister had a bastard of a husband who beat her. It took a while to get her to a safe place, but he hasn’t found her yet and if he does, I’ll kill him.”

She looked at the clerk, giving him a grateful smile which he returned. With the purchase complete they stepped outside the store. Bucky packed her new clothes into a saddle bag, then waited for her to put the jacket and new helmet on. When they were both on, he started it up and pulled away, heading towards the highway. As they approached the on ramp, he noticed a police car waiting in a strange spot just past where the road merged with the highway. Instead of going on it he kept going on the local road, keeping his speed steady. Watching his rear-view mirrors for any signs of the police car he drove towards the next town. No one seemed to be following them but that single police car kept bothering him as they got closer. When he saw the sign for the local Walmart, he pulled into the parking lot and found a spot that was surrounded by bigger trucks. Rita dismounted, took off her helmet and stood facing him.

“Why didn’t you go on the highway?”

“There was a police car on the on ramp and it wasn’t in a normal position,” he said. “It didn’t feel right, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts.” He opened the one set of saddle bags again and dug through it, finding a black baseball cap and handing it to her. “Put this on. Keep your head down and don’t draw attention to yourself. We go in, get what you need and come out.”

Doing as he asked, Rita gathered her hair together and threaded it through the back of the cap, pulling the brim down low on her face. Bucky stood in front of her, looking critically at the placement of it, nodded and took her by the hand.

“We’re just boyfriend and girlfriend picking up some things,” he said. “Excessive public displays of affection bother people but if you look like you’re afraid they’ll notice as well.” Rita gave him some side-eye. “I’m not saying be all over me but if we hold hands or touch each other casually, it’s more believable. We just want to blend in, okay?”

“Okay.”

She put her hand in his and they walked towards the entrance. The greeter welcomed them, and they both smiled pleasantly at him in response. Going to the ladies’ wear, Rita picked out some cotton panties, finding some on sale. She went to the bra section where Bucky turned around, letting her find what she needed. Fortunately, one of the brands she was familiar with was in stock, and she picked up a couple in her size.

“I better grab something to sleep in,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m a T-shirt and shorts girl.”

From sleepwear they went to the socks and grabbed a couple of pairs. Shoes were next and she chose a pair of slip-on sneakers.

“What about toiletries?” he asked. “I have a few things but probably not what you need. We should get a backpack for you as well, so it’s all together in one bag.”

With a nod she went to the personal care items, picking out a cleanser, moisturizer and sunscreen, as well as some deodorant, toothbrush, hairbrush and hair bands. On the way to the cashier, they stopped off to get a backpack, choosing a neutral colour with no markings. At the cash register Bucky paid cash then they used the backpack to put everything in. Before they came out Bucky looked out over the parking lot, checking for any vehicles that looked like they didn’t belong there. Nothing jumped out at him, so they quickly walked to the motorcycle, where Rita switched out her fancy sandals for socks and the sneakers. She threaded her arms through the backpack straps.

“I’m going to make a call while we’re on the road,” said Bucky, pointing to his helmet. “Bluetooth, so don’t mind that I’m talking to someone.”

“Who are you calling?” asked Rita.

“Help,” he said. “We need somewhere safe for you to go.”

Handing the ball cap back to Bucky she put the helmet on, mounting the bike behind him. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he voice-called Sam.

“Hey, where are you?” asked his partner. “I was expecting you a couple of hours ago.”

“Yeah, about that,” replied Bucky.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” declared the super soldier. “Well, I gave someone a ride and it’s becoming more complicated.” He could feel Sam’s eye roll through the speaker in his helmet. “She was in trouble, and I think we have the Russian mob looking for us.”

“She… she’s a woman?”

“Well, the term does generally indicate a woman,” answered Bucky. “She doesn’t seem to be trans, not that it would matter. I was going to bring her to Delacroix but when she told me about the mob connection, I figured it would be better if I could get her to a safe house, so I changed directions. I can’t exactly look up safe houses while I’m driving.”

“Why do you always seem to find someone who needs help?” asked Sam. “I mean, I know that’s what we do but seriously, do you have a sign on you that says superhero for rent?”

“She’s not paying me. In fact, she has nothing … no money, no ID, no clothes. I had to buy her something to wear because what she had on was too distinctive. Don’t worry, I paid cash for the most recent purchase but I’m running low on that and will need to find one of my bank’s branches to make a withdrawal.”

“Have you made any purchases using your bank card?” asked Sam.

“Yeah ….” Bucky winced. “I bought lunch in the town I picked her up in and then I had to buy another motorcycle helmet and some clothes at a place 30 miles from there. Do you think you can get someone to get rid of the tracking on those two purchases?”

There was a heavy sigh at the other end. “You know that Fury is not going to be happy about you going rogue. What if a mission comes up?”

“Well, remind him that sometimes the mission is one ordinary person,” snapped Bucky, immediately regretting his tone with his friend. “I couldn’t say no to a woman in a wedding dress asking me to help her get away from a forced marriage to a mobster, could I?”

“No, I wouldn’t either,” admitted Sam. “Give me your location and I’ll try to find the closest safe house. Just don’t leave a trail of bodies in your wake.”

Bucky gave Sam his current position, along with the location where he found Rita, and the name of the store where he bought the helmet. With a promise not to stop until Sam got back to him, he ended the call. For another hour he drove without hearing anything, then Rita suddenly squeezed on his middle, and he leaned his head back to hear her yell as loud as she could.

“Stop!”

He pulled over onto a country road, travelling a little down it until he saw a place that was obscured from the highway. Before he stopped completely, Rita had scrambled off, running into the bushes. At first, he started following her, but she called out.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” she yelled. “I was trying to hold it, but it got too hard.”

With a slight grin he returned to his motorcycle and leaned against it. Several moments later she came out, looking relieved. At that moment his cell phone rang, and he answered it, leaving it off speaker.

“Alright, I have the location of a safe house, but you’ll have to stay in a motel tonight,” he said. “The safe house is in Memphis.” Bucky grunted. “Hey, it’s the best we can do on short notice. I already booked you a place to stay tonight in Jackson and prepaid it with an untraceable credit card. Do you have your alias ID with you?”

“Yeah,” replied Bucky.

“The reservation is under that name.” Sam hesitated. “Fury had me check the police chatter for any APBs on a woman in your area. So far, they haven’t associated her with a mode of transport so you should be okay. They’re looking for a Rita Harmon, age 29, on suspicion of murder. Her boyfriend, Jason Tierney was found dead in Mobile. Shot in the head execution style. She has no priors, nothing even suspicious, but the boyfriend was known in illegal gambling circles, Russian operated ones. Looks like her story checks out.”

Bucky looked at Rita, not saying anything. Once they got to the motel, he would break it to her that her former boyfriend paid for her escape with his life.

“One more thing,” said Sam. “With the involvement of the Russian mafia, Fury is interested in making this an official case. Preliminary investigation into those gambling circles has also uncovered a link to human trafficking and arms dealing, some of it out of Mobile, so they’re using the port. He’s working on burying the APBs on her but if the cops in certain jurisdictions are compromised ….”

“Understood,” said Bucky. “Like I said, complicated.”

“Yeah,” sighed Sam. “Be careful.”

Bucky hung up and mounted his motorcycle. “Come on, we have a place to stay tonight but we need to get there as soon as we can.”

She wanted to ask what he had learned but the tone of his voice was serious, so she got on behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Before he pulled away, he patted her hand sympathetically, leading her to think something had happened. It wasn’t until an hour later, when he pulled into the motel and checked in under a different name that she knew for certain.

Unlocking the door, Bucky stood in the doorway, watching the parking lot and highway carefully for any signs of being watched or followed. When he was satisfied, he stepped into the motel room and locked the door behind him, then dropped his helmet on the bed closest to the door. Rita was already sitting on the other bed, her hand on top of the backpack beside her. Sitting across from her, Bucky took a deep breath, deciding to figuratively rip the bandaid off.

“The authorities found your boyfriend, Jason Tierney,” he said sombrely. “I’m sorry but they killed him.”

Her mouth twitched slightly, then she pressed her lips together as if trying to stifle what was coming but a deep sob erupted from her anyways, and she buried her face in her hands. For several moments he watched her cry, then sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. Desperately, Rita clutched his leather jacket as she pressed her face into his chest, her tears seeping through both the Henley shirt and the T-shirt he wore. Bucky knew no words would comfort her, so he just stroked her back allowing her to bare her pain, until the sobs lessened and were replaced by slight hiccups as she began to breathe properly again.

“Why?” she asked, still pressed into his chest. “Why would they kill him?”

“There’s a connection to arms dealing and human trafficking,” said Bucky. “Even with the little I told them about you there was enough evidence for my boss to decide to get involved officially. I guess you’re a material witness now.”

Pulling away slightly Rita dug into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out Bucky’s handkerchief, wiping her eyes. She was about to blow her nose on it then reached over to the tissue box on the nightstand, pulling a couple of them out instead. Nodding her head to show she understood, Rita stood up to throw the used tissue in a wastebasket, then leaned against the dresser, taking some more breaths as she tried to center herself.

“There’s one more thing,” said Bucky, from where he still sat. “Mobsters like these guys tend to have law enforcement in their pockets. They’re looking for you, on suspicion of murdering your boyfriend. My boss is trying to bury the bulletins that are out for you, but corrupt cops are probably being offered big money under the table to find you.”

“Fuck,” she groaned, ready to start crying again.

“Hey,” said Bucky, standing up to come closer to her. He bent over to make eye contact with her. “This isn’t your fault.”

“He’s dead because I ran out of the wedding,” she said, her lips trembling again.

“No.” Bucky shook his head emphatically. “He’s dead because he got involved with some very bad people, and he pulled you into it without your knowledge or consent. A gambling debt to these guys is like a contract and your boyfriend signed that contract when he offered you as collateral. You had no choice in this, none. Do you think he even considered what they would do to you if you went through with the wedding? You would have been property, probably branded or tattooed to show that you belonged to that family. Then they would have kept you prisoner in who knows what kind of conditions, expected to be available to your husband or others at all hours of the day or night. That’s slavery, Rita.”

The way his gaze was locked on hers hammered home the truth of what he was telling her. It also proved how easily she had believed Jason’s lies, as she told Bucky her story. Even though they had only been together for a year she had given up a good job for him, as he pursued his dream of being a professional poker player. She spoke of all the times he promised her how she would live like a queen when he hit the big-time poker circuit. Instead, they had stayed in fleabag motels, eating takeout dinners from greasy spoon outlets.

Then Jason heard of a big poker game near Mobile, Alabama. He sold her car to get enough money to stake a spot at the table, promising her that if he won this game, he could buy her a new car. As she sat watching him play, she realized well before him that it was a rigged game. The subtle signals the other players were giving each other became more and more obvious, indicating that they were working together. When she tried to warn him, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, as one of the other players asked if he was pussy whipped. Then that man had said something to another man standing inside the door, speaking in what sounded like Russian. A firm grip on her arm and the sight of those cold dark eyes on her told her that she was no longer welcome in the room. Jason didn’t even bat an eye at it, as he was deep into his own lie of winning the pot. When he came out just minutes later, he couldn’t even make eye contact with her, just walked past as if she no longer mattered.

She looked at Bucky, swallowed then sighed. Something told her that he would go all out to protect her. Would it be enough?

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #runaway bride #mob debt #on the run #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes fanfiction

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safetycar-restart · 1 year ago

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Do you take George asks? Idk if I’ve ever seen him mentioned here before but after today George is going to need something very soft and tender and praise heavy.

