#He deserves proper talons to grip onto things

[puppetmaster13u]

Okay, had to do this on a separate thing @phoenixcatch7 but-

DCxDP crossover with the meat marionettes. Itty bitty bird boy Danny perched on top of one of the batclan members like,

Said Batclan member is also perched on top of their respective alien/magician/demigod, whichever is there.

Also completely unrelated sort of, but can you imagine if Danny's ghost form was something akin to their meat marionette bodies? Like visibly more monstrous looking. Maybe it started out more human looking, maybe it's a mimicking his surroundings sort of thing, maybe this is an AU where ghosts Do Not look human except for when they look in their own reflections. Or something.

Honestly just slowly rotating ideas at increasing speeds lol

[keilemlucent]

consequence

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

word count: ~2k

a bit of teasing and a bit of payback

warnings: semi-public sex, daddy kink, fem reader, monster fucking

commission for @wufxn!! thank u sm dear :’’^)

--

alright fellas here’s the first of the gang orca commissions!!! enjoy some good monster fucking food <3

Messing with Kugo had... consequences.

None that you didn’t enjoy—

You knew exactly what you were getting into, slipping your hand far too high up his thigh during dinner. You felt his firm flesh tense under your touch, his breath getting deeper and harsher as you traced nonsense shapes over the fabric of his trousers.

You kept a small smile on your lips the whole time, relaxing against his side despite the obvious, silent tension that was growing.

The dinner was a group affair, other heroes and their partners all chatting and munching for some much needed social time. As much as you liked these sorts of gatherings, and seeing Kugo so much more relaxed than normal, you couldn’t not rile him up, just a little.

(It was a lot.)

Your stunt had you cornered in one of the lavish, private bathrooms, Kugo blocking the door as you stared up at him with a dry mouth and wide eyes.

“You left the door unlocked,” His voice rolled deep across the room. “Were you, by chance, wanting me to barge in on you after you’ve been such a brat?”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Your expression slid to a grin, popping onto the small ledge around the sink, knowing that the newly exposed skin of your thighs under your skirt must’ve been driving him wild.

“You don’t?” He chuckled, something forbidding in his tone as he began to unbutton the jacket he wore. “I highly doubt that.”

“I know you’ve been pretty excited all night,” You hummed, kicking your legs with a devious smile.

You were truly getting whatever was coming your way.

Kugo was on you in a mere moment, slotting between your legs and parting your thighs with a grip that could bruise. It was the first of many aches, not that you were complaining.

“It’s hard not to be, with you being so openly whorish,” The words weren’t spat, but rather spoke like a prayer as he towered over you, taloned-hands settling just above your hips.

His gaze was purely hungry, red eyes dilated and focused purely and solely on you. Kugo towered over you, shoulders hunched just enough to make your stomach lurch in the most pleasant way.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about me,” You pouted half-heartedly as his hands dipped under your top. You shuddered at his touch, knowing he’d notice.

Briefly, your gaze veered to the door. Although it was locked, the social hour was meters away, the din of voices floating with the light music of the venue.

Kugo pressed you back into the mirror, tearing at the fabric of your top and skirt with abandon. You sputtered out a complaint, mindful that these clothes were all you had and as much as you wanted to be dicked-down, you didn’t know if the humiliation was worth it.

(It was.)

“I don’t think ‘nice’ is really in the cards today, hm?” Kugo’s words should’ve held some humor, but they sounded far more serious with the rumble of his voice so close to your ear, tapered tongue licking from around your pulse point and jaw.

Truthfully, no, you definitely didn’t deserve much niceness after being an absolutely insufferable tease and possible embarrassment—

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” You let the name roll off your tongue. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

Kugo growled but didn’t reply. All he did was press you harder back into the mirror, pulling back to let his gaze bore into you. You swallowed at the sight of spit wetting his exposed teeth.

“I-I mean,”  You cursed your stutter. “You just look so good—“

Flattery didn’t work when you’d pushed Keigo this far and gotten him this worked up, you knew this, but you would be damned if you didn’t try.

So, you fanned the flames instead.

“And seeing all of your coworkers making eyes at you just got me a little...” You hummed, smirking at the searing heat of his breath over your collarbones. “Needy, you know?”

Kugo hummed, idly shredding the rest of your clothes and tossing them to the ground.

“Is my little one is a little jealous?” Kugo chuckled, some of his ire dissolved.

“Maybe.”

It was true. Though all of his colleagues were kind and viewed the two of you well, that didn’t mean that they were gorgeous and intimidating.

(You were playing up to get dicked down better, but that’s beside the point.)

You yelped as Kugo flipped you by the hips, large body folding over yours. With your stomach flat to the cold porcelain of the sink, all you could see was Kugo’s massive form swallowing up yours underneath him. When you tried to turn away from it, cheeks hot, he simply straightened your gaze with a harsh hand on your jaw.

His hips pressed against the curve of your ass, something hard and hot reminding you of your goal in all this.

“You just need a bit of extra attention?” Kugo rolled his eyes, unbuckling his pants audibly. “I thought I’d taught you better than this— You should’ve just asked.

You whined as he snapped the elastic on your panties, the fabric tearing and falling to the floor.

One of his clawed, thick fingers ran up your slit, Kugo growling lowly a moment later, “You’re already so filthy. Who’s all this for?”

“Y-you, daddy,” You swallowed, forcing your gaze to stay on him, behind you, in the mirror.

Kugo was far more focused on teasing at your clit and entrance, spreading slick and dirtying your thighs. Any little pleas and writhing were silenced or stilled with firm words and a harsh hand pressing into your lower back.

He was teasing on purpose, you knew. The contrast of the hard pressing of his body and his barely-there touches was evidence of that.

You keened, burying your face in your arms, “Please, Kugo, they’re gonna notice— “

You were cut off with a short smack to your ass and a yelp. You slapped your hand over your mouth, cursing your own volume.

“Why are you complaining? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Kugo asked, something writhing and near-burning pressing to your core. “You just wanted to be fucked good and proper by daddy, but can’t even ask nicely?”

