#It’s the one constant across all adaptations

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

yes the plants take the gem but what does that have to do with sonic and tails can you explain I'm very intrigued

i'm assuming you're referring to this post!

In the anime Sonic X, the third season was dedicated to a completely original story. (also obligatory "please watch the subbed version, the dubbed version got censored heavily" mention) The spoiler-free version is that group of aliens in fucked-up robot armor, led by Dark Oak, descend on Mobius to try and steal the Chaos Emeralds. In attempt to save the universe from these freaks, Super Sonic scatters the emeralds across the galaxy before crashing to the planet (he's fine tho). The aliens, known as the Metarex, then attack the planet and steal something from its core, causing the plants to slowly wither and die.

Around this time, a refugee from space crashes on the planet, looking for Sonic. An anthropomorphic plant, her name is Cosmo and she is the last survivor of her race after the Metarex attacked her ship. She knows Sonic as the only person who can control the chaos emeralds, and begs him to help defeat the Metarex. Turns out these guys have been planet-hopping and genociding as they go, but their main goal is to steal the Planet Egg, which is a magic thing at the core of each planet that keeps it alive and thriving. She currently doesn't know what they're using them for but it's not for anything good. And, well, now they're hunting chaos emeralds... and, as we find out later, making fake ones.

Tails happens to have a spaceship so the whole gang goes into space to fight the Metarex. This takes up the entire season and it fucks severely. Again, the English dub was heavily censored; the og Japanese has constant death and shit. In the last of the spoiler-free bits, I will say that if you have ever heard of "Dark Sonic"... this is where he appears.

The entire season is extremely dark but extremely well-written, which makes it very popular in the fanbase. Ian Flynn has previously stated he wanted to adapt this arc to comic but Sega wouldn't let him; us seeing the Chaos Emerald surrounded by plants, along with fake chaos emeralds and Dark Sonic-implications, is making us wonder if Sega's let up and we might get this arc after all.

Now, spoiler version, though I really do suggest you watch the subbed version of this season bc it's a fucking masterpiece:

We find out late in the season that Cosmo and the Metarex are the same species. In this species, the sexual dimorphism is a different "final stage" of their life cycle. The "male" plant-creatures enter their final stage as basically a kaiju, in order to defend their society from threats; the "female" final stage is turning into a giant fuckin tree in order to reproduce with seeds. The downside is that once you enter this final stage, it is FINAL, and you die shortly after.

However, when their planet was attacked by an unseen threat (it's never clarified, but a lot of people theorize it to be the Black Arms considering Shadow 05 was about to drop), they were all about to get wiped tf out. Dark Oak started experimenting with the Planet Egg in order to stay permanently in kaiju version without dying. His wife, Earthia (or "Ashia" in Japanese, but it just translates to "Earthia") is fucking horrified that he's fucking with the life of their planet like this. While he convinces the "males" to join his side, Earthia escapes with the girls and bombs their planet to kill Dark Oak and his new monsters. They survive though, and Dark Oak starts leading them to steal more planet eggs.

Turns out their plan is to use the power of the eggs and chaos emeralds (fake or real) to do a full-scale attack on the entire fucking universe, which will kill all animal-people and turn every planet into overgrown plants. We actually see some characters from a Shadow one-off episode being killed and violently turned into trees in one scene. Fucked up. That's what they want to do to everything.

And Cosmo? Well she didn't just happen to be a survivor; turns out Dark Oak spared her from the attack on her ship, semi-possessed her in order to spy through her eyes and ears, and yeeted her down to Mobius. He's been using her to spy on the Sonic Crew this entire time, against her will and without her knowledge. It fucks everyone up a WHOLE lot.

Anyway there's like a three-part finale where Super Sonic and Super Shadow are desperately trying to keep these fuckers from Mass Genociding. Finally, Cosmo realizes that she's the only one who can stop this and sacrifices herself; she goes into her Final Stage, turning into a tree but trapping Dark Oak in there with her (it's a long story, he kinda turned into a meteor). She then appears to Tails, the ship captain, and tells him to fucking shoot her to kill both her and Dark Oak, saving the galaxy.

The problem is, Tails and Cosmo have had a bit of a romance over the course of the season. It's been fucking adorable, and Tails became extremely protective of her after Shadow tried to kill her (long story). There's an uncomfortably drawn-out scene (and I mean that in the best way) where Tails is like. Emotionally broken and trying to figure out any way to do this without killing Cosmo. Eventually, he has to give in and fucking shoot her, blowing her and Dark Oak up. It saves the galaxy but traumatizes the hell out of him.

Super Sonic and Shadow contain the blast, and Super Shadow chaos-controls it away and disappears (this is likely bc they were setting up for the Sonic Heroes arc, where Shadow would have to appear out of nowhere again). When Sonic returns to the ship, Tails meets with him, desperate for him to say he saved the day last-minute and brought Cosmo back. Instead, all Sonic could find was a single seed– considering how the Metarex reproduce, it's probably Cosmo's child, but it's never clarified. This causes Tails to have a complete fucking breakdown.

The season p much ends there. They show everyone starting to heal on Mobius, have a bit where the anime-exclusive character Chris has character development and leaves to go home, and then go "and now we're going to have more adventures!! yay!!" before panning to a potted plant in Tails's workshop, showing that the seed has sprouted.

As I said, it's very dark, but VERY good, and thus we all really really hope that it's what Sonic IDW is building up to. They've been building up fake Chaos Emeralds, Tails blaming himself for things outside of his control, and Sonic being 110% done. I didn't even get into the Dark Sonic stuff, cause it only appears briefly in one episode and then is never mentioned again, which you'd think would be bad writing but no it just raises so many questions and you know that was what was intended by it.

The arc is really beloved but because it only appeared in a 2005 anime (which was heavily censored in English, and the og Japanese didn't air officially until a couple years ago), not a huge chunk of the fanbase knows about it. Which means we really want to share it and get more people into it and how good a character Cosmo is. So yeah that's what we're excited for.

[yourlokalescholar]

Worldbuilding idea: a society in which everyone (or near enough everyone) can use magic.

Spells are passed down orally for millennia, resulting in regional differences and localised adaptations.

Different countries and societies that independently develop very similar spells (think, like, the amount of “meat/vegetables wrapped in pastry” foods we have: dumplings, samosas, pasties, pies, gyozas, etc) such as fireball. Of course creating fire is a simple, useful spell that you’d expect any civilisation to have, but it’s approached in different ways across the world: different colours, different ratios of light to heat, some that float and subsist on burning the caster’s magic, some that fly from the hands and burn out quickly unless they hit something flammable…

Children at school have essential spells drilled into their heads the same way they memorise their times tables and ABCs.

Teachers need to memorise spells to detect and nullify all of the common cheating spells such as telepathy, hide writing, illusion, read from afar, etc. Kids are constantly coming up with new spells and alterations on the old ones, and there are always rumours going around about “bypass” spells that the teachers can’t detect.

Magic can be taken from the user’s own internal store or from any other living thing (of course, most people have safeguarding spells on themselves to avoid that; it’s one of the first things they learn at school). It’s replenished with food and sleep, too, but it still requires time in the same way you can’t just eat food and feel fine after working out.

As such, most people have familiars: animals that they take around with them for the primary purpose of using as a battery. They’re bred to have as large energy stores as possible—of course, this means that they have a bottomless appetite, so few have more than one. Less wealthy folk might have unspecialised, non-familiar animals: less useful, but less expensive too.

Plants are another good source of magic, as they don’t move and are less expensive to feed. Some mages would take this too far and let plants and fungi grow on their own body, as a convenient, portable, self-regenerating source of energy. You know how fireproof stuff used to be made out of asbestos and cocaine was in medicine? Yeah, this is the equivalent of that. It went out of fashion soon enough.

Tired, broke college students that skip meals and subsist entirely on magic for much longer than is healthy and use magic to stave off sleep. Bringing back portable plant stores is a common running joke. Some particularly clever, sleep-deprived, and/or desperate folk actually let moss grow on them (“It’s perfectly safe! The roots are shallow, see?”)