I’m imagining a D/s au setting with George beating himself up about the result to the point that his Dom just ties him up and sets out to distract him with praise and overstimulation.

Feel free to ignore this if you don’t enjoy George!

(Also is 🦅 taken?)

Hi anon! Yes I do write for George! We tend go through phases where a couple drivers are requested a lot and then someone else will take their place, so there hasn't been much George lately but yes I absolutely do write for him! I write for all drivers except a couple that I have stated in my pinned post :))

Also, yeah 🦅 is open and I'll add it to the claimed list for you, however this means that you must send at least one Logan ask because you're stealing his brand so it's only fair. Anyway, on to George!

At first you have no idea what to do, because Lewis has a podium! But only because George made a mistake and ended up in the wall. Lewis deserves to have his dom congratulate him and watch him on the podium and scene with him after if he wants. But George needs you.

You see Lewis first, because George hadnt made it back to the garage by the time Lewis arrived at the podium. You don't even get to hug Lewis, the moment he sees you he immediately says 'go to George I'm fine, I'm happy. Go to George, please.'

You don't question him any further, going back to the garage to wait for George. And yeah Lewis was right it was the right call.

Poor George is so broken when he sees you. He throws his helmet in the direction of his trainer and runs over, falling into your arms and crying before you even have time to hug him back. You just hold him, understanding that George needs to feel this before you can start trying to make him feel better.

Eventually he stops crying and kinda just deflates into you, letting you take all his weight. You run your hands up and down his back, pulling away enough to press a kiss to his neck and whisper to him that he did all he could and that it’ll be alright in the end.

You wish you could get him away from prying eyes immediately, but you know he’ll have to talk to the media. So you agreed to George doing two short media interviews while you clear him skipping the debrief with Mercedes. You don’t have to put much work into that though because the moment you spot Toto, he’s immediately telling you to take George back to the hotel and that he’ll handle everything else. You can tell Toto is angry, but he knows better than to show that anger to George (mostly because he’s afraid of what you’d do to him).

After the media, it’s straight to the hotel for George. And I think he’d need the scene instantly? No time to get him showered and changed, no time for dinner or snacks. He can’t do anything, can’t even stop shaking. You need to get him into subspace and then you can guide him through everything else that needs to get done.

I love the idea of tying him. It just stabilises him completely, makes him feel so grounded and safe. You just tie his arms and legs, tying him so that his legs are crossed and his arms are behind his back. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but that’s the point. You need him out of his head and in the moment.

That’s when the praise and edging starts. Maybe he doesn’t get to cum until he can repeat the praise back to you? At first he can’t, convinced that all the things you’re saying about him aren’t true. But slowly you break him down, edging him and getting him closer and closer to that floaty headspace he can let himself go.

You know he’s where you want him when, through tears, he can repeat the praise back, calling himself talented and beautiful and a good sub.

Then he gets to cum.

I also think that maybe after you’ve cleaned him up, you tie him again? Just give him a nice chest harness that he can wear for the rest of the evening. It helps keep him in a comfortable sub space.

#post race vibes #sub!George #gr #nsfw.#gn!reader #angst angst vibes #🦅

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kyberrebel · 5 months ago

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Things that went through my mind during The Acolyte episode 7

I’m already happy that the final is more than half an hour.

Osha being inside the Darth Teeth helmet is going to give me a panic attack just watching her.

Considering Sol never took Pip away from Mae, he was kind of just asking for her to escape, honestly.

I hope somewhere starts selling plushies of Bazil! I’d pay so much money for one.

There’s been so much foreshadowing to Anakin’s eventual fall to the dark side in this show. This senator’s talk about a Jedi snapping one day is just one of many. I get why they want to foreshadow it, but it being so on the nose is getting old really quickly.

WAIT Who was that in that cave??? There’s no way that’s Darth Plagueis, right? It kind of looks like him.

If Qimir ends up killing Sol I am going to be so mad.

But also if Sol ends up killing Qimir I am going to be so mad.

I’m honestly surprised more people don’t use lightsabers as boomerangs in Star Wars.

Man, whoever edited this episode really loved slow-motion shots.

Osha and Mae fighting hand to hand is so cool. Especially with the way they mirror each other’s moves at times.

I feel bad for Qimir while Sol and Mae are talking. This poor dude’s just awkwardly standing there, bummed that Mae isn’t finally Sol.

NO! I I love Sol’s and Osha’s relationship. I’m sad that it’s getting ruined!

Right now I’m guessing that Mae represents the light side and Osha represents the dark, instead of the other way around. That’s why Mae failed at being Qimir’s apprentice, and Osha failed at being a Jedi. It also makes sense because of their current outfit choices, with Mae wearing white and Osha wearing black.

^I wrote that seconds before Osha started Force choking Sol. Damn, I’m good.

SHE’S BLEEDING THE KYBER CRYSTAL!?!? THAT IS SO COOL!

BUT AT THE SAME TIME I REALLY DON��T WANT SOL TO DIE!

NO!

Sol giving her permission to kill him is literally so sad. All my favorite characters on this show keep dying, though!

Okay, if Qimir or Bazil die, I have no more favorite characters on this show. So they better live.

The lightsaber blade turning red is so perfect.

Oh yay, more disposable background Jedi to kill.

I guess Vernestra was Qimir’s Jedi master. Interesting.

I like Osha and Mae finally working together!

With Mae’s memory wiped, this show is going to end where they were as kids post-incident, except in reverse. With Mae with the Jedi and Osha with Qimir.

Osha crying has me crying now.

I knew Vernestra was going to be the one who ended up concealing that fact that there are Sith out there!

Does it stink that Osha is now training with a Sith? In theory, yes. But at the same time, I love the dynamic she has with Qimir. So I’m cool with it.

YODA!!!!!!!!!!

I think this was a good ending for season one, AS LONG AS WE GET A SEASON TWO.

I’ll post my final thoughts on the show as a whole soon!

#star wars #the acolyte #the acolyte spoilers

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redpasserines · 1 year ago

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Helena, on mourning.

Car sirens. Blue, red, blue, red. The flashes of light reflecting on the beads of a broken necklace. A shadow standing on the balcony, lightly stepping around the broken shards of the window. The outline, glowing red and blue. And red again. A body, on the floor. The single pearl in her right hand. And Helena, under the table, with her mother’s blood splattered on her cheeks.

Did you come to kill me?

She skates like she’s running. She doesn’t feel like dancing right now, because right now, she exists twice. She’s eight and twelve years old. She can hear it, the fork clattering, the sirens, the way the wooden floor had creaked when she’d stood; can see the morning’s light, the blue and the red, Damian promising he’ll be back, a man who’d introduce himself as Jason, staring at her.

Everything always catches back to you, Helena. You’re allowed to be sad. Even if you think it doesn’t make sense.

The stands are empty. The rink is, too. It’s five in the morning, on a Tuesday. She expects to see her mother there, behind the glass panel. She turns, and she thinks she almost runs into her older brother, who’d never moved on from the shakiness he had in the beginning, but who’d always, stubbornly, tried to catch up to her.

Her dad holds her in his arms in front of a hole in the ground. He isn’t really her dad, because the dad-she-never-met is like they’d said her mother is, now, as in: laying down in a hole somewhere. It’s hot, maybe twenty four degrees or so, and the sun is shining bright. Helena doesn’t cry. This is all just a bad dream. On the side, she sees more of the stone memorials.

Her right skate cuts viscerally across the ice. Any other day, she would have felt bad for the people that’d come after her.

You remind me of my brother. Well, I guess he’d have been your brother too. I mean, I’m Todd’s brother, and yours, too, though, so I guess not necessarily. But he was really good. Not at skating, just. Well.

Helena is twelve years old. Her mother is never coming back. She didn’t leave for a day trip to scout another city. Don’t think that we’re leaving, baby, we’re just racing across the whole Earth. You love racing, I know that because when you were four and in kindergarten, you would make me bring you to school extra early so you could race with the boys. Helena had stopped complaining, at some point, probably around the time they went to Sweden and she’d learned about skating on black ice. Gosh, she had hoped they’d go back to Toronto, eventually.

Helena is eight years old. She’s running across the ice. She’s her mother’s daughter, because she’s running away, away from people that she would probably kill her if they’d ever caught up to her. Except, even though that’s all she’s been seeing, maybe because that’s all she wants, she can’t see them. She’ll never see them again.

She jumps. She knows she shouldn’t, not while she’s angry and falling apart and alone, but otherwise she’d remember. Remember the first time she’d seen Damian in that black and blue costume of his, explaining why he was wearing it. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember her father’s old red helmet, too, the way it shone in the cave’s low lighting.

You remind me of him. He would have loved you.

She turns, four times. She lands it. She’s been trying that exact jump for years. It’s not supposed to be possible, technically. That’s what all of her coaches had told her. There are limits to everything, Helena. That’s okay. We just have to live with that. She screams.

#helena wayne #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #<- implied #selina kyle #This might be terrible and ik the quadruple axel is overdone but I think it makes a sick parallel to Dick (who for context she never met)#Also blue and red which are Dick’s color (that Damian took up afterwards)#and Jason’s color.. not me explaining my whole writing lmfao #anyways. She means the world to me #oh and also idk if that’s clear or not but the shadow she sees is Jason (who adopts her) and the fork clattering morning light bit are when #she learned Damian died. Basically Selina was on the run from people she shouldn’t have crossed and they ended up killing her. Yeah. Sorry

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walker33961 · 1 year ago

Text

2 ‘N HALF YEAR LATER………

- There was no intel of Makarov.. he was more strong.. .

He was causing blasts everywhere and all they were trying to save the civilians .. some were detonated and some where already causing a bloodsea…

But they couldn’t find the hubs , safehouses of his and himself for years …

*Price slams hand in the table*

“ He’s getting out of hand “ *Price*

“ We have to be with the shadows ..again” *Ghost says with a concerned tone *

“ They were nice to us…after all that Gold fucking eagle actual ain’t breathing anymore…” *Laswell with her serious tone *

* Nikolai looks at price *

“ He mocked Soap’s death ! and because of him he is KIA ..expected me to forgive that bastard heh?!” * Price angry remembering the moments*

“ If we gotta find intel ..we will need Graves for it “ *Gaz speaks up *

“ I’m here boys “ *Phillip arriving from his helicopter to them , wearing his formals and tactical gear *

“ Speak of the devil “ * Nikolai mocks lightly *

“ Look I’m not into his cage anymore .. I’ll do what I always did …serving my people …and um..

* silent for few seconds *

“ Sorry about Soap .. He did everything to stop that Fucker”

“ *sigh* What’s that bastard into again!?! “

- Laswell explained the situation and All of them thought of a plan ..while explaining the plan on board Laswell got a mail from an unknown ID …

It was the exact location where Makarov’s second in command might be present ….

A line attached to the end of the intel

“ Find Vladimir, keep him alive …till his death comes to him “

* Laswell reading out and everyone trying to guess who could it be *

“ Is it Yuri ?! “

“ He sends me intel directly by comms “

“Did lavender…?!”

*Lav enters *

“ She’s right here “

“What happened Dad ?”