You shook your head, a moan ripping from the back of your throat as he pressed into you, cock twitching with each inch.

“Little one, look forward, and maybe, I’ll be merciful,” Kugo leaned his broad body over yours, the texture of his skin somewhere between silky and rubbery, but in no way unpleasant.

He didn’t give you any reprieve as he sheathed himself fully in your cunt. If you weren’t so accustomed to his size, shape, and motion, you would’ve probably been in pain.

But, after so long of taking his pretty, tapered cock so deep that you could feel it in your stomach?

You hardly felt the stretch.

As he bottomed out, the overwhelming fullness of it had you so close already, vision sparking at the corners. You struggled to keep your focus forward, on the reflection of you and Kugo panting in time, sheened in sweat.

He grinned, toothy and wide, and was about to speak when a knock sounded from the door.

You stiffened.

Kugo did as well, but it didn’t stop him from fucking you in soft earnest.

He was hardly thrusting, just lazily rocking and grinding in your cunt as he watched your wild eyes in the mirror.

He raised what would’ve been an eyebrow as another knock came, the door handle jingle for a minute.

“OCCUPIED!” You shouted at the last second, voice cracking with the suppression of a moan.

For the stoicism Kugo could radiate, he was wearing a shit-eating grin as he watched you struggle.

Flattening his chest over the arch of your back, he slowly fucked into you, rhythm lazy and unhurried, “Do you think they heard?”

“P-probably.”

“Just ‘probably’? You know better.”

The only response you gave was a muffled moan as you covered your own mouth, his cock rubbing hard and deep inside you. The overwhelming sensation was almost enough to make your eyes snap shut, but you forced them to stay open.

You wanted to offer a bit more sass, put up a bit more of a fight, but the image of Kugo fucking into you more relentlessly with each passing moment in the fogging mirror was far too enticing. You braced where you could, the pads of your fingers leaving oily prints on the immaculate mirror.

“Is this what you wanted, little one?” Kugo gritted out with a particularly rough thrust.

You nodded, sputtering out affirmatives as your head spun.

The pressure and tension writhing in your gut were pushing you closer to the edge, a fact that you desperately tried to hide on the off-chance Kugo decided to not allow you to come.

“You wanted to fucked just right, so close to my colleagues?” Kugo sneered, the hooks of his fingers clawing into your hips. ��Filthy.”

You shuddered, grinding into the lip of the sink, frantically racing for your release.

Kugo must’ve been getting close as well, grunts echoing off the tile and walls, mixing with your own and the squelching of your cunt. Your thighs were soaked with slick, only made stickier by Kugo’s own gummy preek mixing with your own.

He leaned over your back, pressing his face into your shoulder, fin pressing against the mirror. His teeth dug into your shoulder as his angle somehow managed to get deeper.

“Kugo!” You wailed, voice cracking as his cock twirled inside you, swelling and filling you even better.

A hand snuck around your body, hand flat on your stomach, hauling you up and into him. You keened, craning your neck to continue watching the display, though your vision blurred with hot tears.

The pad of a finger circled your clit, the thickness of his arm held you up. His cock buried so fucking deep inside you had your eyes rolling back.

Kugo grabbed your jaw, forcing his gaze to him.

“Scream my name, and maybe I’ll let you finish, little one.”

You took a few shaking breaths, gaze flickering to the door.

Kugo’s hips slowed as well.

Though, only for his hips slam forward, his cock ramming against your cervix and the sensations to continue perfectly harder and faster—

“Kugo!” You shrieked straining as your peak sparked through your body, heat rolling over you.

Kugo came just moments later, the fluttering of your cunt more than enough to send him over the edge, his cock writhing and squirming as he pumped you full of his sticky cum.

There was stillness for a moment, as you both panted through the aftershocks. Your eyes went half-lidded, nearly limp in Kugo’s arms.

“Little one,” Kugo’s voice was hoarse and dry. He turned on the sink, rushing cold water splashing into the basin. “How do you feel?”

You slurred out an answer, turning and leaning into his broad frame. Kugo was quick to steady you, propping you up against the sink.

He splashed a bit of the water over his face and neck, the smoothness of his skin shining once more. Carefully, he placed his cold hand over your forehead, kissing your cheeks as you both settled.

You could feel his cock still, softened but still shrinking down now that he’d blown his load. His cum dripped down your thighs, cooling and making you shiver in the chill of the bathroom.

“Sorry I teased you,” You sighed wistfully hooking your arms over his shoulders. “But it was worth it.”

Kugo blinked at you, “You really think so?”

“Entirely. That was lovely— “

Kugo hummed, stooping down to fish his jacket off the ground, along with the remnants of your skirt.

The skirt was almost in tatters, barely able to clasp around your waist with the way the fabric hung. Your panties, shirt, and bra were gone, the scraps making far better cumrags than clothing.

You swallowed, staring up at Kugo with wide eyes as he tsked.

“Consequences, love.”

He gave you a toothy grin as you pouted.

“I’m not going back out there half-naked— “

He pulled you forward as you spoke, helping your arms through the massive sleeves, buttoning up the front.

The colors were mismatched, the fit off, makeup smeared, and in general, you looked like a goddamn mess. If his colleagues somehow didn’t hear you, they were bound to notice based on how disheveled you looked.

“You wanted cock so badly, this is the price,” Kugo pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, I’ll help you out, I’m sure you’ve gotten quite the limp.”

As heat rose to your cheeks, you couldn’t feel too embarrassed.

You had gotten what you wanted.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Zavis shrugged innocently.

“Oops?”

He looked back down towards the water, and indeed, two halves of a very splinted and broken Great Eagle Bow were floating in the water below.

The Yiga tosses his sword between his hands casually and gave a soft chuckle. “Ok, all this aside, I have been waiting forever to kick your ass ever since Rauru. Like,” He rubbed his left shoulder. “My poor clavicle! Exposing me wasn’t enough, you had to mess with my violin shoulder! How would you feel if someone just randomly pounced on...wait do Rito even have collarbon—”

Faster than thought, Revali dashed forward with the full force of his tornado behind him, and the next thing Zavis knew, he was pinned by his shoulders, head hovering above the stairway below.