Eventually tortoises surge in popularity as a familiar, as they move little and waste minimal energy, and with this comes a resurgence in the use of plants. Tortoises are bred to have thick, concave shells, and portable magic gardens become fashionable. Forums discuss the best plants to use to store the most magic in a small space, and there’s a constant debate between efficient setups, fashionable setups and setups that are best for the tortoise.

Technology that uses runes and written spells and can be recharged by any human, and essentially serves as an easier to use, more accessible version of a spell.

Most people only use the standardised spells they’re taught at school, or follow the instructions for more complicated spells as and when they need them. There’s no shame in it: how often do you make your own furniture, or program your own apps?

Self-taught mages, who make all their own spells and are proud of that fact. Sometimes the spells are unnecessarily dangerous, or terribly inefficient, or accidentally brilliant. Outsiders are horrified and intrigued.

Wealthy noble families who exclusively use their Traditional, needlessly complex, I-Need-You-To-Know-I’m-Better-Than-You magic. Their children need to look both ways furtively before quickly casting ���wardrobe portal” instead of “Summon Wraith Servant”, and they beg their parents to let them get a teleport license instead of using their family’s outdated flying machine just to get to school.

Magical disabilities. People with a low internal magic store that are provided a familiar as a service animal, because how can you expect a person to get through the entire day on that little magic? People who are injured or affected by seizures and migraines when using too much magic at a time. And very, very few people who are completely unable to use magic, but every other magical disability tends to get lumped in with them.

Physical disabilities are seen as much less severe. There are spells for blind people to sense the objects around them, and everyone knows one or two spells for silent communication that work for deaf people—even those with walking disabilities can teleport or levitate themselves brief distances.

Of course, being physically disabled sucks out magic quickly, so accessibility spells need to be used sparingly, but the average person assumes it’s not nearly as hard as it is.

[ninadove]

Hats were invented in 1897 and retroactively incorporated into XVIIth century attire so that Cyrano could hide his wound from Roxane then reveal it dramatically in Act V. Trust me I’m as reliable a source as the foreword to Histoire comique des États et Empires de la Lune

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — CONSTANT AS A RIVER, PERPETUAL AS MOUNTAINS

cw: no pronouns mentioned. just pure cuteness.

High above the forest floor, Kinich perched silently in the upper branches of a towering tree, his body still and balanced like a natural extension of the canopy. Below him, the landscape unfolded into a maze of thick trees, jagged rock faces, and the distant, thunderous roar of the waterfall cascading down the mountain. The air was thick with the scent of damp leaves and fresh water, the humidity clinging onto everything.

From this height, Kinich had a clear view of the world below—a vantage point that made him feel at home, with the winds sweeping through the treetops and the sway of the branches beneath him. His tribe had long since adapted to this unforgiving landscape, where cliffs loomed, trees stretched endlessly into the sky, and the terrain was as treacherous as it was beautiful. To outsiders, this place was inhospitable. To Kinich, it was perfect.

His sharp eyes followed you, who was on the floor far below, walking with a carefree grace that stood in stark contrast to the harshness of the environment around you. You moved with ease, your steps light as if you danced along the path, humming softly to yourself. Your hair fluttered in the breeze, and every so often, you’d pause to marvel at the way the light filtered through the trees' forms above, casting intricate patterns of shadow and light across your skin.

A small smile tugged at Kinich’s lips as he watched you, hidden from view. There was something magnetic about your presence—how you could bring warmth and life to even the most untamed of places. He admired your resilience and fearlessness, your ability to thrive in a land most would shy away from. Even now, you didn’t seem at all fazed by the singular nature that surrounded you.

From above, he could see how your eyes lit up every time you discovered something new—a strange flower, the movement of a saurian group nearby, or the iridescent glitter of sunlight against the waterfall in the distance. There was a joy to the way you moved, an uninhibited energy that drew him in and made him want to stay and watch you forever.

You suddenly stopped and tilted your head upward, squinting at the towering branches as if you could feel his gaze. “Kinich?” you called out, your voice slightly playful. “I know you’re up there somewhere.”

Kinich smirked, though he didn’t move or answer right away. He stayed hidden, knowing you’d keep searching, your instincts sharp enough to sense when he was near.

Your eyes scanned the treetops, and then your smile grew wider. “Come on. Don’t make me climb all the way up there just to find you,” you complained, putting a hand on your hip. “You know I will.”

That was enough to stir Kinich into action. With the quiet grace of a true Scion of the Canopy, he leaped from the branch he was perched on, landing silently on a lower one before dropping to the ground with barely a sound. Your face lit up when you saw him, eyes sparkling with delight.

“Took you long enough,” you said, closing the distance. Your hands immediately reached for him, fingers curling around his arm as you pulled him close. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

Kinich nodded, his expression calm but the warmth in his eyes gave him away. “You’re hard to miss,” he replied, his voice low. “Especially when you’re singing all the way.”

You giggled, your hand slipping down to entwine with his. “Well, I had a feeling you’d be up there, hiding away like some elusive yumkasaurus. But you know I’ll always find you.”

Kinich tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said, though there was a subtle playfulness in his tone. “I was... observing.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, bodies almost touching. “Observing, huh?” you murmured, your voice dropping to a whisper. “And did you like what you saw?”

Kinich’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to fade away—the trees, the running river, the steep cliffs. All that mattered was the warmth of your hand in his and how you looked at him, so full of life and love.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a slow and steady kiss, much like him. You responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened it, your fingers gently tangling in his hair.

When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, your breath coming in soft, warm puffs against his skin. “You don’t always have to watch from afar, you know,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection. “You can come closer.”

Kinich smiled, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “I’m here now,” he said softly, his voice steady as always, but with a tenderness that only you ever got to see. “I’ll always come closer when it’s you.”

.

.

a/n: oh well. i didn't intend to write to him soon but i wanted to gift myself since my birthday is coming and i've been checking his tag for updates more times i should to. come on, my fella writers, where are you?

[josephquinnswhore]

Little bird - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel is a merciless hunter for sport, seeking many anew victim when he comes across you. who changes everything.

word count: 3.8k

content warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONSUMING. joel is basically a psycho? he kills for sport, control freak, stalking, murder, dubcon, age gap, power dynamic, manipulation, gaslighting, forceful face fucking, reader spews on Joel’s cock, blood play, forced proximity, m orgasm, fingering, m and f oral receiving, f orgasm, pet names such as; little bird, birdie, princess, daddy.

Joel had adapted to the outbreak effortlessly, without, like a bird. It is in his nature alike to theirs, to adapt through the conditions to ensure survival for their species without second thought for consequence. Even after what had happened to his daughter.

The instance of her unnecessary death had sent Joel spiral into this mindset, serial killing and torture. Not even out of necessity, supplies, he just found a sense of control in the act.

He is constantly covered in blood, his hands, neck and clothes all had stains on them. But he found comfort in the act of squeezing his large hands around someone’s frail neck, seeing the light fade from their eyes.

Paired travellers were his preference. The men always tried to be heroes, and Joel found it amusing that they always thought they’d beat him in battle, underestimating Joel's pent up rage and obsession for control. His strength is unmatched—survival skill and pure animalistic rage is channelled with each plea for mercy.

He’d seen many people around him change, good hearted folk who had clawed so far deep into the instinctual rage of strength and determination within themselves. Just so they had what it takes to survive this world.

But Joel—this darkness was raging inside of him before the outbreak, before any real need to access this side for survival had even come into play. With decades of experience, he had become skilled at stalking, especially. Observing.

Often he had thoughts about doing bad things to women and men that he acted out on. He couldn’t find a goddamn ounce of sympathy within himself as he hunted people, stalking his next victims through every state and terrain.

It was sport for Joel, a comfort as he realises that everyone’s life is in his hands, that he gets to decide who lives and dies. That he remained victorious. Too brutal and savage for anyone to defeat.

Notoriously good at what he did, he had more blood on his hands than probably anyone, finding the talking as exhilarating as the kill.

It had never been anything more than that, until now.

Until he had seen you, two days prior.

He had taken one glance at you, and his feet of their own accord, had started trailing you. Following from a distance as the memorises the size and depth of your footprints in the snow. Since then, he’d been listening in on the two of you bickering about how lost you were, namely you—terrified about where you were, and where you were going.