*Price explains the details and about the unknown person *

“ Farah is on her other mission & Alex is with her then it’s a no “ *Lavender*

*a message pops up in Laswell’s phone *

“ Go in disguise as workers ..it’s still under construction “

“ Everything got fixed after Cap’n killed shepherd…except my happy ending “ *Lav speaking with her broken heart “

*Graves gave her a hug *

“ I couldn’t say sorry to him for Las Almas … but I’m saying to you ..both are …..same things “

*Lav hugs him back *

“ Let’s work together …for his justice and all innocents “

*releases the hug , fistbumps Graves *

“ The sender is sure about it … “ * Nikolai *

“ I’m not sending my kids there “ * price *

“ Capt’n..we got this ….” * Ghost speaks up*

“ Hell of a way Dad ..let us do it “ *Lavender speaks with her strong vocals *

“ What’s the location ? “ *Gaz asks *

“ The intel has been forwarded to your Tabs Gaz ,,Bird up in 12 “

*Price ending the brief *

- Lavender tells ghost that she’ll be back ..went to the green grassy field behind the building ..laying down on the grass and looking up at the sky ..missing her Jhonny ….Tears slipping through her brown eyes ….Ghost came out just to check over and found her like this ….

“ Lavie …. I know time is being rough with us but when we get Makarov …I will make sure to put up a hole in his head for killing Jhonny “

*Ghost grabbing her hand and pulling up so she gets up *

“Let mother nature shed tears with me and comfort me along with it Brother…I’ll be there in time “ *Not looking into Simon’s eyes *

*Simon sat down and refuses to leave without her *

*Lav starts crying loudly after few seconds *

*Ghost pulls her into a hug right away,few tears slipping through his eyes*

“ I also miss him Lavie “

- After their time to cope up with the flashbacks they joined with others and got the coordinates in their device

Went to the location in disguise as suggested but the unknown Id . Gaz was wearing a worker cap , Ghost wearing the fits with a normal mask to hide his face and a helmet , Lav tied her hair into a messy bun also wearing a mask like her brother …..

The intel was strong and true … It was one of Makarov’s safehouse …

“ Damn right that girl or guy is ….” * Lavender smirks*

“ Let’s go .. move carefully so our disguise stays” *Gaz suggesting *

“ Lav , you go at the top of the building… Gaz ..come with me “

*Ghost moving out ..all of them turned their earphones and comms on*

“ Stay safe Lavie… I don’t want to loose more “ *Ghost says with a worried yet cared, emotional tone*

“ Rog brother LT “ * yn moves out and reached at the top of the building *

“ Hey you !! , stop “ *Nolan with strong English-Russian accent *

“ Did I do something wrong Sir “ *Lav trying to play it smooth*

“Oh shit …..” *Gaz got shocked *

“ Your too pretty to be hear “ * Nolan comes closer to her*

“ Respectfully sir ..I’m married and thank you for your compliment..Excuse me “ *Lav pushes him lightly and leaves the spot *

“ I settled a tracker in Nolan’s vest “ * Lavender in comms*

“ And you said you’re married “ *Gaz speaking *

“ Always called me his Mrs.MacTavish and I’m doing the job as I should be … in his absence everything’s over me …no lies innit..

“ Go to his location, I’ll cover you guys if they catches ..Lav go left and Gaz ..with me “ *Ghost*

*Listenig heavy footsteps*

“They’re here …. *Gaz announces *

- Lav waited for a while and shot one of the member and this is how a heavy firing started …. Gaz got Nolan and Ghost covered them …

Nikolai arrives to take them and told them to tie themselves with the thrown rope so it pulls them up … Gaz himself & wraps Nolan with the rope along with Ghost and Lavender securely.. Nik flew and it pulled them up ….

Happy Ending 💙

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deadromance619 · 6 months ago

Text

My Introduction

(This starts in the beginning of Legion so a Spoiler Warning for World of Warcraft Legion.)

The Highlord

Perfectia Dawnlights Diary Oct 8

First and the only offspring to be pulled vigorously out of my screaming mother’s womb twenty-two years ago, my grandfather explained to me that mother refused to let him know who the father was. Only that he had black hair and was magicless and if I was either of those things I would have been thrown into the ocean. But I’ve had an incredible amount of blonde hair on my head for a newborn, lucky me. I had to be taken to the sun well water which showed that I could potentially control magic when I got older, double lucky, yay me. I was told that my mother could not hold me until hours after my birth, so my mother didn’t think of a name because she wasn’t sure if I was going to be brought back, but the first thing that was said to my mother when I was brought back was, “You have a perfect high elf baby girl.” So I was named Perfectia Argento Dawnlight. And Argento because that was supposed to be my name if I was born a boy, my grandfather’s idea, and Dawnlight… Well, you know Elvin family names..

Dark story to tell an eight-year-old girl I know, but when I was favoring my grandfather over my mother, she wanted me to know exactly what kind of person he really was. Not that it mattered, she wasn’t all that great herself, he talked to people a certain way (aggressive and threatening) and he talked to me in a more guiding way, and I can only recall that he only lost his temper with me once.

So if you’re reading this for the first time, congratulations. You most likely killed me, I trust you enough to let you read it, I’m already dead, or you tortured me into submission. I don’t understand the details but the lock on this journal only comes open when I cast a healing spell on it. However, it’s not the only one of its kind, there are a few books in this paladin hall at the moment I’m writing this. I’m looking around and seeing lots of books from dead paladins from recent and long ago. A few paladins have books just like this one and the ones in this library are filled with spells, runes, drawings, notes, and logs of adventures. The books also have another function I thought was fascinating. When I look at another paladin reading these books on the shelves, they seem to always be in a language they can understand. I’ve literally seen the ink change forms into a foreign language when it was handed to someone else, except the profanity or curse words. Those always stay the same. Merdre, putain, zut alors, connard, va te faire foutre, did you catch that? No? Good. As of this moment I am writing in Thalassian, but I have no idea what language you’re reading it in. So if I manage not to lose it, maybe I’ll actually be important enough that someone actually put these pages into a printing press, but I doubt that.

If you’re a paladin in training and you found this book in a library to learn how to become a female achievement-oriented, drug-free, proper adult virgin…. No, put it back, then wash your hands. As of right now the Silver Hand has mostly been a male-dominated faction, so my advice. [is this:] wear a helmet that covers your entire face, temper rounded armor that hides your lady bits. If you get so angry that you’re about to cry, then that’s when you let them see your face. It terrifies everyone, but use it sparingly. It’s how I beat Illidan Stormrage when I was 15.

I’m not a virgin so if you’re looking at my corpse right now… Sorry. Maybe you’re reading this because you killed me and you hated me. Now you're rummaging through my stuff looking for some justification that I was a bad person and the world is better off. Well you’re going to love reading this, because I would kill me too, and go ahead spreading these words around like the clap for all I care. I use all kinds of double entendres that have labeled me a slut even when I was a virgin and I think gay people are just as good on the battlefield as straight people. Lastly, I am openly racist toward humans and extremely hateful toward mages.

Or maybe you found this book to be entertained, maybe you’ve heard me talk about the nuances of what I was saying or the way I was saying it or even my willingness to say it regardless of my choices, and something fundamentally resonated.

Is it strange that I feel my ascension into High Lord feels a little lackluster? With two thirds of Silver Hand dead and its leader killed by the Burning Legion. The Paladin order has gone from a formidable military force, to a book club, but put a woman in charge that will work twice as hard for as much as half as much as a man and we might be able to get this thing back on its feet.

I feel I need to explain the contents of that. The Burning Legion are demonic enemies that have been invading our lands for the past few decades, small groups of demons here and there trying to get citizens to join their cause, one that was wildly successful as a result of their unique recruitment process. However, The Burning Legions battle tactics are, well… It’s like they crave death, but not just any death. NOOOOOOOO, these idiots seem to have some kind of pool going on who can end their existence in the most avoidable way possible, and they just keep one upping each other. Since the fall of one of there main leaders Illidan Stormrage, the Burning Legion’s demons have been nothing but a polyp on my bunghole. Irritating, sure. Uncomfortable, absolutely. Horrifying to sexual partners and oftentimes a deal breaker? Definitely. But nothing that a doctor prescribed cream can’t take care of. Now they had finally sent a full scale invasion and they were spreading faster than chlamyd on a knob. Advanced space technology airships invading farms and small towns and (silver lining) temporarily stopped the fighting that was going on between the Horde and the Alliance. Well, most of it anyways. With demonic alien invaders on our doorstep we (as in the Horde) didn’t turn away any help, regardless of where it came from. The Alliance likely felt the same way.

Once we found out where the Burning Legion had established their main garrison, the Horde and the Alliance members sent a counter invasion to dismantle their main outpost on a place called The Broken Isles. It was a complete failure, you know that thing I just explained that the Burning Legion always does, by throwing bodies at a problem, well, we’re not very good at that either. Many key leaders died in the attempt, and few of us. Myself included, barely escaped with our lives. New leaders need to be established and that’s where I came in.

A 22 year old Blood Elf, young even for a human. In hindsight I should still be a child. I've lived off of “fel magic” for a long time during a part of my life and I think that it was the reason why I aged prematurely. I'm about 5'6, blonde hair, glowing green eyes, and my full name is Perfectia Argento Dawnlight and with that I’ll tell you I’m far from it. (Perfect that is. These parentheses are for morons that don’t understand sarcasm, metaphors, or world events, so you can skip them if you take my meaning.) Most of my kin have these round or almond shaped, doll-like faces. However, my chin and face are kind of square. Kind of like I'm starving because I can see these shades around my jawline that come down to each side of my chin. Also my lips are kind of thick, so kind of like an elf that just lost a boxing match and put makeup on to cover the bruises. But I don’t box, or even fight without a helmet, but that’s just my face all the time. I'm also... heavier than most elves. At one point I was well over 140 kilograms (or 310 lbs.) due to a depression I went through after the fall of the Lich King (I’ll get to that later), but I've brought it down to about 102 kilos but that's still heavy for an elf that is usually just over 45 for women and 70 for men. So thicker than the plot of this book… and sorry if that wasn’t funny.

But yes, if I’m not wearing special underwear and I try to run or even jog, my rear would hurt. Not like the muscles, but like the mass of my cheeks is too great and slaps around and pulls my skin and … basically sucks. I mean I can still function as an adventurer but I'm a little odd looking from the waist down compared to most women. Sometimes my kin will tell me in front of my face and sometimes behind my back, that I’m fat. Now if anyone ever told me that before, I would say that I don’t care about what people say or think about me, but I hate it that it almost always makes me run away and cry, oh, I’m such a girl and I hate it.

I had hip surgery about two years ago which is not very common. Usually wounds and even sometimes broken bones can be mended with magic but, because of the nature of the injury, I was bleeding internally, and they had to open me up and do things…

Silver lining, “My Bestie” Dr Olisarra removed all the stretch marks and scars from the folds of skin I used to have from the rapid weight loss and usually does touch ups whenever I come by. I don’t think it was her intention to make my cheeks and legs look like two bean bag chairs when I sit down, but it is hard for me to sit on most toilets. I know what you’re thinking, “If you're friends with a surgeon why don't you ask her to make your hips smaller?”