“HK—Yeah, that. That’s what I’m talking about...very rude...very....” He sputtered as Revali’s talons edged his head further towards open air. “Yeahyeahyeah, we can say you won this round, ahahaha—Anyone else feeling deja vu?”

Revali clicked his tongue and leaned his so close Zavis nearly thought he was about to bite his face off.

“Oh I’ve won indeed, little bard. But let’s ensure this result stays permanent—”

The Rito released one foot off his shoulder, and pierce his talons into the pocket by the Yiga’s belt. His remaining handful of paper talismans fluttered away in the wind. Revali then turned back to shove him over the edge.

But Zavis was faster. As soon as the hold on one of his shoulders fell away, he reached for his sword and butted the pommel into Revali’s face.

He stumbled back, but seemed to recover instantly with the power of spite. He took an arrow and held it like a dagger as he lunged, the wind still at his command.

Zavis dodged left, but lost his balance as the wind forced him backward, and  he toppled off the edge.

“Fuck!”

He thrust his sword into the side of the house, and hung on for dear life. He glared up a few feet away to lock eyes with Revali. 

“Don’t you get it!? I thought you were the sharp one! I’m trying to help you. It takes a lot to recover your reputation from ‘serial killer friends’ to ‘heroes.’ The more effort you put into defeating me, the better.”

He weakly gestured with one arm towards the scrambling Sheikah down below, and spoke a bit louder. “And what a show we did put on for them! And though my skills and intellect were great, I shall admit defeat to you, my friend! For surely no one rivals your valor!”

Revali’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, green flames seemingly simmering his face off. He hopped on Zavis’ sword, and both the Yiga and the sword squeaked pathetically as the wood that held the blade started to weaken.

“I don’t think you understand, poet. This isn’t about winning...this is about settling the score...” With each articulation of his words, Revali playfully hopped up and down on the sword.

Zavis grimaced at the motion, but rolled his eyes. “Are you still mad about the grave thing? Ok, ok. I’m sorry I accidentally caused monsters to trample all over those graves. I can give a more proper apology when I’m not dangling over the dangerous drop above that long staircase...”

Revali scoffed with an unexpected smile. “Oh, I’m well over that, don’t worry. Recently I’ve detached from my deceased family in place of...more desirable alternatives.”

He edged his talons closer to the end of the sword where Zavis was holding onto.

“I mean, that was the plan...until matters got complicated.”

The boy’s breath caught, but he glared confidently at Revali.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Revali scoffed again. He started hopping up and down again as he spoke in a dignified tone.

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy.”

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop.

“It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop.

Zavis sucked in a breath as the panel of wood his sword was impaled into started to pry away. Revali leaned down close to Zavis’ face again as he smirked.

“A little bard like you would be familiar with the work of Illian Quiverspear, yes? That quote’s from Osprello. Act III if I recall correctly?” He tilted his head, as if asking for confirmation.

Zavis nodded. “Sure, the play where the osprey character is egged on by the parrot Rito, Iago, to kill his wife.” Zavis couldn’t help but quip as he smirked. “Is that a request, Champion Revali? Got a lover you want me to off?”

SLAM.

Zavis gasped as his sword sunk a foot down the side of the house, his grip loosening as the sword angled to a near 45 degree angle.

“What I want is for you to get what you deserve!” Revali leaned down, resisting the urge to just peck his eyes out. “I can’t believe how pathetic you truly are! A double agent...Tsk...” He shook his head as he crossed his wings.

Zavis’ thoughts bubbled with confusion. “I feel like being on the same side is a good thing—?”

“IT ISN’T.” Revali slammed his weight onto the sword again, the force strong enough to erupt a blade of wind out the edge. “First you make me look like a fool in Rito Village, then again, you elude me in Rauru. And now you. Break. My. BOW.”

“I’LL BUY YOU A NEW ONE, OK???” Zavis’ grip slipped further down the sword. “Look, I don’t have anything against you personally, cause you know in retrospect we have a lot in—”

“You were given everything!” Revali spat. “You were rich and prosperous, with loving parents, and talents to be praised for day in and day out.” He shook his head and waved away the memories. “While I chewed on dirt, and suffered under the constant dissatisfaction and anger of the Rito unfortunate enough to hatch me.”

He stomped on the sword, and once more the wood creaked, and the blade slipped just a bit further. “I endured and rose beyond my pathetic circumstances. But then I get a front row seat so seeing you throw away everything that I should have had!” His talons scratched Zavis’ skin. “You had the freedom to live as you wanted, and you decided the best course of action was to destroy the foundation that held you so highly!? You cast aside your ties, and for what? To play pretend?”

“My ties didn’t serve me any purpose! I’m more useful to everyone as a Yiga.” Zavis glared up at him. “And make assumptions all you want, but life wasn’t as glorious as you make it out to be.”

“HA!” Revali threw his head back and laughed. “Forgive me Master Zavis of the Yiga! I did not realize I should have expressed more sympathies for you!”

“I am so sorry that you never had to worry about food on the table, nor clothes on your back. I am ever so sympathetic to your joining of the Yiga Clan, as you provided them the information necessary to wreak havos upon the kingdom for years! And most of all...I am so sorry that you decided that your ‘greater usefulness’ as a Yiga was more important than caring for the people who foolishly decided to love you.”

Revali bore both his talons on Zavis’ grip. “Siv only started changing after you destroyed his trust. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the catalyst in all this.”

The Rito shook his head as he bounced on the sword again.

“And now!” Hop. “You’re supposed to be on my side all along?” Hop. “You?! Who succumbed to underhanded tactics and pathetic desires,” Hop. Hop. “To be praised and respected, the same as me?” Hop."Hmm...I don't think I can let that fly..."

Revali chuckled again, before regaining his grim expression. “I resisted the temptation to be selfish for years. My entire Hylia-damned life I’ve played by the rules of this kingdom and its authorities. And now you’re saying I could have given in all along, and still be in the right to be called a hero?!”