Walking through the thick snowfall of the mountains, carrying that overloaded bag that made your shoulders sag. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d see your face crumble in pain as you try to adjust the straps of the bag, or beg the young man you traveled with to put some items into his own bag to take some weight off your shoulders.

Watching every interaction between you and this man from the past two days, he could conclude that he was your boyfriend. He hated this boy, the way he walked ahead of you, made you keep first watch after a gruelling day of travelling.

You don’t argue or seem to mind which Joel concedes is a product of this being a constant for you.

He gathers that more than likely, you didn’t understand how you were being taken advantage of. That this boy didn’t care about you, not the way he did.

The thought infuriated him, sending a rush of heat through his body as he clutched onto the falling bark of a tree he had hidden behind, observing you through the forest, the only thing that separates you from him, is a small clearance of flat ground to your small, makeshift camp.

A natural formation of a cave like structure made of rock. All you had to keep you warm was a freying sleeping bag and the arms of the boy wrapped around you.

Joel thinks about all the ways he’d take care of you. Giving you his thick, insulated winter coat, lighting a fire for you in his cabin. Keeping watch the entire evening so you could rest your fragile body.

The more he thinks, the more he fuels his own obsession. He wonders what your skin feels like under his own sinful ones, wonders what your cries would sound like, if you’d give into him or run.

For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to kill, he doesn’t plan on wrapping his thick hands around your neck to crush your oesophagus. He doesn’t think about reaching for his sharpened hunting blade and driving it to the hilt into the soft, warm flesh of your neck.

No, you were different. So pretty, so mistreated. He had to take care of you. Bring you into his warm hands like an injured bird in need of delicate care.

You’re exhausted beyond belief. The old boots you wear are barely holding together, even with the duct tape you’d wrapped around the collapsing soul, and even that was wearing off the front of the shoe.

You know you can’t risk sliding them off for a moment to dig your fingers into your heels to relieve the ache, in fear of infected, or people.

It’s not ideal to stop here, in the middle of the snowfall, freezing your asses off. You’re so lost, and afraid.

There’s a sense of bitterness rising inside of you as you watch your boyfriend sleep, you love him, with each beat of your heart… but you needed to sleep too. If only.

Hours pass of you staring into the clearance of trees and snow, of nothing. Not a bird, not a wisp of wind. The lack of anything happening only fuelled the burning in your dried eyes, lulling them to close, just for a moment.

You don’t know that you’d fallen asleep, standing upright against the tree you were keeping watch from until you’re awoken by a blood curdling scream.

Shaking you out of your slumber, you turn to see your boyfriend is gone from the makeshift camp.

A sense of dread buries itself deep into your skin.

“No.. fuck.. no! Jacob!” You cry out, ignoring the ache in your feet as you run back the way you heard the scream. Holding your handgun in front of you cautiously, there’s another scream.

But it sounds like it’s encircling you. Surrounding you from every direction.

“Jacob!” You scream back, tears welling your eyes.

This was your fault.

A spec of blood catches your eye, like a trail of a clue leading you to a horrific mystery. But you follow, urging yourself to run as you come to see your boyfriends body tied to a lonesome tree in front of a small nearby cabin.

“Jacob… Jacob it’s me,” your voice cracks, tossing your gun down onto the snow as you reach for the tightly knotted ropes that had him restrained against the tree. Jacob’s voice is muffled by a rope fastened into his mouth, keeping his head upright against the tree.

Despite his desperate attempts to warn you of the looming predator behind you.. it’s hopeless.

The blood has created a small pool around him, seeping into the snow. “I’m gonna help you okay? I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

A sound behind you makes your fingers freeze in place around the rope, the familiar sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back—ready to fire.

Frantically, you look to the ground and realise that your gun is no longer where you’d tossed it. The only evidence of it was a deep imprint in the sand.

A deep, southern voice carries strong through the short distance between you, sending a nauseating shiver down your spine. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

You raise your hands above your head, kneeling on the ground, eyeing your boyfriend with tears in your eyes, mouthing to him with a tremble of your jutted bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Turn around.” The deep voice instructs.

Obeying, you turn your body towards your captor, on your knees with your hands still in a surrendering gesture. Eyes stuck on his shoes that were in much better condition than your own, practically new looking.

The cool metal of your own gun traces the shape of your chin, lifting your face upward to meet the gaze of an older man. His dark brown eyes shift as he takes in every feature of your face, committing every detail to memory.

You’re even prettier up close.

“Please don’t do this, I .. we don’t have anything to give. We’re starving as it is and our supplies are worn.” The plea goes ignored, but you’re desperate.

“I’ll do anything, just help Jacob, don’t let him die like this,” you beg, fat tears rolling down past your waterline.

So pretty when you cry. Those bright, big eyes begging him to help you. It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Oh? You’ll do anything will you?” Darkly, he chuckles. “Remember this promise, little bird.”

The man holds your gun in his hand and grabs at you, one hand grasping the back of your head and bringing it flush to his crotch, rubbing your soft face over the hard bludge of his cock.

A breathy moan escapes him at how you protest, the palms of your hands against his thighs attempt to push him away.

“Tss. Maybe you don’t care about your little boyfriend after all, do you?” He scolded you.

A dry sob slips past your cracked lips, seeming to give up against the harsh grip of the man. A twisted rumble from within his chest vibrates against your palms splayed on his jeans.

“Unbutton my jeans and take out my cock,” the older man sneers, in a means to humiliate you.

Your cold, trembling fingers work at the tight button, and it pops open with a sense of release as his stomach slightly overhangs the right fitting denim. The zipper is freezing—but you manage to keep your fingers pinched around the small zip enough to pull his jeans down to expose him.

More tears fall down your face as you fail to accept what was happening.

“Tell me you want this cock, little bird.”

At your silence, the man redirects the barrel of your gun to your boyfriend. “You think I won’t fucking shoot him again?”

With his booming, threatening promise of violence against Jacob, you utter nonsense.

“I want your cock,” voice cracked thickly as you force the words out.

The man growls in approval, bringing the gun back to you, tracing the barrel of the weapon against your lips in a tantalising threat.

“If you try anything, including biting.. I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out princess.” The utterance through gritted teeth sends your blood cold.

He had no intention of actually killing you, but the way you were trembling beneath him was a good sign you believed it.

“Now be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick cock,” he hums, forcing the thick, blunt tip through your parted lips.

It burns, how far his cock has stretched your lips wide open, the intrusion so far deep into your mouth makes you gag around him, but that doesn’t deter him at all. Pushing further into your mouth, down the back of your throat.

“Fuck little bird, knew your mouth would take me perfectly.”

Tears, snot and saliva all accumulate at the base of his cock, urging his hand to force you closer to him. Holding his cock down your throat, legs trembling beneath him at the feel of you struggling, gagging against him and the palms of your hands frantically trying to push him out of your mouth so that you could breathe.

He pulls halfway out of you, and with that a small amount of bile from your throat coats his cock. Your mouth was so perfect, warm and stretched out for him. Taking him so well. Nothing deters this man from taking exactly what he’d dreamt of you these past two days.

The constant reminder of the gun pressed against your temple was forcing you to endure this. It would save Jacob, it would ensure survival for the two of you.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking himself into your throat relentlessly. The pace is brutal and each growl makes your stomach feel sick.

The worst part is that your body is reacting to this, the slick between your legs is gathering and becoming incredibly uncomfortable.

“Gonna swallow my cum, birdie, fuck.. can feel my cock down your throat.” He can see the thickness down your throat too, swollen full of him. He cums with a strangled groan, the sight of his cock twitching down your throat sent him over the edge.

“Such a good girl, ain’cha?”

You’re completely fucked out. Eyes blown wide and red from the tears you shed. He pulls his cock out of your mouth to trace the outline of your plump lips.

“Please let us go now,” the hoarse request is met with a twisted cackle.

The man stuffs his hard cock into his jeans, the outline of it is impossible to ignore as you look up at him with a pleading gaze.

You had done everything he’d asked, and perfectly too.

Which is why he had to do this.

“Sorry, birdie. But I can’t let you go now.”

He brings your gun upward to Jacob and pulls the trigger. Five pounds of pressure against the trigger causes your boyfriend's head to fall limp against the tree, a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his forehead.

“No!” Your voice cracks as a guttural scream tears through the air.