Because a reoccurring injury already happened when I tried to go back to ‘normal’ from a simple kick and Dr.Olisara made do with her promise in fixing me. These days I can take hits from swords, maces, falls, and dragons and also, I don’t think she really wants to. Every time I go in for a check up she always looks at me like I’m some kind of statue she sculpted herself, before offering some kind of cosmetic or performance enhancement surgery. So when I do take up her offer, for three to four weeks, I get high as a kite from anesthesia, eat ice cream, and get massages. Also, we get to hangout and she’s like, super cool, great dancer, over talkative, drinks a lot, beautiful soft singing voice but not the vocal range of an opera singer, but still lovely to listen to, and just fun to hang out with. Her lab and operational room is in Karazhan and there’s a lot of recreational stuff to do there. Then I come out a little stronger or in some cases a lot stronger and a little more trimmed, and I know my image it’s not what is trending beauty right now, but what I have works for me very effectively in combat. But let's get one thing straight, I'm single, but I’m trying not to be. I know that sounds desperate, but I know why I'm single. I think that's an important distinction to point out. In these times of war, who could think about a meaningful relationship, and I'm not sure if I'm willing to settle with anyone ugly, obnoxious, or toxic. I think I would rather be alone. I'm single because I'm emotionally exhausting. I will say I'm kinda cute, but not cute enough for how emotionally exhausting I am. I guess I could wear more makeup, learn how to walk in high heels. Maybe not read into every passive aggressive insult on my character.

Those are my options, but I don't think I'm going to do that. I guess I'll just hope another catastrophic invasion happens that wipes out 3/4 of the population and then I can focus on procreating on my back like a demonic brood-mother. Or I can just get a bunch of cats.

While I've been fighting the Burning Legion's armies and tackling their garrisons I've been talking to people, some people tell me detailed descriptive stories. Some I just basically interviewed and I guess I’ve found other people’s stories a bit inspiring, so I’ve decided I would take writing a lot more seriously. Make it part of my nightly routine. But seriously, give those stories a gander.

Also, if you thought I was going to put myself down as a… and I quote “I’m absolutely ordinary - well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I’m almost disabled.” End Quote. So you can self insert yourself into pages, I’m going to say… Sorry, and I get it, and I loved the Twilight Saga too, but this is about a big, fat, narcissistic, sour little girl, with a false sense of duty, and a serious case of daddy issues.

I've been a citizen and soldier of the Horde since I was 14, but my Common speech, the language of the majority of the Alliance is still pretty rusty from the last time I spoke it, and even my Orcish, the language of the Horde, I've had some tendencies to roll my 'R's and pronounce my TH's and F's with a Z sound. Also it was extremely difficult to pronounce H's for the first time, knowing full well when I hear the words ``Hello?” I’m going to be able to smell what you ate that day or if you haven’t brushed your teeth in a few days. What a great way for you Common speakers to make a great first impression. So I usually drop the H's whenever I'm speaking any language seeing that Thalassian is my native language. There was a time I spoke Common quite a bit and I think people found the accent endearing, but I will try to skip all the parts where people try to correct my speaking. Because these days, my tongue can't get the pronunciation of Common right, and I can only understand words and sentences that are present tense or singular. But admittedly a lot of things get lost in translation.

I didn't always want to become a paladin but it has its perks. Like, most people trust you, like outright. Even if I was going to steal something (or infiltrate), some people would just let you in the door if I could show them some healing magic or casted a blessing spell. I was born in Dawnstar Village where a lot of High Elf nobility lived because it was within walking distance of the Sunwell. The Sunwell was a foundation to all High Elf magic and within its waters was where most High Elves took not only power, but nourishment that kept them from growing old. I think my mother must have wanted me to be a mage since she was a mage herself. After her work led her to become more distant from our home, I think she just wanted me to behave, but that was unlikely. My time as a child was privileged, pampering, and overindulgent. I had no brothers or sisters, but I also didn't know who my father was either and he would always say that I was the only child he knew of. Slaves and servants tended to my needs but also my whims and desires, except for the attention of my mother or any mentions of who my father might be. My mother was also seven feet tall, High Elf and Vrykul which made her very undesirable for potential marriage prospects. In my whole life I've never told more than a handful of people about Dawnstar, or the noble house in which I grew up, or about my mother or grandfather.

People in my family generally didn't become paladins except to impress other nobles in grand tourney arenas. I don't remember any member of my family ever mentioning the Light other than something to be thankful for for good fortunes. Even though my parents weren't around a lot, I had aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandfather, all of us having blonde hair and the word 'dawn' somewhere in our last name.

I suppose as the newly appointed Highlord of the Silver Hand, most people would much rather carry on with their fantasies that both of my parents were religious Light followers from a long line of priests and paladins, and I began my studies the moment I learned how to talk. But most people are idiots.

Very few believe in my noble birth and I suppose it never really mattered because I couldn't have inherited a title of baron or count like most of my cousins because I'm a bastard and a woman. Also, it doesn't really matter because Silvermoon isn't a kingdom anymore, since the Undead Invasion and the destruction of the Sunwell, the High Elf kingdom was dismantled. There are still people from noble lines and even direct blood ties to the King of Silvermoon, King Anasterian Sunstrider, but they are mostly business owners, ship traders, and guild leaders. So a little too far in between to have any levels of political power.

I guess I don't tell people about my noble birth because I don't really like the idea of being a noble bastard to a defeated kingdom, but I do remember how glamorous it was. So many visitors, food, and entertainment. Nothing like it is now. As I remember the people that were born and lived there in Dawnstar Village, they never had much reason to leave and not come back. So I guess you might be wondering how a royal bastard, foul mouthed, drug, alcohol, and mana addicted paladin, could end up as the leader of the Silver Hand?

Lack of guilt maybe? A lot of paladins take vows of celibacy, blood oaths to stay true to their religious values. What I think they forget is fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity. I didn't see the former highlord Tirion Fordragon very much, if anything, I barely knew him. I suppose if I wanted to see him I could have taken my dragon and flown to the Eastern Plaguelands and just waved to him, ask him how his day is going, or tell him he’s an arse. I imagine he would be busy training initiates in the way of the sword and the Light. After the fall of the Lich King his job seemed a little like he was getting ready for retirement. I would even call it peaceful in a sense. I learned the way of the sword and the Light from the Blood Knight Paladin Order, not the Silver Hand, or Argent Dawn, or Argent Crusade. So I’ve never had the pleasure of working under him and the only words he’s ever spoken to me directly was, “You can’t go.”

I’m speaking of Icecrown Citadel and the final campaign against the Lich King and at the time, this was one of the worst days of my life. You see, the Lich King, Arthas Menethil, was the man that invaded Silvermoon and corrupted our Sunwell. He was the reason why my kingdom was destroyed. I was eight years old at the time and as soon as I was strong enough to carry a sword I set out on my path of vengeance, retribution, and justice. I had fought long and hard to get to the culprits that had wronged my people, Illidan, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, and Athas was next. The main culprit that caused the fall of my people and so many countless lives and Tirion Fordragon, the leader I fought for since I came to Northrend, the continent Arthas was hiding. When we finally had him cornered like a rat, he just said no. And that depression I went through where I intentionally put on 70 kilos, well that was because I was trying to eat and drink myself to death, but I suppose it’s better to have a tight belt around your waist then to have it around your neck… And not sorry if that wasn’t funny.

But in the end, with his dying breath, he gave the Ashbringer to me, and I'm not sure why. If he had done this before he would still be alive. If he had given me this sword it would have been me that struck Arthas down, or I at least to be there when he died.

I guess I thought the title and ceremony would feel similar, but my life hasn’t really changed all that much. I guess on some level I was glad that Tirion Fordragon had died. When he was defeated by the Orc warlock Gul'Dan on the Broken Shore I was more concerned about the Ashbringer then I was the leader of the Argent Crusade. Having it has been extremely empowering. The damage I'm able to do with the Ashbringer has not only been extremely effective at dealing with the Legion minions, but also a lot of fun. It’s so light and yet able to move around other people's weapons as if it were heavy. Also able to burn demons, undead, and anything that comes into contact with it. I’ve seen the blade cut, burn, and cauterize enemies from even the slightest of touch.

I guess that answers my question from before, how I became the Highlord? I thought I became a paladin for truth, justice, and the will to protect people. But as it turns out I'm a paladin because I'm a product of mental illness and abuse. A broken, sociopathic, collection character defects. And now I'm greatly considering getting that cat.

I guess that’s what's been bothering me, now I have to take on more responsibility. Also, there's more members and races of the Alliance in the paladin order than there are races of the Horde, and that means having to treat them with some level of equality in both respect and opportunity. When before all I cared about was being put in front of a target and killing all the enemies that were in front of me, but the last thing I want to do is kill people; but it is something I want to do on a very short list of things to do.

For better or for worse I still spend the same amount of time getting ready to wake up, go to bed, and I think I make less than I used to. So from now on, I’m going to be nicer and treat people with the dignity, respect, and compassion they deserve. And if you guessed that was still hardly any, congratulations you won a cookie. I’ve decided with all the books of the Light I’ve read I would write one for myself. I'll just try to make the most of this.

This book I'm writing in was my mothers, I think my first entry is from.... jeeze... I was nine, so, 13 years ago? I explained how I survived the Undead Invasion from the Lich King Arthas. I had left it in Moonglade, a druid training ground, before me and my dad were teleported to Tempest Keep. Malfurion Stormrage had kept it in their library and gave it back to me when I came to Val’Sharah (The first druid training ground), he said, “A lot of powerful sorcerers have tried to get that book open, but nothing seemed to work. After a while we started wondering where it came from, but then we remembered when you and your father wanted us to teleport you back home. So when I found out that you were coming I wanted to give this back to you.”

They sent us to Tempest Keep, it was nice of them to keep it for so long, it was nice of Malfurion to bring it to me, but Tempest Keep was a living hell. Well, they didn't send us directly to Tempest Keep, we arrived in a place called Sylvanaar, a Night Elf settlement in the Blade Edge Mountains nearby. There were tensions that were starting with Blood Elves and Night Elves which made things uncomfortable. Things were better there when compared to the treatment I was given in Tempest Keep but the idea of going back to a life of nobility was something I really wanted. We had no idea what we were getting into when Night Elf Sentinels escorted us to Kael'thas Sunstrider's garrison of soldiers. As alarming as the atmosphere was in Tempest Keep. The thunder, the cold purple stone and dirt, I just kept thinking, "At least I'll finally be with my people."

Little did I know that my noble birth wouldn't hold any weight as I dreamed that it would. As when we finally met up with our people we were taken to the caves to work in the mines. Things were difficult to say the least.

There's a part of me that is just thinking, "Edit, edit, edit. How many of these sections are going to have harsh aggressive eraser marks and lines through my pen texts."

So, I took back my book from Malfurion and I couldn’t bring myself to thank them. I opened it up for them and showed him what was inside. A few journal entries when I was nine and a bunch of rune placement designs my mother had created when she was alive and as I made friends through my journeys on the Broken Isle I started asking about how they had gotten this far. It’s been kind of interesting to be honest. The stories people tell.

I’m still a Blood Knight and Blood Knight style is commonly referred to as the strongest of the Elven martial arts. Especially effective at disabling and destroying larger opponents. Its emphasis on speed and angled strikes to target weak points in armor. But there’s a flip side to it as well that would require one to use a blunt object or turn your sword upside down and beat someone with the butt of it. But this is a style for people that favor the use of a shield. Not really my forte regardless of what people say about my appearance. I find that the art provides a definitive tactical advantage, since it gives the practitioner the ability to analyze an opponent’s fighting style and retaliate accordingly. But I’ve found out that some added brute strength helps when you’re cornered by a hungry beast or even an opponent that fights with the same style you do. Crossing swords does happen more often than not and some opponents are surprised when they find out that I can in fact over power them.