Zavis’ grip finally gave away, and he started to fall.

“GAAH—”

His forearm was suddenly caught be Revali’s talons, the grip harsh enough to draw a bit of blood. He leaned down once more.

“Assivus’ actions and choices are his own, and that divinator is certainly a problematic instigator...” Revali stared down at Zavis, green fire bearing into him. “But since you’re already here, and since we’re already allowing ourselves to be a little bit self...I see no reason I can’t settle for taking this all out on a insufferable little bard like you!”

The Champion's grip released.

[mudwingpropaganda]

Queen Glory of the RainWings

Ye of terrible governmental implications! The replacement Dragonet of Destiny, her Majesty of the Rain Forest, and who knows what else. There’s a lot to be said about Glory, a victim of abuse, a part in the cycle of violence, and the child who knew better than an entire queendom of dragons. Glory is an unfortunate character, both personally and in the story as a whole. 

I have a lot of opinions about Glory. Bless yourself upon them if you deserve so.

Design Headcanon

Despite appearing colorful and bright, especially among her fellow dull scaled siblings, her scales are much plainer than a traditional RainWing’s. Most of which tend to have terribly neon scales correlating with their emotions. Glory tends to have disgusted green and irritable red scales reflecting her mood. The yellow is simply an accent, but mistaken by her subjects as muted amusement. Her scales easily flinch along to her emotions, but she finds that showing these colors gains the respect of her subjects, rather than lose it like she did with the guardians, who never truly did pick up on what these colors meant.

Glory has inspiration from a few different animals. Chameleons are out of the way. She also has a similar “beak” to a swan, a dark area on her face that she simply can’t change the color of. She also has dexterous claw talons, excellent for gripping onto trees or delicate dexterity. And the oddest thing about RainWings is that they initially appear wingless, similar to a draco lizard. RainWing ribs expand and and glide rather than the intense flying that most dragons do, which made her appear weaker than her fellow dragonets of destiny. She always keeps her wings flared, which is risky and makes her underside vulnerable, but it was better than being called a wingless serpent by her guardians.

Glory is a very cautious individual. She doesn’t walk until she knows where she’s going. She won’t begin to walk until she’s sure she can get there confidently. Glory is surprisingly prideful and avoids not to waste her breath, even if she chooses the wrong battles to fight.

Implication of Heritage

If I were to write Glory, I would completely boot out the idea that Glory was biologically destined for the throne. The whole moment where Grandeur spills her guts and explains the whole narrow-minded royal blood idea, that was stupid. Because it implies that all overcoming of adversity will be rewarded with the fact that all those who deserve it will be rewarded with their desires, not for hard work they used to achieve those goals, but simply because they’re supposed to.

Instead, I would make Kinkajou a convenient character in the scene to have a moment of importance, but it doesn’t mean she’ll be the new queen. But I’ll get to that later on. Grandeur will recognize Glory’s selfless and initiative as the prime reason she is more deserving to be queen. The idea that she’s fighting so desperately to help the NightWing prisoners, and that’s reflected by how she puts away the chance to win the Queen Competition for the life of this little dragonet.

Glory should have been Queen through initiative and new perspective, not the idea that she was “smarter” than the RainWings or that the RainWings were too “lazy” to have a functioning leader. She should have been a respectable character who overcomes her biting remarks to be truly selfless, put aside her needs and desires to help this tribe. Be the leader that Sunny would look up to.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

Glory doesn’t honestly get the proper respect as a grumpy character considering the trauma she’s went through and considering her entire life has been ruined as those who raised her repeatedly told her she shouldn’t exist and that they ought to kill her. Not as an empty threat! The acceptance of her situation seemed so understated (until it was revealed she had a plan) and no one really respects that she had the shortest end of the stick compared to the other Dragonets of Destiny. 

Along with that, I feel like it’d be interesting if Glory had an innate distrust or fear or SOMETHING of SkyWings. After being berated by a SkyWing guardian, being meant to be a SkyWing her whole life, Clay unintentionally claiming Peril as the missing SkyWing, and being prisoner and biggest prize of Queen Scarlet of the SkyWings, I don’t see why she wouldn’t be a little more afraid or hostile in a scenario with one. 

One headcanon of mine is that Glory has narcolepsy, a byproduct of not getting enough sun as a sun dependent tribe. She frequently lost control of her muscles during sparring practice with Kestrel, leading her to slither helplessly and worsen her image. She pardoned her sleepiness through consistent naps Under the Mountain, but it became harder to excuse after they left the mountain. Once the sun hit her scales on the marble tree in Scarlet’s clutches, she finally gave in and slept for a majority of that time, otherwise overwhelmed and unable to move. Unfortunately, along with classic form of narcolepsy, Glory also has hallucinations. She often interprets her hallucinations as Kestrel or Queen Scarlet, long after their deaths. Despite denying special treatment as the RainWing Queen, she does give into sun times to satiate the urge in her to rest.

Narcolepsy is also described as being triggered by high surges of emotion. Another reason why Glory does her best to suppress her emotions, to stay in control of her consciousness.

It can negatively affect relationships with other people by being triggered during these surges of emotion and as a result, Glory is not quite as emotionally connected to her siblings as the others are. As the consequences of the war subsides, she wishes to try making up for lost time and finally respond to her narcolepsy instead of be frustrated and angry with it.

Glory’s reign of the Rain Forest Queendom is characterized not by her inherent intelligence over the other RainWings. In fact, a majority of the beginning of her rule is learning the rich history and important traditions of RainWings from Duke Handsome. Due to her unfamiliarity with oral history, her first order is to try and record as much history and as many orders as possible to keep the RainWings’ respect and learn about her own culture. 

As well as that, Glory steels herself, with the sympathy of her siblings, Prince Jambu, Duke Handsome, and the other Queens, when ruling the NightWings. So easily could she take out her anger on these innocent victims of their own actions. But in the end, she learns it’s more important to be the bigger person and move forward in peace, not dwell in hatred.