No part of your body is listening as you will it to move, for your legs to carry you to stand and run, but they’re numb from being knelt on the icy ground so long.

The man shoves you onto the soft, snow. Your head is right beside your lifeless boyfriend’s body. “Jacob.. Jacob please,” you beseech, hoping that he’d somehow be able to save you.

Your arms are flailing against his chest as he crawls on top of you, the weak attempt gains a thick hand down the front of your cargo pants, and a hot growl against your lips.

“Maybe I don’t need to clip your wings after all, birdie, seems this pretty fucking pussy is already wet. Don’t pretend to fight me, princess. She wants this.” Without warning, one thick finger pushes inside of your weeping cunny, before pulling it out.

A protesting whine rolls off your tongue as he removes his finger, before you could stop yourself. He sucks your juices off the digit. And his eyes darken.

“Been thinkin’ bout how this sweet pussy would taste, knew it would be perfect.”

The older man sticks the same finger that had just been inside you, into one of Jacob’s stomach wounds, coating his finger in the warm, red blood.

He thrives off the mortified expression that causes your face to scrunch up, wiggling as he brings the bloody finger down to your lips, forcing it into your mouth.

But as he retreats his finger past your lips it’s now stained red, albeit clean. But you reject it, gagging against the metallic taste, spitting the blood onto the snow in a messy spatter, some of it sticking to your cheek and chin.

“You’re sick!” A crooked smile stretches the man’s lips at your accusation.

“No, no little bird. This is exactly what you need. A real man to protect you, so that this..” he gestures to your boyfriend. “Doesn’t happen to you, I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

The condescending tone is lost on you as the griping reality of fear ensnares you.

Your throat aches at your attempt to swallow the saliva in your throat, bobbing thickly. The small notion of you shaking your head appeases him greatly.

“I’ll take care of you. All I ask is that you don’t run, or I will clip your wings, understand me little bird?”

A second nod seals your fate.

“Believe me when I say you made the right choice, you were comin’ with me either way.”

Turns out that the small, wooden cabin belonged to this man. He had kept his large hand on the small of your back the entire time he showed you around. His homestead was fully furnished with food, supplies, furniture, even toilet paper.

“This is where you’ll sleep.” He opens a door, and there’s no windows, just a bed. Accompanied by a giant lock on the outside of the door.

He wouldn’t need to clip your wings, if he could cage you in.

“Sit down,” he orders, and you obey, still in shock as your brain tries to swallow the past hour of events whole, not allowing you to process it.

The wooden stool creaks, and he silently fills a bucket of warm water and sits across from you on a chair at the dining table.

Delicately scrunching a small cloth in his hands to wipe the dried blood off of your face, he leans in toward you, an almost soft expression plastered as he concentrates.

“If you’re good f’me we’ll give that friend of yours ‘o proper burial. Would you like that?”

The sweetness of his voice lured you in, to stare into his deep brown eyes, to take in the concerned shape of his pinched brows.

“I.. I would like that.”

He hums, you were learning quickly. Once he’s happy with your face being cleaned, he stands, picking up the aluminium bucket by the handle and pouring it down the sink. Clunking as he sets it back on the floor.

“Let’s go bury him then.” Before he changes his mind.

The snow was too thick for Joel to penetrate the soil with his shovel, so he had just cleared a foot of snow and tossed the young man into it, burying him under the frost, stacking a few rocks on top of the unmarked, unnamed grave.

He’s impressed and grateful you don’t run away though the process. That would implicate some serious issues and more importantly, require some kind of punishment.

Joel was willing to do anything to train you, to ensure that you never ran from him. In that regard, since you did stay, he felt he would reward you.

His bed is warm, the duvet is thick and the smell of him brings a sense of security to you for some reason, despite all that had happened.

“When you appease me, as you have today. I’ll reward you.” He coos, gently lying you down onto his soft bed, crawling between your legs, hastily shuffling your pants down your legs.

His face is directly between your thighs, and he parts them softly.

“I can smell how badly you need me, little bird.” He groans, pressing hot, open mouthed kissed to your inner thighs, slowly, agonisingly closer to your core.

He’s surprised when you impatiently nudge the back of his head closer to you. “That’s my girl.”

The curve of his nose rubs against your swollen clit, his tongue darting upward and into your pussy with a newfound passion.

He growls against you, the notion sends a vibration through you, and you let out a soft whimper. Thick hands ground themselves in your hips, dragging you downward in the bed so his face could delve deeper into your hole.

The wet muscle is skilled in it’s explorative ministrations, licking a long stripe from your core to your swollen clit.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some attention too.” The promise he utters to your neglected clit is fufilled as he clamps his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucks on you, the pressure causes a suction that feels electric.

Your fingers stiffen as they grasp onto his unruly curls. Coaxing him for more, more more more.

And he gives—the tip of his tongue skilfully, slowly working you closer and closer to the edge you’d never been brought to before.

Your thighs instinctively clamp shut around his head, keeping him buried there, not wanting him to stop.

“Please, please, please need more,” your unintelligible begging implores him to double down on his ministrations.

He can feel that you’re going to burst against him, slowly, and slowly he was winding the burning hot coil inside of you, the pressure was becoming unbearable as your thighs quake and tenable at his command.

Two of his thick fingers are swallowed by your constricting cunt, clamping down as you cry out at the intense sensation. His fingers expertly work you, pumping deep inside of you, calloused fingertips hitting the spongey flesh inside of your slick hole.

“Fucking.. need you..” you’re slurring your words, and he’s convinced that your hole would swallow him if you pushed him far enough between your legs. He could feel how greedily your pussy was swallowing his fingers. Desperate for release.

In an act of desperation, you begin to forcibly rut your pussy against his face as you raise your hips, tiring of his pace not being quiet enough to give you what you needed.

“Please.. please I want to cum.. gonna cum..”

At the increase of friction, and him allowing you to use his face your orgasm comes crashing over you. Your pussy constricts around his fingers as he works you at a slower pace through your climax.

A delicious string of babbling moans and praise roll past your lips.

Thighs jittering with a delicious tremble as they finally relax from their tight vice around his head.

“Thank you.. thank you..” the faint, inarticulate cry was all he needed for him to grin against your pussy.

You’re left heaving, and he’s mesmerised by the way your chest rises and falls at his performance. It’s something he has become enticed with—seeing you alive. Breathing.

It’s unusual for him, admiring the life within you when he was so used to taking it.

And now, as he pulls away from your pussy, lying beside you in his bed. Your body in his arms.. he knew he’d made the right choice to keep your life.

“You did so well f’me little bird.” The praise falls on your ringing ears, but all that’s returned is a vulnerable whine.

Not bothering to correct him after a moment of silence, you can’t help the words that feel petulant to ask. “Who are you?”

“Joel. And this—is your new home.” He croons into your tangled hair.

All for a moment, in the blissful ecstasy you forget how you ended up here.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Husband Bakugou who couldn't stop his streaming tears and proud smile while gazing at you walking down the isle, and even now, he still gets flustered and whiney whenever you teasingly remind him of it.

Husband Bakugou who has one of your wedding photos framed and sitting beautifully on his office desk, it's a constant reassurance that you belong to him, and the reminder is enough to bring a smile to his face.

Husband Bakugou who bombards you with calls and texts throughout the day, especially if away on a mission, asking about your day and how you're doing without him, scolding you if you've missed a meal or haven't gotten enough sleep, and then, - and with a tinge of bashfulness- uttering the softest I love you's and promising to come back to you soon.

Husband Bakugou who likes the closeness you share with his parents, he sees the affection in their behavior towards you and it warms his heart.

Husband Bakugou who is "your personal chef" as he calls himself, enjoys making your favorite dishes and loves the squeals of excitement you let out after every bite.

Husband Bakugou who showers you with expensive gifts with or without an occasion, he can't help it either, you're always on his mind so whenever something pretty catches his attention, he buys it for you without hesitation.

Husband Bakugou who boasts about you in front of everyone, arms crossed over his chest and a smug expression plastered across his face as he goes on and on about you.

Husband Bakugou who hates going to bed alone, whines and grumbles because it's cold and uncomfortable without you, and forces you to adapt to his sleeping schedule so you can be wrapped in his arms and ready to slumber by ten at most.