The shield style, that’s a different story. The bases of the shield style are based on wrestling (At least from the Blood Knights perspective) and without weapons in practitioner's hands, punching with a closed fist, finger bending, eye gouging, kicking at the opponent’s chest or waist, and hair grabbing are among prohibited techniques. Also, especially effective at disabling and destroying larger opponents by using their own weight against them but in a confined space with a combination of gripping, pushing, thrusting, throwing, leg tripping, twist downs, and backwards body drops. Add a sword and strap a shield to their forearm and you have a seemingly small and frail looking elf that can easily topple and kill larger opponents all the while holding their ground, but I don’t really like practicing it. The practice movements are stiff and far from graceful. I need to wear tightly fitted clothing to practice it and while I can overpower most female opponents I fight unless I break the rule by stepping out of bounds, with men things are just awkward when they put their hands in places they shouldn’t (Mainly on my rear)

I get this look of disgust and sympathy from my kin like they just found out I’ve been wearing a false leg or arm when they see what I look like under my armor or touch a fatty part of my body. Women are more direct with the insults about how they feel sorry for my horse and statements like, “Oh, I thought she was wearing extra padding under her armor.” Did I mention I cry sometimes from statements like that? Yeah, so, I tend to stay away from the shield style.

So those are some of my strengths and flaws. Surgically enhanced super paladin but not just fat transfers, but intramuscularly injections to increase tissue density and decrease lactase recovery time. Thyroid implant containing growth hormone to boost recovery and growth of skeletal and muscle tissues. (I’m just reading my medical records at this point) Enchanted coral bone graft ossification?... onto skeletal structures to make bones virtually unbreakable. Retinal prosthesis (No idea, eye surgery to increase depth perception and field of vision) And… Alterational bio-electrical nerve transduction? Two to four troll shamans shocked my spine and said it would increase my reflexes.

If only someone could surgically enhance my mental state or increase the density of my ego that would probably be better, but if I wasn’t fighting, running, or training like my life depended on it, I think I would most likely have some kind of disabling medical issues or noticeably disturbing side effects. I think as the new Highlord, all I need to do is hire some talented people and get out of their way. Contrary to what most people believe, I don’t think being the Highlord involves me marching around, waving my arms, and chanting, “I am the Highlord! I am the Highlord!”

Let’s see if I can get this boat back to float or it goes down in an oil fire from stupid decisions I’ll make.

#fan fiction #perfectia #perfectiadawnlight #perfectiaargentodawnlight #warcraft #wow fan fiction #fan fic writing #world of warcraft fan fiction #blizzard2016 #blizzard #blizzard entertainment #wow characters #world of warcraft legion #worldofwarcraft #world of warcraft

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itsalwayswellattheworldsend · 10 months ago

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Book 2 Chapter 18 - Ralph Departeth From Whitwall With the Fellowship of Clement Chapman

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph hits the road.

Summary:

"The way is long, and our goods worth the lifting, and there are some rough places that we must needs pass through. But if ye like not the journey, abide here in this town the onset of Walter the Black."

They went to Blaise’s house together, and when Blaise saw them, he said: “Well, Ralph, it looks like you need to idle a bit more before getting to work. In truth, I think that when you come back, you’ll find I have a good bit of work for you to do. The town is gathering a group of brave men, and we will look to you when the fighting comes, whenever that is. But now, let me show you my house, how wonderful it is, and you will see that you will have something to fight for, which is me.”[1]

He led them up a staircase into a large room, which was all newly decorated and hung with rich tapestries of the Story of Hercules, and there was a fine cupboard with silver (and some gold) dishes, and the cupboard had five shelves, which was appropriate for a king’s son. So Ralph praised it all, but really wanted to leave, for his heart was sore and he felt guilty because he was lying to his brother.

But Blaise brought them into the upper room and showed them the find beds with their decorations and hangings, and everything was as good as could be. Then Blaise ordered wine be brought and had them drink. He gave Ralph a bag of gold and a large dagger of beautiful craftsmanship, and walked with him to the doors, then Ralph kissed him and embraced him dearly.

Blaise was somewhat moved by this and said to him, “Why Ralph, you sure are sad to leave me for just a little while; what would you do if you were going to be gone for a long time? But you were always kind and tender-hearted as a child, and the two of us are alone here in this foreign land. I think that you have, in a way, embraced your family here, father, mother, and all.[2] That is good! So now let God and the Saints watch over you, and remember how this town has treated you well, and the fighting that you will soon do for it. Take care, Ralph!”[3]

So they parted and Ralph went back to the inn and gathered his stuff together, loaded his things on his pack horse, then put on his war gear and went to Petergate to join the group. There he found the merchants—five of them in all—their assistants, and twenty armed guards. Clement was with them, not dressed as a merchant but armed and wearing an armored coat with a shining helmet on his head.

They greeted each other and Ralph said: “Say, master Clement, are we riding to battle?”

“Maybe,” said Clement, “the road is long and our cargo is worth stealing, and we’ve got rough places to travel through. But if you don’t want to travel, stay here and wait for Walter the Black.” He laughed, and Ralph laughed as well.

“Well, master Clement, tell me about those we expect to meet on the road.”

“Yes, I’ll tell you all about them,” said Clement, “but wait until we’re on the road. I’m a busy man, even now, and everything is ready except for what I must do. For now, go say goodbye to your squire from Upmeads, then mount up!”

So Ralph hugged Richard and kissed him and said: “This is also a goodbye to the House where I was born and raised.” And as he spoke, he thought of the House and the garden, and the pleasant fields of Upmeads came into his heart with a bitter sweetness that mixed with his sorrow and nearly made him cry. But Richard said nothing, for his heart was saddened by their parting.

Then he got on his horse and the whole group got moving and rode out through the gates. Master Clement kept them in order, riding up and down alongside the group.

But Ralph got to talking with the merchants and fighters, and both groups were very courteous with him and were happy to have him—especially the merchants, who were somewhat afraid of the dangers of the road.

Notes:

[1] Blaise is suuuch a dick. His brother is stupendously depressed and when he finally gets back on his feet and decides to go on a journey (a dangerous one), Blaise considers it to be more laziness (probably because he doesn’t see it as “work” because he’s a capitalist and anything that doesn’t make money is idleness) before Ralph gets around to doing something useful (fighting for him). “When you get back, we’re gonna rely on you to fight. Here, let me show you how cool my house is so you know what you’re fighting for (which is me).” No wonder Richard wants to bail.

[2] The word “kindred” is used again here. I think he might use it to refer to the ruling family of a place, but I’ll have to go back and compare its other uses in the story. Morris has a few peculiarities in his diction, at least in this story. The word “royal” is only used once in the whole story, and it’s not to literally mean related to royalty (just that something is of very fine quality), and the word “prince” is never used (always “king’s son”). I’m not sure the reason for this, but as someone who writes, I can understand the desire to use certain terms for certain things as a method of worldbuilding or commenting on something (which we know he already did with “speech-friend”). I may look into his other works and see if they use similar terminology.

[3] Both instances of Ralph’s name here are a change I made, with Blaise actually referring to him as “lad” both times. “Lad” is a word I change a lot as I simplify things, since (unlike “gossip”) I feel it can be translated without loss of meaning most of the time, though I think I’ve left it in cases where it would seem natural in modern English. Here it seemed unnatural, and I couldn’t find a good replacement other than Ralph’s name, so I used that.

Map:

#the well at the world's end #william morris #the well - book 2 chapter 18

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inlovewithgee · 11 months ago

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I’ve been thinking some more about my fic scenario

part 1 | part 3

warning: non-con

So, they find the picture Korse took. Party chained up, crying, covered in all the blood and semen. Korse wrote “what a pretty view” on the white space.

(it’s only relevant if I decide of an epilogue/if I would write that fic, I’d call it “pretty poison”. whatever.)

they’re all in shock and react in a different way: Jet buries it down, Kobra cries it out quietly, Ghoul is angry. And so much so that the other two decide they must keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Kobra and Ghoul get in the Trans AM, Jet takes Party’s bike. They start to follow the trail the BLI van left but it’s complicated, wind messing it up and stuff.

Now, I got some worldbuilding I thought of after my first post; the killjoys communicate through the radio, we know that, so I think the Fab Four have their own frequency. They can access it with the Trans AM radio and portable ones they built into their own helmets and the Mousekat head.

Jet, Kobra and Ghoul tune into that frequency, hoping to hear something, anything that proves Party isn’t dead. And he isn’t.

(I need to look things up for this but basically I see it as He built a switch inside the mousekat head with three setting: off, talking, and listening. Right then he managed to discreetly turn the switch to the “talking” position.)

The sound is pretty low since the mic is only supposed to be picking up the voice of the people wearing the head, but the killjoys can here Korse talking. After a while they hear Party’s voice too and are relieved just a little. Now they have to do their best to listen and find out where exactly the van is, so they can intercept it.

Except things are about to happen that they don’t wanna be listening to.

This chapter is mostly in the three others’ point of view but I wanted to talk about party a little. When they’d been assaulted the night before, he had always been switching between panic, fear, and anger. Now they decided they will not show Korse how afraid they are of him. Korse’ provocations make him angry and they try their best not to reply, but fail. Korse calls him a brat who hasn’t learned his lesson and say he’s gonna teach them again.

Even with only the sound, the killjoys are horrified of this.

(For some time I was stuck at this part, so i distracted myself by making dialog.)

Korse says, “Open your mouth”. Party replies with, “Ghost yourself”.

“It would be more intimidating if you weren’t covered in blood and come. Now open your mouth, and don’t even think of biting. I’ll dislocate your jaw and do it anyway.”

Followed by a choking sound.

Followed by Kobra turning off the radio because he just can’t listen to this.

Ghoul asks Jet to listen for any clue to their position and as much as he says he does not want to hear that either, he says he’ll do it. It doesn’t take much time before he does pick up on something: music in the background getting a little louder then fading away. It’s the music from a band performing in a specific location, so they vaguely know where the van is. Kobra gets on Dr Death’s frequency and asks Show Pony to broadcast him; he makes an announcement to people at the Springfield Gang show, asking them to report sighting of a BLI company van, but not to go after them. Private matter. Party Poison was kidnapped.

(wonder if ppl can guess which band I’m thinking of)

They speed up to the show and run into killjoys friends who tell them the exact direction the van went, the Fab four (well three) ask of those friends that they stop other ’joys from interceding. Soon they can see the van.

Inside, Party is crying in silence as he’s forced to blow Korse. Said bitch lets him go for a second, asking if they want him to relieve them. Party replies by spitting on him. Korse does not like that. He grabs a shock baton and strikes him hard, again and again, the electricity making them yell and fall down. As their body touches the mousekat head when Korse strikes one more time, the electricity goes through them and into the head, messing up with the radio, switching the setting from ‘talking’ to ‘listening’

Kobra and Ghoul don’t understand why they can’t hear Party all a sudden. Then Korse, who figures out about the hidden radio, speaks up. “Eavesdropping is wrong.”

Party screams in pain as Korse breaks his ankle to punish him, and Kobra and Fun cut off communications. They’re 60 feet behind the van anyway.

#tw rape #tw noncon #oops i did it again #I wrote fucked up stuff #was tryna make angst #g/gm #f/g #killjoys #killjoys fic #danger days #fanfic #angst #ff: pretty poison

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rexxdjarin · 2 years ago

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ooo what about “im yours, completely,utterly yours” for boba fett😌🧐

S I N D A Y I N B O X M E M E

I love boba so much it’s not even funny. Maybe it’s bc we’ve gotten the newest content for him but like Tem Boba I love him so fucking bad I’m 😍😮‍💨😩🤤

“I’m yours, completely, utterly yours.”