Despite that, Glory is still apprehensive before directly meeting with SkyWing figures such as Queen Ruby. 

Glory and Tsunami probably have the closest relationship out of any of the other Dragonets of Destiny. Tsunami looks up to Glory as a queen and Glory makes fun of her lack of royal blood for it. Tsunami, after apprenticing with General Shark, also assists in the disciplining and order in the Rain Forest Queendom. Tsunami, Sunny, and Glory are the main royalty figures establishing a fairer justice system in the Rain Forest so there are no more Chameleons and that individuals like Mastermind have a place to go.

LGBT+ Headcanons

Glory, for a large part of the story we see her, is probably questioning her orientation. She’s never felt the right to be loved and never been able to emotionally connect with anyone enough to feel worthy of affection. Eventually, she comes out as a lesbian! Proudly leading her two tribes with acceptance and understanding. The Rain Forest proudly leads the largest Pride Parades with the SandWing queendom following closely behind. (Which means Deathbringer x Glory is not canon in my headcanons! He can ROT.)

Glory is also a trans woman! She did not embrace it easily with the role models she had growing up. She had always been told she was born incorrectly (for OTHER reasons, but it’s for the metaphor), but with the unconditional support from her siblings, especially her solidarity with Starflight, she was able to come to terms with her identity and be even more prideful because of it. Fully taking her destiny and her life into her own talons has empowered her more than anything after the events of the SandWing War of Succession.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Hey! I saw you were taking requests :3 would you mind writing (hcs, scenario, anything!) a thing where, shortly pre-OVW recall, McCree and his old teammate (f or neutral pronouns are fine but it’s up to u!!) accidentally meet again after he left without warning? Bonus points for “I thought u were dead/I was never gonna see you again” type stuff :p thanks! Sorry if this was confusing!

{This was, like, super fun to write? I did kinda flip part of the script, but it still fits what you asked for (hopefully). Minor warning for implied alcoholism though, oops. It can also be read as more of a “bars exist for brawls” than “alcohol is my coping method” though, so maybe that’s not as bad??? IDK, at least the ending feels cute.} {-J}

After the fall of Overwatch and its subdivisions, there were certain things that you had been forced to accept: Dozens of your friends and coworkers had died, you were out of a job, and everything you had worked so hard for had crumbled into oblivion. So yeah, shit, you ended up drinking away your pain more than once. At this point you weren’t even sure how many places you were banned from. Still, you held onto the pride that came from never starting any fights, instead waiting for some asshole to decide he wanted to rumble with an ex-Blackwatch agent. It was messy, dangerous, and only added to your nasty reputation.

Few organizations would even think of hiring you. Did that make your drinking worse, or did your drinking make the job search harder?... It wasn’t something you wanted to dwell on, especially considering how desperately you were trying to change things. Mercenary work hadn’t suited you for long, as all your clients were faceless, mysterious forces pulling strings from the shadows. How could you trust that they weren’t like Talon?... Or like Blackwatch had become? In the end you had been forced to slink back into the shadows, praying to whatever gods may be that you could still do some good for the world.

That was a couple years ago. You had changed your name, traded out your old gear for something less suspicious, and set yourself up along the halfway point of Route 66. The area was known for its problems with gangs, violence, and a general lack of government intervention. Sure, the road itself spanned across eight different states, but most of it had been in a state of disrepair for a few decades now. The Omnic Crisis was the final push that sealed the region’s fate. Or, at least, it had been. Some people still cared.

Like you. Why else would you be here, now, scanning the horizon, a beer in one hand, binoculars in the other? There certainly weren’t any good birdwatching spots nearby. Just a rundown gas station perfect for staging ambushes, an old school diner with shitty coffee, and a dusty, dirty crevice up high, wonderful for keeping an eye on it all. You didn’t like it up here, but it was the only discreet place to perform surveillance on the local miscreants. 

Apparently a new gang was starting to harass people in the area, despite the proximity to Deadlock turf, and were trying to sell “insurance”. Understandably, that really pissed you off. Sweet-talking one of the locals had gotten you insight on the gang’s general daily routine. Nothing too specific, unfortunately. Now all you had to do was wait for the scum to show up so you could pound them into the dirt.

Taking a quick swig from your beer, you settled in a little, preparing to wait for who knows how long….

    Dust flew into the air like a trail of smoke, blurring your vision but not deterring you in the slightest. You slipped around your target, barely avoiding his second kick, before slamming your elbow into the back of his head. Sure enough he went crashing down with a thud. More dirt was kicked up in the process. At least it made it a little harder for the gang members still outside to target you. Another quick dash landed you behind cover, where you could finally take a moment to breathe.

    “Damn it,” you grumbled, hearing yet another bullet whiz past your hiding spot. There were still four or five gunmen outside. Truthfully, that was the total number of people you had expected to find, not just the backup boys. Sure, you had prepared for unforeseen hiccups, but apparently not enough. In over your head, stuck sitting like a duck, reminded more and more of the old days. Shit, you missed your teammates. Normally Jesse or Genji would have saved your ass by now.

    You missed them. So much, in fact, that you were pretty sure you just heard Jesse’s signature “high noon” line. It almost made you feel like you were a bit more tipsy than you had thought. When the sound of a revolver firing reached your ears, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had actually died; if so, this was the weirdest form of afterlife known to mankind. Curiosity ended up getting the best of you. Crawling to the side, you made sure not to reveal any part of yourself to your enemy, working your way towards the building’s secondary entrance. That was still within the gang’s line of sight, but you hoped it was far enough to the side that they wouldn’t immediately notice you poking around the corner.

    Sure enough, nobody shot at you when you turned the corner. Someone did, however, raise a silver revolver in your direction. Air got caught in your lungs as you stared down that ever-so-familiar barrel. Relief started to flood your chest… until you realized that the gunman wasn’t wavering in his stance. Your gaze follows up his arm, to his face, and you suddenly wish you weren’t wearing this stupid goddamn mask.