Husband Bakugou who usually wakes up before you do and spends God-knows-how-long admiring your peaceful features with love filled eyes and a gentle smile on his lips before finally tracing your soft skin with even softer caresses and kisses, and a husky "good morning beautiful".

Husband Bakugou who can hardly keep his hands and lips to himself when you're around, biting, kissing, groping, touching, and you've gotten so used to it that your body now craves his attention even in public.

Husband Bakugou who likes when you use his shower products because then you'll be carrying his scent wherever you go, it's "an assholes' repellent" as he describes it.

Husband Bakugou who gets painfully hard whenever you waltz around the house wearing one of his shirts and acting all innocent and nonchalant, he accuses you of doing it on purpose while pounding your pussy on the nearest surface he can find, but you'll never admit he's right.

Husband Bakugou who always fucks you with the intention of getting you pregnant, and loses his mind when you happily announce that you are.

Husband Bakugou who is now also your bodyguard, watches over you like a hawk and tends to your every need as warmth fills his heart while lovingly observing your belly grow, and counting the days until your delivery.

Husband Bakugou whose tears and chuckles mix in a mess as he gently picks up his baby for the first time and leans in to kiss you deeply, vowing to be forever by your side, and voicing his undying love for you, yet again.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

[cursedtransby]

Ryoshu and Grief

Ryoshu as a sinner is defined by her lust for blood, art, and the beauty that comes with both. However I think a large chunk of people realize that this is not her only trait, and this is something that has slowly been fed out across the Cantos and Egos we’ve gotten for her.

Spoilers for basically all of Limbus.

Since her reveal, we’ve had some plenty of reads that PMoon is not taking her inspiration, Hell Screen, as mere setup for an insane artist. Her constant connection with Spider-Bud and family shows that she is at the bare minimum connected to the lore of the family torn apart by lust for a perfect painting of Hell itself.

Ryoshu’s identity in relation to Hell Screen and a traditional family setup is something that honestly deserves more attention in a separate post, but it’s clear something massive happened between her family and it’s caused her a massive trauma response that triggers grief quite often...even if it doesn't seem like that.

Most of Ryoshu’s behavior is opposite to how people usually think of grieving, but it’s still a form of grieving nonetheless. She tries to repress her emotions through increasing forms of ecstasy. As someone who has depression and has gone through losses of my own, one of the possible responses you can have is to try to chase some emotion, regardless of what it is and how unhealthy it is for yourself and those around you. You’ll do anything for that warm feeling of positivity about yourself.

Regardless of this though, that sadness still exists in Ryoshu. We know this thanks to her mood during Canto 7 being rather quiet aside from the betrayal of Hugo, where she immediately decides to cut off his arms due to it being “unoriginal and played out”. Otherwise she’s being bristly towards the concept of family, but not actively aggressive or particularly violent. In fact, the one time I'd say she has a strong reaction in this Canto is to Sinclair's interpretation of her usual acronym stuff.

Ryoshu and Sinclair honestly ALSO deserve their own post because there is a lot to go into, but to put a cap on it I'll simply state that Ryoshu has a lot of emotions regarding Sinclair. It's the only thing that can rouse her aside from the art of betrayal she sees from Hugo, because the concept of family triggers her that much. There's a reason that the ONLY Ryoshu ID to have Gloom in their kit is Spider Eyes, because she's having to directly confront the very concept of family and protecting others, and it's reflected in her giving out more support than most of her other kits and in story by helping calm Yi Sang.

This sadness and desire to care exists across the Mirror Worlds as well, she just does a far better job of hiding it under her usual veneer of "insane artist only pursuing ecstasy". Edgar Family Butler is all about taking the role of caretaker of things, and she normally helps take care of her fellow butlers, only changing her attitude when they are about to be raided by the Wild Hunt and die. Even in something like her W Corp or 7 Association identities, she still has her kit showing off some support by giving out fragility for the team or even giving out barrier in W Corp.

No matter what she does, it's inescapable for her, and something she is desperately hiding away in order to keep things moving. The very same way Yosihide continued his painting, Ryoshu keeps spreading violence to hide away her grief. But it will always be there, underneath the surface, if you look closely enough.

Overall, it's a fascinating take on grief and how one can cope with it, and PMoon has always done a wonderful job on not taking the typical route with things. They did it before with Roland's grief, and it's clear that they're doing similar things with Hell Screen's adaptation. Also thanks to @lu-is-not-ok for inspiring me to write up more about one of my favorite sinners, since their posts analyzing The Red Chamber and Hong Lu fascinate me to no end. Additionally thanks to @ryoshudoodles for making beautiful art themselves and showing off the duality of Ryoshu's lust and gloom beautifully.

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 3

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of killing/death, naked concubines (man and woman), threats via penis manhandling

A/N: I have a vague idea of where I’d like the story to go because I love the fun in discovering different things when writing on a loose plan. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be but Feyd is just so damn fun to write😂

You tried not to linger on the implications of your shared quarters.

Angrily you strode after Feyd-Rautha. “What is going to become of my parents?”

“I don’t care.”

You wanted to grab his arm and spin him around, force him to face you. But you were afraid of touching him again, afraid that any little contact would result in an even trade — and you did not want to confront the flicker of attraction you felt when the Harkonnen dragged his lips across your skin. A second reaction would be indicative of something more, and you were determined not to let another scenario arise to find out.

The best you could do was stomp after him. “Well, I do.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

You mull over this response. Would he tell you differently? You sensed that Feyd-Rautha tended to be brutally honest. Probably because he never had to deal with any consequences in his life. How could he, as na-Baron?

You fail to think of anything else to say and lapse into silence, trusting that he is telling the truth and your parents will be fine. Besides, you comfort yourself, the Emperor would be furious if the Harkonnens just slaughtered one of the other Noble Houses like that. There were laws in place to discourage such atrocities.

Feyd-Rautha continues his unofficial tour, winding through a complicated series of interweaving corridors without speaking. You see several servants along the way, all who keep a cautious distance from you both. You couldn't ignore their curious looks. How strange you felt among them - pale and unblemished like stones smoothed over by a river's constant force. It didn't aid in your comfort.

"Do you not know any of them?" You ask. Feyd-Rautha is anything but a pleasant conversational partner, but at least if you're talking you don't have to listen to your rampant thoughts.

"Who?"

"The servants," you reply, brow furrowing.

He grunts in a noncommittal fashion. "Why would I?"

"Because they work for you." You were on friendly terms with the staff back on Caladan and trying to befriend the Fremen employed to you on Arrakis. The natives were untrusting of you, rightfully so. But you couldn't imagine just ignoring them.

"They're disposable," Feyd-Rautha comments with a wave of his hand. A pair of servants scurry by.

You watch them turn the corner and vanish. "They're afraid of you."

"Hm."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Disposable."

He casts you a sideways look. "Everyone is disposable once their use has expired. Thus is the way of the Harkonnen."

You contemplate this, frowning. "Even you?"

A dry, brittle laugh erupts from him.

"Are you planning on killing me already, wife? Perhaps you'll adapt just fine here."

That wasn't the compliment he thought it was.

You pointedly ignore him. "Are you telling me that there's not a moment that would make you disposable like the rest of us?"

"There is," he says, seemingly unbothered by the threat of his mortality, unlike you. "My uncle has promised the Baronship to me. If I am an unfit ruler then I would be challenged. Thus is the —"

"— way of the Harkonnen," you finish.

Feyd-Rautha flashes you a smile as sharp as the blade of a dagger. "You are quicker than you look."

"But what of the Noble Houses? The Emperor?"

Feyd-Rautha lifts a shoulder. "House Harkonnen has proved powerful for many, many generations. No one dares challenge us. Nor will they," he adds thoughtfully. He pauses. "Do you fret for our children?"

You inhale sharply, swallowing, and it sticks in your throat. You cough out an unconvincing, "I'm fine!" then set to composing yourself, confident that your sanity would be doubted by anyone who happened by. What a way to be viewed by your subjects. Feyd-Rautha just stares at you in poorly veiled amusement.

"I try not to think of our children," you say after you're sure you're done coughing. Something akin to embarrassment burns you skin.

"Pity," Feyd-Rautha says. "These are our quarters."