“Boba…promise me. Please.” You ask him, sitting on his throne and looking around the room at the hundreds of beautiful women, of all different species at his disposal. For his choosing. Whatever or whoever he could possibly want. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that could be you. That that is you.

He looked down at you with an amused smirk from where he stood between your open thighs, his gloved fingertips easing up the exposed skin. The contact of cold leather gloves on your warm skin had you more on edge than you’d been in a long time. You could use a reminder of just how much the most powerful man on Tatooine needs you.

“Princess…who else…” He began to ask, but stopped as he saw you turn away from him in self-conscious annoyance. He could see right through you. With or without the helmet. He knew what you felt before you even knew yourself usually. His eyes shifted to the crowd enjoying his palace’s offerings and he understood. You didn’t want anyone else around when you were feeling unsure of yourself. You wanted him just for you. And most times, because of this new role he’d taken on for himself, he couldn’t do that.

But today was just a party and he could command anyone there to do whatever he wanted. Except probably Fennec, but she knew better than to test him when it came to men’s needs.

You bit the inside of your lip, looking up at him scowling as the gears whirled in his head to formulate some kind of plan or command. You couldn’t tell which. The gorgeous emerald dress you’d chosen to match his armor was heavier than you wanted to wear in this heat and although you were feeling a little neglected lately, you couldn’t deny the fire brewing in your belly for him now.

Before you could open your mouth to snap at him to pay attention, he scooped you up in his arms and spun around to take his place on his stone throne. You were sprawled in his lap suggestively, his hand inching up your thigh as he removed the vibro blade he knew you kept strapped to the garters you always wore.

A wicked grin drew across his face and he brushed your panties aside, his gloved fingertips connecting with your clit. Your eyes went wide as you realized what he was doing to you while no one was paying attention. He circled the bud softly, moving his head to let you rest yours in the crook of his neck.

“Boba…f-fuck…I’m..too loud for this.” You giggled, gasping as he increased the speed of the circles he was tracing along the bundle of nerves.

“Good. I want them to hear you. What I’m willing to be seen doing with you, my Princess. That way they’ll know I’m yours, completely, utterly, yours.” He chuckled darkly into your ear, his fingers slipping down through your lips and teasing the little hole.

“Yes…Boba…I’m yours. This little cunt is all yours.” You ramble as he works you up torturously, the wet sounds almost certainly loud enough to be noticed if someone walks too close.

“I know it is. Only I get you this slick. You’re my wet little slut, you know that? I’d never do this with anyone else but you. It’s only you. Gotta prepare you properly to take my cock, right? So I can watch you look so pretty as I make you feel good.” He’s whispering in your ear, his fingers plunging into you and curving against the front wall so hard you could cry from how good it feels. How much he could spur you on with just his words. How fucking weak he makes you.

“All these people here and I only care about you. This pretty fucking face and this perfect little pussy. Everything I have left of me is yours. I owe who I am now to you. Don’t ever forget that, mesh’la.”

You whimper his name in his ear, clinging to him while he draws out orgasm after orgasm from you on his throne where everyone can see but no one looks. He gives you every little pleasure he can while he’s busy. He’s never given anyone anything without guaranteeing something in return. No one except you. And that’s how you know he loves you most.

#boba fett smut #boba fett thots #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #daimyo boba #asks and thots #sinday inbox asks

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nightowlfandom · 3 years ago

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Kanato Sakamaki- I’m Sadistic For You

FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTS DIABOLIK LOVERS CONTENT AAAAHHH THANK YOU BESTIE! I GOT YOUR OTHER ONE AND I’M DOING IT TOO!

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

So ANON ASKS

For Kanato from DL ( I haven’t seen much done for him and it makes me sad because he’s a favorite ). (: I could Lowkey do some more if you’re not super bogged down I had another idea BUT I ALREADY SUBMITED ANOTHER BEFORE THIS SO IM NOT GONNA OVERWHELM YOU LOL but- anyway Fee free to be as nsfw with my prompts (if you do them) as you want. I dont have any triggers so- writing them super accurate and sadistic won’t bother me :3

Bruh....Jesus is my helmet...but NOT TODAY let’s fucking go! Okay readers, you heard, they aint got no triggers. So if you do...move it along.

52- “You can’t call me cute!”

80- “Shut up! I’m not blushing!”

31-“You need to be taught a lesson…”

81- “You look so...inviting all tied up.”

84- “What’s the word I’m looking for?....Pet!”

Also in this you and Yui are BFFs because she isn’t some cold hearted bitch (homegirl trips over oxygen, plus I love her lol)

I was legit about to have him spit in your mouth....I’m so shameful...maybe next time.

Leggo!

I’m turning into a Yandere account and I am totally okay with that.

...

“You know living here isn’t that bad.” you mused to Yui. “When no one is talking.”

Your friend laughed as she cut up some carrots. Yui turned to look at you as she prepare to peel some potatoes. “So living here is terrible every day other than right now?” she replied.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She wasn’t wrong.

You and Yui were making dinner for the house. After a ambush that landed everyone injured except you and her (thankfully). You had offered to make soup and stew for everyone. They were all in their respective rooms healing while you had prepared everything.

“They really fought hard today, I thought Kanato was about to rip that vampires jaw off. He’s really protective of you, Y/N.” she winked. “I think he likes you more than he lets on.”

Kanato and you had a very strange relationship. He hated you, but he didn’t HATE you. No one could lay a finger on you, no one could even look at you, even if he said he didn’t care. Reiji tried to and Kanato almost murdered him.

“He then told me that Teddy said I was ugly.” you reminded her flatly. “Yeah he so cares.” you snorted.

“Maybe he has trouble telling you his feelings”

“I wish everyone was as optimistic as you.” you shook your head. “Looks like the soup is finished.”

“I’m just saying Y/N, just think about it.”

...

You only had one bowl of soup left to deliver, to Kanato’s room. You grumbled as you stood outside the door.

“Kanato? It’s me.” you knocked on the door. “I’m coming in okay?”

Before you could wait for an answer you opened the door and walked in with the cart.

Kanato was laying on his bed when you entered, groaning in what you assumed was boredom.

“Teddy, tell Y/N that I don’t want whatever she made.” Kanato turned away from you. The scars he had suffered on his back said it all. All for you...

Your recalled the terror in your voice as you had screamed for help as the rogue vampire wrapped his claws around your leg. Kanato’s name was the first to escape your lips as you had tried to crawl away to Yui. You remembered reaching out to Kanato with your strongest hand, begging him to save you.

The look in his eyes was feral as he screamed your name too, grabbing you hand and pulling you to him. You were sobbing into his chest, clutching onto him for dear life for a good ten seconds before Yui replaced him, hugging you tightly in her small arms too. Before you knew it, the rogue’s head had been thrown through a window...

...

“Y/N, Look at me! You’re safe now...you’re safe with me...”

...

“Teddy, could you please tell Kanato that while his pouting is very adorable, it won’t get him out of this?”

“Don’t call me cute! You can’t do that.” Kanato glared at you through hooded eyes. “If I wasn’t so weak I’d-”

“Well let me take care of you.” you cut him off, taking the bowl to him. “For me?”

Kanato paused, his glare softening.

“You must be in love with me if you’re so insistent on me getting better.” he grumbled, sitting up. “Y/N is in love with me Teddy!”

“Kanato.” you felt your face heat up violently. “Don’t say things like that.” you groaned.

“It’s blushing teddy, how cute!”

Kanato’s use of the word ‘it’ wasn’t new to you. In fact when he wasn’t calling you names, chasing you around with forks pretending to stab you, or worse, it was denoting you to objects.

“H-hey! I am not blushing!” you pouted. “My face just looks that way.” you lied. “S-shut up.” you grumbled.

“And what if I don’t feel like it?” he challenged, knowing you wouldn’t say a word back. You were kind of like Yui. You wouldn’t dare challenge any of the Sakamaki brothers. It was a death sentence in every sense of the word.

“Kanato, I just want you to feel better.” you looked down at your feet.

“There’s one thing you can do.” Kanato used his strength to stand to his feet. Despite his looks, he was tall, and under that cute exterior was a mean and feral beast. He staggered over to you, a sick smile on his face. That couldn’t be good, not by a long shot.

“And what exactly would that be?” you asked. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t wanna know what he was planning. You were positive that it wasn’t gonna end well either.

“Get on your knees.”

“My knees?” you repeated. “Why do you want me to-”

“Now Y/N.” he spoke over you. You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t like repeating myself.” his nails dug into your skin, causing your knees to wobble under the pain. “On. Your. Knees!”

Your feet gave out, practically sending you crashing down to the floor. You looked like a dog, on your hands and knees. You appeared weak and pathetic.

You found it in yourself to look up at Kanato. Teddy was perched on the bed, ‘watching’ you two. You felt his fingertips creep under your chin.

“Aww...” he smiled. “You’re like a little...What’s the word I’m looking for...PET!. It’s cute.” He caressed the side of your face. “Too bad I kill all my pets...they can’t handle me...can you handle me, Pet?”

“Yes, Kanato.” you found yourself saying. You felt like you didn’t have a choice...

and you loved every second of it.

“Bullying you has made me regain my strength! Isn’t this wonderful?” he wrapped one of his hands around your neck. “You’re so fun to torment” he laughed.

“K-kanato.” you coughed.

“Is it hard to breath. Y/N?” he asked sinisterly, that crazed smile gracing his lips. His words were terrifying although his actions said otherwise. He loosened his grip on your throat, allowing air to flow more freely. It was those small things that made you think he didn’t hate you as much as he loved to preach.

“Y/N...when that vampire came...I thought I was gonna lose you for good this time” he said sadly, allowing his arm to return to his side. “I thought I had-...that you were gonna die.”

“You saved me though.” you replied. Kanato knelt down to your level, still slightly above you.

“Yeah...because if anyone is gonna break you, it’s gonna be me.”

“I care about you a lot, Kanato.” you finally said it. “I like you too much.” you exposed yourself. “I want you stay by your side.” you said pathetically. “Even if you hate me.”

Before you could say another word, Kanato claimed your lips in a kiss. He held the sides of your face in his hands. It was the first time he had ever kissed you. He hummed thoughtfully, pushing you down to the floor so you were laying on your back. He crawled over you, not breaking the kiss.

“K-kanato.” you whimpered.

“You need to be taught a lesson. If your gonna be my girlfri- I mean pet, you’ll have to learn.” he kissed down your neck.

Suddenly, Kanato ripped the seam of your jeans all the way up your left leg, leaving it completely exposed to the air.

“Oh look, your clothes are messed up, guess we’ll have to take them off.” he smirked. In another swift motion, your pants were torn to shreds. The fabric fell in a circle around you both.

“Teddy look! Y/N is wearing such cute panties.” he cackled maniacally. “Her naughty place is leaking.”

You trembled, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was planning.

“I heard blood tastes better when it’s from your naughty place.” he ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth. “Y/N” he moaned, running his index finger along your clothed heat. “You smelled so much better here...I just want to- ungh.”

He suddenly drove his fangs into your right thigh. You gasped, arching your back. He violently grabbed your legs, holding them down. His tongue lashed against your freshly made wound.

You could hear him whimpering, cursing under his breath.

Kanato would deny it with his life, but everything about you was like a drug to you. Tasting your blood was even sweeter than every dessert he’s ever tasted. Feeling you whimper and plea for him did things to him that would make a sailor blush.