    “Hold it, buddy, unless you want to end up like your compadres back there,” Jesse McCree drawls, tipping his head back towards the fallen gang members. Evidently he hadn’t seen you beating the crap out of the ones inside. Still, you raised your hands slowly, showing your lack of weapons. “There we go. Now, take off that there lil’ mask, nice and easy, alright?” You complied, of course, tossing it to the side before throwing a grin in Jesse’s direction. His reaction made you really, really wish you had brought a camera. The normally smooth and put-together cowboy is now slack jawed, a sense of wonder (and something else…?) in his eyes. Soon your name drops from his lips, whispered like a sacred prayer.

    “It’s good to see you too, Jesse,” you manage to reply, still grinning like a fool. Hardly a moment passes before the wind is suddenly knocked out of you. Jesse had holstered his gun, closed the distance between the two of you, and pulled you into a hug in a matter of just a couple seconds. The action catches you by surprise, now making you the one to choke on the words caught in your throat. Still, you manage to hug him back, leaning in to gently rest your head against his chest.

    “Goddamnit, who gave you the right to surprise me like this?” He asks after a few moments of silence, his voice on the edge of breaking. His grip was tight, like a man desperate to keep his sanity clutching onto a lifetime of coping methods. Words failed you, barely managing a confused noise, as you pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. There was something you couldn’t comprehend in his gaze. Something you were missing, that required knowledge you didn’t have. Your head tipped to the side as you hoped for at least a little elaboration. Jesse seems to realize your cluelessness, and shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, the words settling on his tongue with an all-too-familiar weight.

    Shit, you thought, eyes going wide for a moment. Thoughts raced through your head as you tried to process what he said, thinking back to what had happened after Blackwatch’s disbandment, wondering why he could possibly have thought that you were-

….

….

    Fuck.

    Yeah, that tracked. Going from constantly fighting in bars to fucking off to nowhere, changing your name, and turning to the vigilante lifestyle? No shit people thought you were dead. How had you ever thought that this was a good idea?... Sure, most of your old friends had done the same, scattering across the four winds without so much as a “lol bye” (or, you know, a proper farewell). However, that didn’t mean that there weren’t still people who cared, who you could have at least made the slightest effort to keep in touch with before disappearing. People like Jesse.

    “Now that you mention it, I realize I didn’t exactly leave much room for thinking anything else,” you replied, barely managing to speak through your embarrassment. A laugh tried to move past your teeth, even though you knew the timing was bad, but the sound died as soon as your gaze met Jesse’s.

    “That’s one hell of an understatement, old friend,” he said, hardly a trace of mirth to his name. Both of his arms were still around your frame, gently cradling you, as if a stiff breeze might sweep you away from him once more. You could feel his body shifting with every breath he took, slowly finding yourself matching the movements. One of Jesse’s hands moves to cup your cheek, fingers sliding so carefully that you almost didn’t feel it, but you lean it instinctively, finding your lips placing a whisper of a kiss against his wrist. “Darling,” he breathes, voice caught in his throat, blocked by joy and surprise alike.

    “I’m sorry for worrying you, Jesse. I swear I never meant to just vanish like that,” you plead, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Things were bad, and I… I just ran from that, I guess. But you didn’t deserve that, at all, and I swear to whatever passes for high heaven these days, if you give me a chance-....” Pulled in closer, you couldn’t help but squeak a little when Jesse plants a kiss on your forehead. One of his hands is rubbing gentle circles into your back. A reassurance, one you desperately needed. “I can make it up to you. We can do better this time, right?...”

    Jesse didn’t say anything, at least not at first, but the feeling of his hat settling down on your head gave you all the answers you’d ever need.

[republicscum]

When Jumping into Battle Doesn’t Work

AN: 2,666 words

Male Sith Warrior x OC, Male Sith Warrior & Vette

I didn’t do this with anything particular in mind. I just wanted to practice my action/fight scenes and see how well my story paced prose does compared against my more Fancy(TM) pretentious prose. I also wanted to scribble things down for Grimm because he’s one of my favorite villains. I’m not sure how time is working for him yet in how my interpretation of events happens, so I just set this as though his apprenticeship happened at the same time it does in game and yadda yadda. It shouldn’t be too much different from my personal canon events except for some year transplanting.

Points to note: violence, blood, Grimm (Ansilm) treats Vette like property, and there is some mild language.

Past the Imperial barricade, the tombs were not restful. The rustles of other acolytes seeking their plunder carried through the cavernous halls from all points around, but there was a presence louder and yet all the more still to Ansilm Wx. In the murk there was an omnipotence breathing the stagnant air and biding the eons. Unheedful of things older than him, he pressed deeper into the temple.

The ground sloped into a steep fall beneath his feet. Eventually the shriek of wind blasting around sharp desert outcrops faded into a dull moan and the silence of the grave pressed in. The going for a while was painful and slow, since the sizable Pureblood had to fall back onto his haunches to avoid careening carelessly into a K’lorslug or another acolyte in the gloom. He found himself gritting his teeth. The physical part of his body told him that his muscles were expending laughably little exertion, but frustrated desires whelled so deeply in his chest that it tensed the thin band of rationality keeping him in place.

Ansilm bared his lips back so they stuck against his teeth. Strange power rested here and it would be strange power that would be the undoing of many an acolyte already pushed to fervor as they jockeyed to become Sith. But fighting ones inhibitions was discordant with the natural energy of the Force, and Ansilm did not suspend the tugging in his chest lightly.

Then the ground finally evened. He couldn’t hear the wind anymore. The tomb of Tulak Hord glowed a soft yellow from ancient lights that hid more than they exposed. But the retinal glow of the Pureblood’s eyes provided him an advantage over his human rivals. He wandered for a while encountering nothing until nothing weighed very heavily on his mind. The rooms and halls were built so similarly to the untrained eye that nothing but K’lorslug slime differentiated features. The chambers’ various meanings and purposes once common knowledge to Ansilm’s ancestors was now lost to monotony on him. Occasionally the shouts of someone being killed in darkness rang out, which was an unnatural comfort over the repetitive shuffling and mutterings.