Feyd-Rautha's quarters are much more grand than your room on Arrakis. He leads you into an antechamber with a skylight, pouring the strange light from the black sun into the space. There's a sunken level in the floor furnished with dark colored furniture — two love seats and a sofa. A handful of glowglobes float aimlessly by.

Feyd-Rautha crosses the room, forgoing the sunken level, to the other side of the antechamber. You have no choice but to follow.

You don't know what you expected from his — your — room. Perhaps a chamber of torture. But it's not the sleek, elegant display before you, a full sized bed with plush bedding and tasteful curtains covering a bank of floor-length windows. It's impeccably neat.

And, to your abject horror, features three naked figures sprawled out on various surfaces. Two women and one man.

Feyd-Rautha ignores them, even as they slink from their positions to greet him, bodies slender and completely hairless, free of any visible blemishes. You feign an interest in the ceiling. It's not that you're naive to nudity or sexuality, but the sudden exposure to it roots you in your place.

"Do you need an invitation?" Feyd-Rautha asks.

When you force your gaze from the ceiling, you find him settled casually in a chair with a low-slung back, the two women kneeling on either side of him and the man behind. You follow their hands as they wander his body.

"No. No."

Where are you supposed to go? If he believes you will worship him like the others than he's sorely mistaken. You walk to the bed, ghosting your fingers over the bedding and confirming its softness. You hate the way that you can feel him watching you, clearly amused by your discomfort; you rally your courage to meet his stare, refusing to acknowledge the naked bodies draped across him.

"Are you quite alright, wife?"

"Fine," you grit out. "I didn't realize we would have company."

"Would you like me to tell them to leave?"

A loaded question, one that you were aware would set the tone for the rest of your life with Feyd-Rautha. A challenge. You control the slight quiver in your voice, "Leave. I wish to be alone with my...husband."

The concubines hesitate, obviously waiting to hear from Feyd-Rautha. He continues to hold your gaze. "Leave."

Uncurling themselves from around him, the women and the man are all white limbs and smooth skin, a multi-limbed creature. Whether or not they are disappointed by this development, they don't reveal, simply sauntering out of the room to wherever they go when they aren't waiting naked for Feyd-Rautha. A feeling of annoyance stirs.

"There's no need to be jealous," Feyd-Rautha says as the door closes.

You bristle. "I'm not."

“Then come here, wife.” Feyd-Rautha spreads his legs, indicating his lap and his powerful thighs. You resent yourself for noticing. “If you dismiss my concubines, then you must come to me now and offer me your warmth instead.”

Another challenge. You wonder briefly if he is playing with you, testing your boundaries, but just as you refused to show weakness in the throne room, you refuse now, crossing the carpeted floor. A surge of bravery — or maybe stupidity — prompts you to wedge your knees on either side of his waist, straddling him, the skirt of your dress hitched up to ensure mobility.

The look on his face is worth the cost of the heat reigniting in the pit of your stomach. You chase it away in pursuit of the heady high you receive from asserting your dominance. He might’ve had the upper hand but you were in control now.

“Warm enough?” You ask him innocently.

“Not quite,” he replies. He’s tipped his head back to examine you, leaving a blazing trail where his gaze goes.

Brazen beyond you imagination, you work the buckle to his pants just enough to slip your hand inside and grab his cock.

That bastard. He was already hard. Not fully erect, you observed with conflicting feelings, but clearly you had your effects on him. Feyd-Rautha showed no shame or guilt about this, however. Like it was expected — normal for women he’s just met to reach into his pants.

And it probably was.

Injured hand screaming in defiance of your actions, you grab the head of his cock and twist, slightly backwards and to the side. You apply pressure, hopefully enough to hurt him, he wouldn’t dare reveal it to you anyway.

“Do not,” you hiss, “embarrass me like that ever again. I will not tolerate looking like a fool.”

Feyd-Rautha’s throat bobs. Except instead of agony he looks totally enthralled. “Or what?” He mocks. “You’ll wrap your pretty hand around my cock?”

“You won’t have a cock for anyone to wrap their hand around.”

“Is that a promise?”

You release him and climb off his lap, figuring it would be more impactful to leave him wanting then lustful. His utter indifference, his arousal, gives you pause to just who you’ve been arranged to marry.

“You disgust me,” you spit out.

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth twitches slightly. Did he really have to find everything funny?

He says, “We’ll see.”

A month passes at Giedi Prime in a disconcerting blur. To your surprise, besides the first afternoon, you hardly ever see Feyd-Rautha. Always busy with important meetings or sparring sessions. Or whatever he did in his spare time. You didn’t ask.

Ever since that day when you’d straddled his lap, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had said clearly that you were even after the slap but then you’d unexpectedly turned the tables — did he intend on returning the favor?

You informed him that you would sleep on the couch in the antechamber until your wedding, to which he never remarked upon. That first night you lay awake, afraid and absolutely convinced that he would try something. But he never came.

The days passed without event and your anxiety dwindled. Besides, while Feyd-Rautha was busy with na-Baron affairs, you were forced to schlep through a mountain of preparations for the wedding ceremony. You didn’t care, frankly. You chose the first sample of whatever you were offered — tablecloths, menu items, decorations — until one of the servants accompanying you threw down the sample booklet and scowled.

“This will be the most horrendous wedding in the history of the galaxy,” the servant said in exasperation. “And all of them are too afraid of your husband to say anything.”

You had raised a brow, secretly thrilled by this confrontation. At least it broke the monotony of your life here thus far.

“Do you question my taste?”

The servant glared at you. “What taste?”

A moment passed. The other servants stared in horror, undoubtedly convinced that their demise was imminent. Perhaps that was one benefit to being betrothed to the na-Baron. He wielded a certain type of power.

You busted out laughing. In fact, you laughed so hard that tears stream down your face.

“You’re right,” you said, laughter weakening into an uncontrollable giggle. “It will be a horrendous wedding, but that has nothing to do with the decorations. Will you help me?”

The servant’s name is Asha, and in her you found a companion. She chased away the other servants that day and set to work rectifying your wedding decisions, weighing in on current trends on the planet and admonishing you for your Caladan tastes. “Absolutely not,” she deadpanned when you inquired about floral bouquets.

Out of everyone on Giedi Prime — well, really just the Harkonnen fortress, as you weren’t permitted to leave — Asha became your friend. No one else bothered or cared to talk to you, and now that you had bonded over wedding preparations, you spent infinite amounts of time together strolling the halls arm-in-arm and whispering about servant gossip since you had nothing to contribute.

Asha made your miserable new life interesting.

“Are you scared?” She asks you one day, plucking at your eyebrows.

You outright refused to shave them off in order to conform to the hairless style of the Harkonnens, but regrettably agreed to a touch-up. You kept one eye on a nearby mirror just in case she got any ideas.

“Of what?”

Asha yanks at an eyebrow hair, and you cry out in surprise. “Oh, stop, you’re fine — I mean are you scared of Feyd-Rautha?”

“No. Why would I be?” You avert your eyes from her probing stare. Asha, unfortunately, is able to read your expressions better than a trained Bene Gesserit. You learned that this stemmed from the combat trainings that all young children received on this planet.

“Because,” Asha stresses. You frown when she fails to elaborate, and your friend issues a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve heard things about him, you know, in bed.”

“Oh.” You twist your hands in your lap. “What kinds of things?”

Asha grins triumphantly. “I knew you were scared!”

You laugh and shove away her hands as she playfully jabs at your sides. “I’m not scared,” you say, fending her off. “I’m just curious. Aren’t all brides?”

“Just you. We aren’t all Noble daughters with arranged marriages. We fuck —”

“I get it,” you interrupt. “Consider yourself lucky.”

You’re about to prompt her again about the things she’s heard when there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. Asha shoots to her feet. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes — of course she’s respectful to Feyd-Rautha but not you. But you supposed it was the basis of your only friendship, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

“You’re back,” you say, standing up slowly.

Feyd-Rautha rests, hip and elbow, against the doorframe into the antechamber. He hungrily drinks you in.

“Indeed,” Feyd-Rautha replies. Last you’d heard of him he had left for an offworld obligation without saying goodbye. Something stirs in you at the sight of him after so long.

“I hope your trip was well.”

Feyd-Rautha scans the room before his gaze returns to you. “I would prefer to be here. The Baron seems determined to keep me occupied until the ceremony.”