Forget Yui, forget his brothers, forget it all.

“Fuh-” Kanato couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stop himself from ripping off your panties and driving his tongue into your most sensitive parts. Hearing you moan for him, cry for him.

The rumors were right, vampires were godly lovers. It was like Kanato knew what you wanted and where. He lashed his tongue against your heat, grabbing your legs.

“Wrap your legs around my head,” he demanded. “Not like it’s gonna kill me.” he laughed manically. “

Knock knock

“Y/N, are you in there?” Yui’s small voice caused you to panic a little. As you tried to get up, Kanato pushed you right back down, growling into your pussy,

“FUCK!” you whined, making it very obvious what you two were up to. “Kanato, I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” he grunted, not ceasing his movements. “Cum, cum for me.”

“K-KAANAAA!” you cried as you came. You thrashed and writhed under his touch, but he didn’t stop. His tongue never stopped moving. “fuh- fuck! Kanato, t-too much!”

“I said cum for me, I didn’t say I’d stop.” he thrust his fingers into you to add insult to injury. “You’re so fun to fuck with!” he spat.

“Kanato!” you sobbed. You couldn’t stop moving, you couldn’t stop thrashing. Th epleasure had gotten to you so much, you were drooling.

He finally withdrew his mouth from you, smiling evilly at the mess he left.

Kanato had grabbed one of his ties that had left on the floor and bound your wrists together.

“You look so inviting tied up for me...” he shuddered as he bit his lip. He licked his fingers clean of your blood and juices. “Good thing the night is young...because I’m not done with you.”

...

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danielxricciardo · 3 years ago

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Hi girl!! I love everything you’ve wrote! Couldn’t say how much I enjoyed reading one shots of F1 drivers! I have to ask if you could do one for Carlos? He and reader are expecting but keeping it secret, Carlos won the race! And he ask if he could hear her through radio, though with some glitch, all other drivers and teams hear Carlos’ radio, he tells her how he’s so happy with the win but more than anything about their little one on the way and now everyone knows the secret of pregnancy because he suddenly slipped it while talking to her on radio👶🏻 I can’t imagine how will other drivers will congratulate him (like Daniel, Max, Landooooo! Seb! And even Kimi!🤣) I think Lando will be overjoyed and will be presenting to be Godfather already Hahahaha!

Summary: Having a baby and everybody finding out

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 1.5k

You realized that you were pregnant after a series of fortunate events that, individually, you did not take as alarm signals.

One evening, Carlos decided to spare you from cooking dinner and ordered your favorite food from your favorite restaurant. You were very excited to eat it, but when the food arrived you were on the verge of throwing up because of the smell. You told Carlos you couldn't eat, so you just ate an apple and went to bed. The next day, after Carlos left for the gym, you couldn't get away from the toilet because if you took a few steps you would feel like throwing up. However, when your boyfriend came home, you didn't feel so sick anymore, but you didn't tell him what happened to you because you didn't want to worry him.

You had a vague idea that you could be pregnant but you wanted to wait until Carlos leaves for France for the Grand Prix.

The day he left you went to the pharmacy and bought two pregnancy tests.

Positive.

You just sat down and cried. You stared at the positive test for several minutes. Honestly, you were so hormonal and conflicted about the timing that you bawled your eyes out. You were both happy and worried. Carlos was busy with his Formula 1 career, you didn't know if it was appropriate to add a child to the dynamics of your life.

But you recovered immediately. You are talking about Carlos, of course, he will be happy to have a child with you. You've been together for four years, you knew you would be together for the rest of your life.

The next day you did another pregnancy test, just in case. Positive, obviously. You went to the pharmacy again, and you took four more tests, to do one every day until Carlos came home.

"Hey, honey. I missed you," says Carlos entering the house.

You didn't even let him take off his shoes. You handed him a gift box in which you put the six pregnancy tests you took.

"Amor, did I forget an anniversary?"

You nod.

"Open it."

You see him take the lid off the box and take out a pregnancy test. Then another one, and another one, until he took them all out. You could see it on his face, he was scared and overwhelmed.

"Seriously?" he asks.

You nod and bite your lip, a few tears run down your face.

"Amor, that's wonderful! Ay Dios Mio! Are we going to be parents?"

You laugh and kiss him long.

"Yes, we will be parents."

You have scheduled an appointment for the next day to confirm the pregnancy and determine how many weeks you are pregnant. It looks like you're 10 weeks pregnant, so that means month 3 of your pregnancy. You couldn't believe that for almost 3 months you didn't realize you were pregnant, but you always had an irregular cycle, so it's not really incomprehensible.

You and Carlos have decided not to announce publicly that you will have a child just yet. For now, you were happy to share the news with your families, wanting to plan a nice way to tell your friends as well.

You know that feeling you get at certain times of the month when you want to cry at every cheesy commercial or could explode with anger at the drop of a hat? Pregnancy is like that sometimes, except 10 times more intense. With your new hormones raging, and more stress in your life than ever before, what with getting a nursery together and preparing to welcome the precious baby into the world and all, emotions are high. Tempers are bound to flare.

That is how you felt sitting in the paddock with Carlos who was preparing for the race. He was starting from P3 so he was pretty excited and nervous for the race. He saw your state, he knew you too well.

"Ay, mi Amor, come here," he said and hugged you to calm your nerves. "Don't worry, ok? It's an easy race, I'm gonna win it for you and the little bean, ok?"

You giggle at the sound of Carlos's nickname for the baby. You kiss him and smile.

"You know I don't really care about winning. Just come back to us. Safe." you say, your voice barely a whisper, not wanting anyone around you to hear your discussion.

"Si, pequeña. Always."

Sure, you were always concerned when he was racing. But especially now when your hormones were driving you insane and you were growing another person in your body. But you trusted him. With all of your heart. If he said he will come back to you, he will.

It took you a few moments to understand what was happening. Carlos Oñoro was hugging you, yelling 'He won!' and you looked at the screens in front of you. He did. Carlos Sainz was the winner in Monza! He kept his word, he won for you and your child.

"Hey, Y/N!" you hear your name being called by Riccardo Adami, the race engineer of Carlos. "The winner wants to talk to you."

You giggle and go to him. 'The winner'... Has a nice ring to it.

"Hey, baby! Congratulations!" you say excitedly over the radio.

"Si, mi amor! I told you I'm gonna win for our baby! I love you both so much!"

What you didn't know was that there was a glitch over the radio and every driver heard Carlos talking about 'your baby'.

"Aaa, guys? Why am I hearing Carlos over the radio talking about a baby?" Charles asked his race engineer.

"There's a glitch. Come to the garage."

"A baby?!" Lando yells into the radio, making his race engineer flinch. "Was that Carlos saying he is going to have a baby? Oh my God!"

You were waiting for Carlos to come out of his car, being absolutely clueless about the hysteria you two just caused. Carlos was just about to get his helmet out when all the drivers came to you two, yelling congratulations to you both. You looked at Carlos. Did he tell someone about your pregnancy? Did you give it away?

"Uh, thank you but how did you find out?" Carlos asked, clueless as you.

"We heard it over the radio," Kimi responds giving you a genuine smile.

"This is not how I wanted you guys to find out," Carlos said and put an arm over your shoulders, kissing your head. "But, yeah, it is true, we are having a baby."

"Mate, you're having a baby! That is so crazy! You are basically a baby!" Daniel says and hugged you both.

"And who is the godfather?" Lando asked and everyone laughed.

"We just found out two weeks ago, there are still five months to think about it," you say and bit your lip and Lando pouts. "You'll be considered, Lando."

After three months you decided to have a gender reveal for your family and friends. You could have had it a lot sooner but you wanted to be at an appropriate time for everyone. All the drivers came, as well as your family and Carlos's too. You made everyone wear a piece of clothing according to the gender they think your baby is. You were surprised to see the majority of the people being team boy, but as Lewis said 'They just want to make sure the third generations of Sainz is coming in Formula 1' and you know he was right.

"Look, listen to me, I have three kids, ok? I know, for a fact, by the way you are carrying that it is a girl!" Sebastian said and you laughed. He was wearing his pink T-shirt with pride, being 100% sure he is right.

He was.

You were having a girl and you could swear that Carlos cried a little when he saw the pink confetti. He hugged you for a few minutes, being still in shock.

"Una niña pequeña..." he whispered in your ear. "I am not ready."

You laughed and kissed him.

"You are gonna be the best dad ever, don't worry."

"No, I know that. I am not ready for her to date! And she'll go to university, no..."

"Carlos, she is not even been born yet! You have plenty of time to spend with her."

"Hi, guys, sorry to interrupt!" Lando appears near the two of you, making you break apart from your hug. "Did you think about the godfather or... or this is not a good time to ask?"

Everyone heard him and started laughing.

"Mate, remember the bag I gave you when you arrived?" Carlos asked him and Lando nodded. "You can look inside the bag now."

Lando got the bag and inside was a white romper saying 'Will you be my godfather?'

Lando looked at the romper with tears in his eyes.

"Well, if you insist..."

887 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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mochegato · 3 years ago

Text

You’re Mine

Continuation of Mine Protector

“Yeah, I made it home safe.” Marinette didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in her voice. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she locked her front door behind her. “You do realize I literally fight crime in this city, right? I can handle a few blocks.” She paused to listen to him as she hung up her coat and purse and turning on the lights. She let out a sigh. “Yes, even after a few drinks. For crying out loud. How much do you think I drank?”

She rolled her eyes and giggled at his response. She moved toward the kitchen and let out a garbled mix between a squeak and screech, nearly dropping the phone. She fumbled to recover the phone with a glare. “No, no. It’s okay, K… Adrien. It’s just a vermin found its way into my apartment.” She paused again. “Uh, huh. I’m going to have to take care of this. I’ll talk to you later. Safe flight,” she answered distractedly.

She shot a withering glare at the vermin. “Make a copy of my key last time you were here? Without my permission?”

“No,” Red Hood answered coldly. “Your security just sucks.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed further. “No, it really doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe I'm just that good at getting into places,” he answered with a mockingly sweet voice.

Marinette hummed in agreement. “Most rats are.” She took off her shoes and slung them toward the bedroom. She looked back up in mock surprise. “You still here?”

“Worried your little boy toy is going to come back and get upset?” he growled. “Or worried he’ll hurt himself trying to fight me.”

“My…” she stared at him while the pieces fit into place. “You’ve been following me,” she scowled at him, “How creepy is that? And take off that damned helmet… and mask,” she added quickly realizing he was probably wearing both like the dramatic asshole he was. “If you’re going to continue to embarrass yourself the least you can do is face me like the rat you are.”

“I wasn’t following you,” he growled. “I was on patrol. You weren’t exactly being discrete. Trying to get my attention, were you?”

Marinette scoffed and leaned toward him. “You never even entered my mind,” she responded in a sickeningly sweet voice. “And for the record, if he wanted you hurt, you’d be dead.”

Jason scoffed back. “Please that twink couldn’t hurt a kitten on its deathbed, let alone me.”

“That ‘twink’ has a higher kill count than you,” she hissed back defensively and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. That information wasn’t helpful or hers to give.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds. “And you’re okay with him?” he roared at her, his face contorting in anger. “You can’t even be seen with me because I take out disgusting, perverted, wastes of polluted air, WHO TORTURE AND KILL innocent kids. But you can fuck him?”

“Excuse me!” she gaped at him before narrowing her eyes at him. “My sex life is none of your business. And there’s a difference.”