Around the corner, a scream bellowed. Unlike the echoes that might’ve occurred a few paces over or an antechamber away, this was sharp and desperate on the ears. Not residual but real. The taste of electricity laid over the back of Ansilm’s tongue in a thin coating just a second before purple threw the caverns into stark relief. He charged forward to the strobing violet flicker of the Force energy.

The woman who’d screamed lay in the thick of a pack. From their practical minded blades and clothes they were nothing more than tomb dogs scavenging after artifacts. From the mouth of another hallway intersecting the antechamber, Ansilm could see another acolyte drawn out by the yells swiftly unsheathing his warblade. She was blissfully unware. It was an unnecessarily vulnerable position she’d put herself in to antagonize a few treasure hunters, but it was a situation he could leave to resolve itself and pick off the winner. Yet yawning tombs were lonely places for victors of petty fights.

Ansilm sprang onto the other acolyte as he brought his hands down to strike the lightening user. There was a yelp of pain as Ansilm’s warblade broke his grip and wrists, sending the combatant and his sword skittering across the floor. He lashed out with the Force in desperation, pushing Ansilm with a crack into the wall. His back hit hard knocking the wind from his lungs, but his feet and head remained steady. Lightening flared dangerously close to his wine-dark skin and danced off of it in violent crackles as he bared his teeth and advanced forward. Ansilm could barely see from the disorientation and the strobe from slowly frying bodies, but he could feel. He thrust his hand down where he could feel the other curled on the ground. He could feel the breath knocked from his cracked rib cage. One handedly, he drove downward and felt a gushing spurt of what could’ve either the living Force or blood whell into the sucking chest wound. Ansilm brought his other hand to the back of the pommel and forced the blade forward until it sparked against stone. The life drained like an ooze from his body and into the sealed tomb with his last rattling breath. Lost forever.

It fell dark again. The stench of cooked meat filled like blood in his nostrils. Ansilm wrenched his blade from the dead acolyte’s sternum with the protesting jolts of electricity propulsing violently away from sinew and bone. Behind him, the woman, a Red Sith, was poised in a textbook perfect combative stance. One hand raised to Ansilm and his heaving sweaty bulk fearlessly. Almost fearlessly. There was a line of tension down her spine that curved away from him in a guard.

“Well met, sister,” he managed between controlled but massive gasps of stale tasting air and sheathed his blade. His tongue felt thick with electrical charge and exhaustion.

The tense line of her body relaxed into a mistrusting question mark.

“I’ve no quarrel with you. Those Imps got what they deserved.” Her voice, in contrast with his even timbre was high, sharp. It danced on points, like her lightening.

Ansilm wiped away locks of black hair from his face and back over the top of his scalp. “And what was that?” he asked. Dry amusement tinged his voice.

“A dishonorable death. May they shit themselves in the place they were trying to befoul.” She stepped out of her stance to reveal a long siding of wall. The glyphs carved into the heavy rock had been removed into a long gaping trench, like a wound in the temple. From it energy flowed raw and damaged. There were many such gaps like it in other rooms.

“And what of it? Sith don’t concern themselves with petty thieves.”

“Sith? Funny word for one to use who isn’t concerned with his own heritage being raped and plundered.”

Ansilm’s eyes narrowed. She was quickly beginning to pluck at his nerves. “Sith is a legacy; it’s more than any one race. Unfortunate as the rape and plunder may be.”

She scoffed. “If that’s what you think, then you know nothing.”

Ansilm felt the band of irritation begging him to cave in to slaking his fill of power. It expanded with the adrenaline fueled rise in temper at this infuriating ungrateful woman-- It was that swell that ultimately brought him back to a steadying breath. His lungs were still shaky after the disturbed ozone and roasted flesh, but the rawness called attention to his surrounds rather than the provoked pool of emotions within. “Then you can tell me about it on our way into the tomb.”

The woman blinked. “I—I suppose a truce is a good idea. Then you feel it too? The need to give into your worst senses?”

“Yes, it’s tempting. And I think it’s the failure of many an acolyte. A smart Sith is a thinking Sith – not a beast. But at the same time, only Jedi are stupid enough to batter their true selves down. I believe an alliance is the best solution. You’re a good fighter and passionate; if nothing else, we might at least be able to have an interesting conversation.”

The woman’s sandy orange eyes sparkled with interest in the dark. She approached him and held out her hand. “You’re very flattering when you’re talking sense. My name is Jikksi. If you betray me, I'll kill you.”

"Noted." His four clawed fingers practically engulfed all of her small but corrosively smoothed hand. “But pleased to meet you Jikksi as long as you give me an honorable death. I’m Ansilm. Ansilm gestured her forward. “Well, we can’t waste the day talking.” She threaded her arm through his instead.

“What? Can’t a lady even get an escort from the big strapping man who saved her?” Jikksi fluttered her eyelashes coyly. Her tendrils swayed under smirking lips. A snide edge to the words told Ansilm she was feigning for her own amusement, but he returned the smile anyway.

“Of course the lady can.”

Since then, his trials seemed long behind him. The jungle before him. 

“Figures you’d get out at the Imperial Spaceport then have to walk uphill five miles wading through man eating beasts to actually get to the city.”

Ansilm spared a sidelong glance at the Twi’lek slave and considered the shock controls in his belt. She stiffened every time his hand strayed too close, so giving her another jolt for speaking her mind seemed like overkill. All Ansilm Wx expected was obedience and competence. It was a paltry price for he would’ve demanded the same from any other companion of status.

For now she seemed content to stretch the durable woven fibers of her new armored gear. He’d had her change into the new jacket and pants during their last few uneventful hours on the Black Talon and had been relieved to see that it fit. After the simple hide tunic and pants he’d refitted her in on Korriban, she seemed reinvigorated by the proper wardrobe. More importantly, it gave her a suitable edge in combat, while reinforcing the idea that her sense of identity wellspringed from him.

“Can you keep up?”

“Uhh-h, yeah, guy. Tomb raider who got you that nifty glow stick strapped to your belt, here?”