Did you detect a trace of resentment in his words? And why would the Baron keep him from you? The heir wouldn’t exactly conceive itself; though he would have no way of knowing that you had been sleeping on the couch all this time.

“Retrieve the present I’ve brought back for my wife,” Feyd-Rautha suddenly instructs Asha. She secretly meets your eyes before dashing away.

You fold your arms over your chest. “A present? And I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

If he picks up on your anger, he doesn’t show it. Feyd-Rautha crosses the room to you, replaces Asha in the chair across from you.

“It’s for tonight. The Baron has requested our attendance for dinner.”

You bristle slightly. “The Baron? Tonight?”

You had been exceedingly lucky to avoid the monstrous head of House since your arrival. But perhaps it was because you ran the other direction at the mention of his name, or the fact that you hadn’t strayed from your quarters.

“Yes. You needed something…acceptable to wear.”

“My clothes aren’t acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I have no doubt that my uncle has planned something magnificent for tonight. You will need to look the part.”

Your careful, fragile existence on Giedi Prime was crashing at your feet. From wiling away the hours to suddenly being thrust into the explosive political landscape that was House Harkonnen.

But no matter. Jessica had raised you for this very purpose.

“Fine,” you agreed coolly.

Both of you turn as Asha returns from her errand, a garment bag folded over her arm. She goes to deliver it to your closet but Feyd-Rautha halts her in her tracks. “I want her to open it here.”

Part 4

Tags:

@moonsoulk

@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

@mamawiggers1980

[b1asho]

Round one of the species introduction!!!!

Prectikar Master Post:

Here's some info on them, and if you want to see some other drawings I've done of them (albeit some occasionally older n crustier ones), check out my deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/blasho

Anyway let's get into a terribly long string of paragraphs about some of their info:

Prectikar are a large sentient species, usually standing at around 8-9 feet tall when fully upright and weighing anywhere close to or upwards if 1000 pounds

They are covered in feather-like fur (or is it fur-like feathers? They're occasionally branched like feathers, and all have quills, but some are more hairlike) due to the cold climate they evolved in, though length and thickness of it now varies by region.

They are omnivorous, and while they have many traits to help them hunt and kill, most of their diet tends to be plants.

Originally rush-down predators, they use their considerable strength to move in quick bursts and their specialized tusks to either ram prey to death or gouge into it as they grapple it.

Their jaw strength is also insane,with their skull actually sacrificing brain space in favor of it, which helps them eat pretty much anything they come across. They pay a lot of attention to food and cooking because of their high calorie needs and very sensitive nose/tongue.

They have manganese as an oxygen carrier is a result of the scarcity of other metals in their environment and potentially because of its general affinity for oxygen.

This causes their blood to be an amber/orange brown and shades of pink depending on its exposure to oxygen.

Through a network of cooperative bonding and other adaptations (like better oxygen retention in muscles and the easily carried size and longevity of the molecule) they’ve managed to bring this manganese transport molecule close to hemoglobin in terms of effectiveness, though they can also make use of manganese’s catalyst properties to temporarily push it to bring lots more oxygen to their tissues at a time (used for short bursts of speed and strength that allow them to take down large prey and plants for food).

their large body size (selected by their colder environment) lets them use their own high body heat to keep the O2 fixation and liberation going in their highly effective lungs.

An extensive understanding of their internal chemistry is unknown (aka gatekept by their colonizers/"uplifters" who ill get to later) but it seems like they also have a network of bacteria in their body just to manage the more reactive and damaging oxides that form, and to remove/convert the spent manganese into connective tissue and aid in bone maintenance.

They have higher calorie needs from keeping up the body temp and recycling/removing all that stuff, alongside just being big in general. Alongside a lot of sleeping, they also basically just eat all the time (compared to other species) to compensate, though their mammal-like fat retention and other metabolic adaptations for scarcity mean that they can handle long periods without resources(though this causes increasingly compounded problems for them)

Some other downsides include low tolerance of changes in oxygen levels (particularly low) and temperature levels, and poor adaptation to environments outside of their biosphere/without all the microorganisms since these things upset their delicate balance.

(part of why so many tribes were nomadic was/is to chase temperate and ‘warm’ seasons, even though to us that’s still cold. Prectikar living in human dominated areas often just take a lot of supplements with beneficial bacteria in them to cope with thr lack of that in their environent, and any food printers need an 'ink' cartridge containing these things or else theyre basically useless.),

They also experience faster general wear and tear from having constant complex and intensive chemical reactions(sometimes with dangerous chemicals) going on in their bloodstream and tissues.

( I’m not a biochemist, so if there’s any glaring issues with this then just explain it away to yourself with ‘they have a gland for that’ or ‘just don’t think about it actually’ which is what I did. I just wanted the fun color with a metal that can reversibly bond with oxygen :). )

They have one nasal passageway for smell/air and a second, bigger cavity for just vocalization (which they can’t breathe in from as easily).

This second cavity is between their first set of eyes, and has a phonic lip structure inside to produce higher pitched sounds.

The upper nasal opening has muscled nostrils that act as lips to further help control sound. The noise coming from here sounds very high to them, but to us it sounds like a nasally human voice, broken uobhere and there with squeaks, buzzes, and clicks).

They can pitch this nose voice very high, closer to dolphin-like clicking noises but not quite echolocation level.

Their throat vocal cords by their air sac are very long and thick, used for making very deep noises that carry long distances.

However, the vocal control they have through their mouth is very poor due to this and the inarticulate lips and tongue they have, and due to the more limited air they can bring in and out of it, so when speaking only through their mouth they sound a lot like seals or dogs and can only really go in short bursts before having to refill the sac.

Most of their languages are spoken with the nose and mouth sounds in tandem, where the high and low mix to make a more even sounding voice.

It’s fairly easy to understand them, but nearly impossible for us to truly speak any of their native languages, and if they wanted to they could also just start making sounds we cant hear.

They see it as strange that humans and other species speak with a single tone without difficulty.

The red flaps pictured on the drawing of their mouth and nasal passages can be moved to seal off the passage and direct airflow elsewhere.

The big red one in their throat acts as a “diaphragm” to fill and empty the air sac (which is left over from when their digestive and respiratory tracts were more connected like ours, but time in the water heavily shifted it to a more ‘blowhole’ type outline to help them breathe and vocalize from the surface).

The other flap by the air sac and its vocal cords moves upwards to block off the digestive tract whenever the mouth or nose is opened to allow air to be drawn in by this diaphragm.

The two red flaps making a pinched shape can move independently or with the other red flap, but never at the same time with each other. The main airway is always separate from the digestive tract, though the flap to the middle, non vocal nasal passage can be moved so that it’s a part of either the vocal nasal passage to draw in air or the air sac part to act as another resonance chamber.

Air can be drawn in by the diaphragm via open mouth and through the nose via open top red flap at the same time, and can be released at the same time, resulting in their near continuous double speak sound they use for their own language.

Their characteristic large tusks are retractable and housed in a cone-shaped bony socket on the side of their jaw.

A muscle is attached to the bony root of the tooth, and pushes it out. As it slides towards the front of the mouth, the cone socket narrows and wedges a protrusion on the tooth into a hole in the socket, and then the muscle stiffens, locking it in there.

When the tusk retracts, the muscle quickly jimmies the tooth forward then draws it back to get it out of the hole, and then pulls it back into the wider part of the socket.

This is mainly because their tusks are ever growing (but very slowly) but not great at self sharpening, and are their main weapon in self defense and hunting,so it seems this just happened to keep them safe.

If a tusk is broken, as long as it was not cracked at the root, it can be regrown with extensive time in the socket, but otherwise they stay safely stowed in da socket where the majority of its sharp edge can stay protected from chewing and other mouth stuff. Tusks won't start growing in until their teenage years.

They are primarily bipedal/ quadrupedal and switch between the two occasionally.

Knuckle walking helps distribute their top-heavy weight and give them more balance for long and short distance, while walking upright gives them better visibility, less stress on their neck/upper back, and quicker but unsteadier movement.

Their gallop/sprint utilizes both arms and legs to propel them forward in a gait halfway between a bear and a gorilla (since their big mid arms are set like a bears) to overtake prey after an ambush or drive them into the rest of the pack waiting elsewhere. Quad walking also helps them get around in buildings meant for species half their size.