“Oh I’m dying to hear it. I’m dying to hear why I’m not the exception… again. Why everyone else gets a break but me. Why everyone else gets a second chance but me,” he yelled back. “So tell me, what’s so special about Teacher’s Pet. What makes him the exception?” She glared at him squeezing her lips together to stop from revealing any more of Adrien’s secrets. Jason grinned maliciously at her and leaned closer. “He must be awfully good in bed to warrant a second chance from the Manifestation of Morality.”

“Because it was an accident!” she yelled back at him, her anger boiling too wildly to contain. She narrowed her eyes at him. “He lost control once, just once for a few moments, and that’s all it took to kill billions.” The room was silent as Jason stared at her, her panting breaths the only sound until she started again. “And he doesn’t even remember it. I made it like it never happened and made sure he never found out. So it’s just me. Just I know. Just I remember it.

“He has no idea how much power he has, but he has an idea and the thought that he has a infinitesimal fraction of the power he really has terrifies him. He has nightmares about it.” She looked away with a frustrated frown. “He can destroy the world if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. That’s the difference, Jason. He could but he wouldn’t.”

Jason glared at her, his nostrils flaring. “Well good for him. He sounds amazing. Perfectly perfect for you. You two can be non-lethal heroes fighting crime… together. Gotham��s new crime fighting power couple. They’ll throw parades for you.”

“You sound jealous,” she scoffed. He stared at her, lips pressed together so tight she couldn’t see any pink. She gave him a harsh, biting smile. “Then perish.” She turned away to get a drink of water missing the way his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

“Far be it from me to interfere with your happiness,” he gritted out. “Just worried about your safety, not to mention your future, with pretty boy if you’re using him to get my attention.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and set down the water bottle she’d just filled. “Where was that concern two weeks ago when you tried to shoot me? And what would Little Miss Green Hair think about that concern?” she hissed back accusingly.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds. “I shot near you for appearances. You were never in danger. You’re the one that doesn’t want anyone to know we’re… that we…” he faltered for how to finish the sentence. What were they? He didn’t even know let alone have words to describe it. He focused on the second part of what she said instead. “And that’s Jenny. You saw me talking with one of my lieutenants and decided to jump on the first dick you came across?”

“I did NOT jump on anything! And don’t think so highly of yourself, you conceited prick. Your romantic interest in anything that moves doesn’t determine my actions,” Marinette shrieked at him.

Jason leaned toward her with a smug look on his face. “So what was Teacher’s Pet?”

“Teacher’s Pet was…” She stopped herself before she continued that sentence. It wasn’t his business. Adrien wasn’t his business. And he had absolutely no right to be upset about her talking to someone when he was… when he… She furrowed her brow in frustration and pushed her face in his. “So you’re allowed to screw whoever you come across but I’m a whore if I talk to a man?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re bringing someone home with you every night this week and you’re completely innocent but I have a female working for me and I’m a whore mongering asshole?” he demanded.

“What about Miss Green Hair? You two were doing an awful lot more than just talking when I saw you two. And she has been quite, what’s the word,” she tapped her lips with her glass of water she hadn’t filled yet, as if in thought, “effusive in her descriptions of your interactions to anyone who would listen. All around town. Do you know how many times I’ve heard about your girlfriend and all the escapades you two have been up to?” she hissed at him. “And all the many places you’ve been up to it?”

Jason gaped at her. “You two are quite the gossip in Gotham. Every henchman and rogue wants to talk about it. Every. Single. Time. We encounter one of them. But, far be it from me to interfere with your happiness.” She smirked back at him condescendingly, pulling her lips tight enough for the trembling not to be noticeable. She leaned into the anger, trying to focus on that feeling rather than the feeling like a broken, ridged knife cutting through her.

He stalked over to her and loomed over her. She stood her ground, refusing to back away from him and give him that satisfaction, her smirk deepening with resolve. “I never touched her. I never even hugged her goodbye. She’s a damned liar if she said anything different,” he growled, leaning his face closer to hers until his lips were centimeters from hers.

Marinette’s smirk faltered and morphed into uncertainty. “I have absolutely no interest in her as anything other than an employee and after tonight she won’t be that anymore either. And jealousy,” his eyes flicked between her lips and her eyes, looking for any signs of hesitance, or more overt permission, “doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Her eyes darkened and her breath became labored. She reached her hand up to touch his face but let her hand hover just shy of touching him, unsure if she was allowed or if she wanted what would come next. She looked up to meet his eyes through half lidded eyes. She finally let her fingers caress his face and Jason broke. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her flush against him. He pressed his lips against hers in a hard, bruising, possessive kiss. Marinette pushed back just as desperately. She wound her arms around his neck and tugged him down to her level so she could intensify the kiss.

She pulled away just enough to speak, her forehead pressed against his, her hands still around his neck, clinging to him, keeping him from moving away, her breath fanning over his lips. “Why?” She searched his eyes desperately, needing to know what this was, what this meant.

“Because you’re mine.” He pulled her in for another hard, overpowering kiss, his tongue caressing hers, his teeth nipping her lips. He ran his hands down her sides to her butt and grabbed it hard enough to leave bruises. She moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer. He lifted her up and settled her around her waist and continued to massage her butt. He pushed her against the counter, supporting her weight on it while his hands roamed her thighs and belly.

“You’re mine,” he repeated against her neck as he kissed a line of open mouthed, wet kisses down to her clavicle, drawing soft, breathless whimpers. “You’re mine,” he said again. This time he pulled away from her, his eyes sought hers out, a questioning look in them, seeking confirmation, seeking agreement from her that she wanted to be his.

She nodded breathlessly. “Yours. If you’re mine too.” She pulled his shirt off to get access to his chest and pulled him against her, laying kisses along his upper chest and neck.

He hissed as her nails raked across his back. He brought her face back up to meet his and nodded, whispering “Only yours. Always yours,” before ripping her shirt off of her.

<><><><><>

Jason carded his fingers through Marinette’s hair as she laid on him, her head resting on his bare chest. She hummed in appreciation and nuzzled further into his chest, running her hands lightly over his naked sides and hips. He chuckled and shimmied slightly under her fingers, threatening to knock her off of him. She looked up at him with an amused smirk. “Careful, Pixie. That’s dangerous,” he warned with a smile.

Marinette chuckled and rested her head back down, smiling against his chest. “I’ll take my chances.”

Jason smiled back and started carding his fingers through her hair again. After a few moments, his brow scrunched up, almost too lightly to see. He wet his lips slowly as he prepared himself for the next question. “So what about that guy?” He was forcing his voice to sound casual about the question despite his racing heart.

“Hmmm?” she hummed questioningly.

“I’m just…” he started, not sure how to finish the thought. “What are we now?”

She looked up at him with a frown. She started to shy away from him, reaching for a sheet to cover herself for the important conversation he’d started. His question had popped the utopic bubble they had created, allowing reality to come flooding in. “I... I don't know.”

“Are we dating? Boyfriend girlfriend? Fuck buddies?”

“We're not...” she started, aghast at the suggestion, but snapped her mouth closed and pulled away from him to pull the sheet around herself. “It’s… is that all it is for you?” Her eyes filling with hurt.

Jason scowled and pulled her down for another searing kiss. He wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her head closer to hiss her harder. He wound his other arm around her waist, turning them over so he was hovering over her. He pulled away just enough to trace her face lightly, staring deeply into her eyes. “This is a lot more to me. You’re a lot more to me.”

Marinette let out a relieved breath and offered a gentle smile. “Me too.” She ran her fingers along his jaw and cupped his face with a soft look. Suddenly her face turned strained because Jason was right. What were they? What could they be? She searched his eyes. She loved being with him. She loved their time together and the feeling of his fingers on her body.

But it wasn’t that easy was it? Just him and her and how they felt. Reality was more complicated than that. Marinette hated reality; reality where Jason could be cold blooded, reality where she could be sanctimonious, reality where he killed, reality where she had to fight him, reality where she wasn’t allowed to plan a future with him. “I… we…” she took a deep breath and looked up at him again, her eyes shimmering. “I can't be with a crime boss.”

Jason looked away and nodded in understanding. He knew that was how she felt. He knew where she stood. She’d never tried to hide it. She’d always been honest with him. He started to roll off of her but she pulled him back to her. “But I…” her voice was verging on desperate. Jason looked back up, hope back in his eyes. “It's more than just...” she floundered, trying to figure out the words.

He brushed nonexistent hairs from her brow. “I just know,” he started, cutting her off, “I don't want to see anyone but you. I don't want to touch anyone but you. I don't want to be with anyone but you. And the idea of you with anyone else hurts.”

Marinette nodded and traced his face gently with her fingertips. “I don't want to be with anyone but you either. And the thought of you with someone else kills me.”

Jason turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and lightly tracing her jaw. “So... what about Teacher’s Pet?”

Marinette smiled and turned toward him. “He's a friend. A really good friend. Almost a brother. He…” she thought if how to phrase it. She trusted Jason. Probably more than she should and he already knew her secret, but Adrien's secret wasn't hers to tell, despite how much she’d stupidly already given away. But, she wanted him to understand how important Adrien was to her. So half-truth it would have to be. Not a lie, but not telling his secret either. “He was a hero for a short while. He saved my life more than a few times. He was visiting for a few days and slept on my couch. He just flew home tonight.”

“So…” he prompted, a relieved smile starting to grace his face.

“So, not romantic. Platonic relationship. Familial. And happens to be a teacher so… amazingly accurate name, by the way,” she grinned up at him.

Jason smiled back at her as he leaned down to kiss her gently, softly and stroked his nose against hers, resting his forehead against hers. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“And Jenny?” she asked tentatively.

“I’ll let her live out of deference to you, but I’ll need to choose a new lieutenant.”

She shifted her eyes to the side for a moment as she thought. “Beth would be good, or Glenn. I like Glenn.”

“Glenn can’t keep his mouth shut when you’re around,” Jason grumbled playfully.

“I know,” she smiled up at him, her eyes shimmering with mirth. “That’s why I like him.” Jason rolled his eyes but smiled. “He said I remind him of his daughter, so I think he’s kind of protective a little bit.”

Jason groaned and buried his head in her shoulder. “Well now I have to choose him.”

Marinette giggled and pushed up to peck his lips. She bit her lip and looked into his eyes anxiously. “So where does that leave us? Not dating, but not not dating…”

Jason quirked his lips to the side and furrowed his brow in thought. “That leaves us as us. Not official, but together. I’m not giving up my work helping Gotham and neither are you so… Still enemies but... with benefits.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marinette giggled and hooked her leg over his hip and pushing him back until she was straddling him. “I better be the only enemy getting those benefits. Or ally for that matter. Or neither.”

Jason smiled at the change of position. He cupped her face and worked his hand behind her head to pull her down for a kiss. “You are. And you?”

Marinette kissed him sweetly and smiled against his lips. “You're the only one getting those benefits, too. Have been since we met.”

Jason nodded. “Me too.” He pulled her down for a longer, more intense kiss. “Marinette, I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. It wasn’t the right time to say it. They weren’t ready for him to say it. But even if he couldn’t say it, he still felt it. He knew what the jealousy he had felt meant. He knew what the anxiousness he felt when he was going to see her meant. He knew what the tightening in his chest when she left meant. He knew what he was feeling, but he couldn’t put it out there. Not yet. “…I hope you’re ready for this.” He shot her a devilish grin before turning them over again and pulling the sheet away.

Continued in Mine Replacement

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - Then Perish #Jasonette Mine

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