“And I thank you for that.”

“I—you’re welcome. I think. Can we go before you start being nice to me?”

Ansilm shouldered his sparse haversack of belongings then started forward into the looming trees.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t be nice to you? You’re walking freely in the middle of dense wilderness, are you not? If I valued your servitude over your well-being I could easily have you on a drag line in front of me.”

Vette, a few paces behind his shoulder in case of threats, winced. “I’m sure you mean that nicely, but it still sounds creepy. I guess, it’s because this is a kind of everywhere to hide but nowhere to run to situation.”

Ansilm saw her glance up to the canopy cover. As they stepped over an invisible line, it swallowed them. Something made a trilling cry from deep within.

“That in no way negates what I said. I think you’re in a different arrangement for the time being and need to stop overthinking things. Your situation is plain and you’d do better taking it a day at a time for your own sanity. Paranoia will make even the strongest person go crazy.”

She fell contemplatively silent behind him and a smile curved Ansilm’s lips. Remarkably simple how punishment and kindness worked in conjunction to reform injustice to complacency. But one thing was missing in his quiet assurances: the promise of freedom. It was important that Vette not have a goal to work towards. Just a long haul day by day of getting used to her new life. When she reached that next milestone Ansilm would reward her with something nice. Something she liked. He just needed time to parse her out.

Aside from some sparse chatter where Vette asked Ansilm where he was from (Kaas City) and some comments on the weather, they continued the hike in silence. Coming from Korriban to a planet where the atmosphere was the same consistency as soup and well above sea level, the few kilometers felt like parsecs. Every step felt like an overexertion and he was beginning to feel the edge of a chill. Vette was doing better with her stamina for exploring, but even experience couldn’t negate the harsh barriers of rapid climate change. He could feel them both beginning to flag, when they encountered their first Gundark.

They had seen movement in the trees occasionally but nothing desperate enough to interfere with the man-made pathway. The exception was foraging just off the path with its head bowed and grunting into the soil.

It had been a while since Ansilm had seen a Gundark, and the reality of how gruesomely large they were was a daunting eleven-foot reality made of mealy smelling taut stretched hide.

Vette groaned. Fatigue snagging even the edges of that. “We sh—” she choked off then glanced hesitantly between Ansilm and his belt.

“We press on,” Ansilm said as if nothing was amiss.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know you’re built, but that thing is you and then on stims on top of the stims its already on.”

“Come on,” Ansilm said again as though she hadn’t spoken and reached for his blade.

As he turned it on, the creature’s head snapped up. He felt Vette lurch back bloodlessly over his shoulder and knew she’d be useless. She had already succumbed to the terrifying elements and exhaustion. Ansilm would, as usual, have to rely on himself.

He coiled his legs into tethers of energy that he didn’t have and made an impossible leap with his arms poised in an overhead cut to bring down across the creature’s body. Hopefully the thick hide would tear like canvas and spill intestines on the ground. In slow motion, blurred by the speed of his surroundings, Ansilm watched one of the creatures tree trunklike arms come up effortlessly to bat him away. Committed now to his plan, Ansilm followed through with the cut and closed his eyes. It was like hitting a wall on a speeder bike. There was a beastial scream of pain, his bones folding into something solid, and …

Vette looked like she was vibrating; it made him feel dizzy.

...

The next thing he saw was cloth tarping and a Sith woman. She was beautiful. With a fine face, and elegant features piqued by a naturally mischievous demeanor and drips of gold piercings against her angular tendrilled ears and pouty lips.

“Jikksi? What’re you doing here?” The words came out too slow even though he was speaking normally. Almost like his tongue was too fast but his mouth too thick, but he felt good. Fresh. Cooler and softer somehow. “Korriban was a long time ago.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

Ansilm frowned. “Why would I need to? I’m fine,” he insisted a little hotly and leveraged his weight onto his arms to stand.

Quicker than he could comprehend, she grabbed his arms. The practical coarseweave was rough against his bare skin. Her fingernails dug into his slippery skin at the same time her light floral scent dug into his nose. She was strong. Ansilm – who had seen her control convulsive torrents of electricity while keeping perfect saber form - knew this, but it was another thing to feel it gird down through his muscles.

“Where’s my shirt?”

“What year is it Ansilm?”

He took a deep breath knowing there was no way to convince her he wasn’t okay when she was so assured that he needed medical attention.

“10 ATC.”

Her hands relaxed as he became less of a flight risk.

“Where are you?”

“A few miles from Kaas City.”

“Who was the master you were hoping to apprentice under as an acolyte?”

“Darth Baras, and he will be very unhappy if I’m late.”

Jikksi smiled and let go of the pinning hold on his biceps. He felt cold again after she left but not in a pleasant way. “So you were successful then.”

“Of course.” Ansilm blinked. “Vette.” He tried to bolt upright again, but a current of stiff pain that hadn’t been present before stopped him with a gasping grunt.             “You took a harsh knocking. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a few fractured ribs,” Jikksi replied and compelled him back down with both hands on his shoulders.  “I understand you have a lot to worry about, but if you try and get up again, I will restrain you. Anything you need, I can do.”

“You don’t understand. My slave—”

“The Twi’lek woman?”

“Yes, is she—?”

“After you were knocked out, she killed the Gundark and went looking for help. She found me, and we brought you here. She’s being attended to for her own injuries.”

Ansilm blinked back to Vette’s out of focus face and the thunderous sky framed behind her. He recalled retroactively the sharp scent of sap and ancient soil. She must have dragged him on his back.

“Here is where?” 

He tried to turn his head, but found that the stiff rod of pain prevented that too. Glows of a fire danced along the dark tenting material and conversation ebbed and flowed in the distance. It wasn’t enough to make anything out.

A mysterious smile played around Jikki’s lips. “I’m not at liberty to say anything except that you’ll have to be marched out with a blindfold on. But… She’s a very loyal slave. You should consider yourself lucky.”

Ansilm slipped his fingers around Jikksi’s wrist – where her palm still rested flat and even on his shoulder, like an afterthought. “I do.”