Their hands are some of their only places without hair, but as they age, they loose it on their arms and face too.

Prectikar have different uses for each of their pairs of limbs, and have for all stages of their evolution.

The front ones specialized for grappling prey and grabbing things, and so have a ‘sprawling’ shoulder position like humans and have hands with relatively nimble fingers, the outer two are angled inwards but can also move in a pamprodactyl ish fashion (which acts as their version of a thumb, and lets them switch from big to little grabbing motions) .

Their mid limbs used to be wings with hands, and still have a basically zygodactyl finger position that was helpful for holding onto branches (with the backwards facing finger), but over time they have been converted into terrestrial knuckle-walking limbs, with the one that swings back and forth being brought forwards to walk or swung back to adjust grip on big things they want to move or for balance on unstable terrain like ice . The fingers on this one are big and clumsy, pretty much only useful for digging, walking, or slashing.

Their back limbs also used to be for grasping but were mainly counterbalances, but have now turned into plantigrade walking limbs (and much like humans, that’s pretty much all they use them for). All have nonretractable claws.

Prectikar are viviparous and usually give birth to litters of up to 8.

They have a specific mating season, where their dimorphic traits will become more pronounced.

Males in rut will shed the feathers on their throat sac region and it will become a bright ambery yellow color, and they will also grow in longer feathers on their butt region (in a fan shape for display purposes. The dont have a true post anal tail like humans).

They will also develop some of that pinkish orange/yellow on their chest skin. Females go throguh estrus cycles and will also grow a more prominent butt feather crest, as well as some very long feathers around their neck, shoulders, and abdomen for babies to hold onto.

Their skin patches turn a much brighter shade of yellow to help direct newborns to where they can feed from. Once they give birth, they will start making an oily and thick secretion across the skin patch which is collected into a divot which the infant licks from. Part of why the babies hold onto them is so they can constantly lick the 'milk'so they can grow.

Newborns come out blind and hairless, but quickly grow in a thick down and open their eyes so they can climb on mom.

Once they're weaned, they'll drop off and use the muscles they gained hanging on and climbing to start moving with the adults. They grow very fast, and canes are a common sight in teens to help deal with the rapid bone and muscle growth.

Usually, it is only during this season where chest/skin related nudity standards change to be more conservative, since showing those colors means youre down to fuck and so doing that is usually restricted to in private with their partner or for bachelors.

They have very strict binaries for sex and gender based on this seasonal divide and religion.

Most tribes show gender identity through a piercing on their lower nose for male or chin for female (so dont worry, the main guy up there is showing some male presenting chest outside of the mating season, so hes fine).

Normally, only some cultures pierce their ears, which are like if owls had a little mobile flap of outer ear to swivel I stead of their whole head. Very little of it is actually flesh, and the sound is mainly captured by the feathers around it.

While they have a reputation otherwise, Prectikar are highly social within their tribal/family groups.

They regularly allogroom, greet each other with hugs, and usually travel in sibling groups. Households are multi generational.

They have a reputation as standoffish or irritable because they take things very differently and have other standards/specific body language truggers. also most other species treat them differently/with fear by default.

their upper pair of eyes is larger and focused on long distance vision while their lower pair is for close up vision, creatign a bifocal effect for them when using both at once.

Aaaaaand that oretty much everything, I think. I'll post some other arts related to them soon, but consider this the Master Post on the things you should know about them!!

[realisticfanfictions]

♥ 𝘽𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙂𝙁: 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙞 ♥

SFW | OPLA. I grew up watching the anime, and was disgusted to hear Netflix was doing a live adaptation of One Piece. But it's actually really good, and reignited my love for Sanji. Hope you enjoy!

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘔𝘦𝘵:

You were out-of-work and desperate for a job when you stumbled across the Baratie.

Zeff, seeing your current state, offered you a free room that you would pay off by working as a waitress - just until you got back on your feet.

On your first day, you waltzed into the kitchen with your notebook in one hand and a pile of hastily scribbled orders in the other. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.

He was rushing around the kitchen getting out orders, his blond hair drifting over his eyes and his apron fluttering with him as he moved about. At first he was too in his element to notice you, barking orders at the other chefs and taking quick tastings of various dishes before sending them out. But when he did, oh boy he did.

He had to do a double take, and you were instantly entranced by his sweet and gentle smile that graced his face. His once intense blue eyes softened, and he approached the pass where you stood on the other side.

"You must be (Y/N)," He said as his eyes did a quick glance up and down your body, similar to how an artist appreciates a fine sculpture. He wiped his hand on the clean bit of his white apron and reached out to you. "I'm Sanji."

You took his hand and shook it, introducing yourself with a smile. You were taken aback by his charming chuckle. "I was reaching for your tickets," He clarified and you turned bright red, which only made his gorgeous grin grow. "But, it's nice to know you have such soft hands, mademoiselle." As he spoke, he reached for your hand again and brought your knuckles to his lips, placing a kiss against your suddenly flush skin.

Out of sheer embarrassment, you quickly shoved the tickets in his hand and ran out of the kitchen - not noticing the adoring look the suave chef had as he watched you run away.

𝘒𝘦𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 1#:

After a few weeks, you began to settle into life at the Baratie. The constant bickering which led to fighting, which led to forced public apologies became almost soothing. It was honest, real and natural - something you were lacking for the longest time.

Tonight was your first late night shift, and when you told the other waitresses they jokingly claimed that tonight was your "trial through fire." Whatever that meant. But, you soon found out why.

Drunk and rowdy pirates, the occasional marine looking for said drunk and rowdy pirates, and wart-faced men who whistled whenever you walked by. It was truly rough.

One particular man walked in with a pretty blonde on his arm, but he seemed obsessed with throwing in as many innuendos as he could before you left to attend another table. The one about wanting "your pudding" for dessert would've made you a murderer if you weren't working.

You stormed into the kitchen and ignored the snide comment from Pattie about your being mad, before slamming down the ticket onto the pass and asking a nearby cook to include a massive helping of spit in the guy's food.

Sanji, who was focused on sauteing, looked up in surprise. He was called in to help with the second dinner rush, and was still in his signature stripped button-down with his sleeves rolled up. At your words, he quickly crossed over and shooed the other chef away, taking his position of plating so he could be closer to you.

"What's wrong, my love?" He asked as he wiped a droplet of sauce off the plate he was working on with a white hand towel he almost always kept over his shoulder. "What has such a beautiful girl in such a fuss?"

You sighed and complained to the blond about the man who'd been harassing you all night. How normally you'd be fine with it, but his tone and disgusting comments left you, and his date, with a bad taste in your mouths.

His playful smile dropped to a thin line, and despite the quirked corners of his mouth, you knew it was forced. He nodded and looked over his shoulder. "Is that lamb ready?" When he heard confirmation, he picked it up, plated it without as much care as he normally would, and threw down his hand towel. "Lead the way, darling." He said with a polite tone that left little room to argue.

You had picked up a tray of drinks and Sanji had shed his apron by the time you both reached the table. You introduced Sanji as your co-waiter and he helped you set down the plates and drinks. But, of course, the man smirked as he commented on your ability to "balance such massive jugs", as you placed his drink in front of him.

You were about to finally snap, when a smooth voice spoke up. "Here's how this is going to go," Sanji gently guided you behind him and leaned forward toward the guy who'd been harassing you all night. "You are going to drink your Old Fashioned, eat your food, and the only words that should be coming out of your filthy, ogre mouth are compliments to your wonderful date here." He sends a smile and a wink to the blonde who had been sitting uncomfortably across from her date the entire time they'd been here. "What you are not going to do, is talk about any of the waitresses' breasts, or their 'pudding' in such a disgusting manner. And if I hear that you've so much as looked at her in any way that makes her uncomfortable, you're going to be dealt with." He forces a smile. "Enjoy your meal."

You didn't so much as get another look all night, and you got a nice tip out of it - which you, of course, tried to share with him, and he, of course, let you keep it.

𝘒𝘦𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 2#:

It was the twilight hours after the restaurant had closed, and you were leaning against the railing on the balcony out-looking the ocean. You'd been working here for two months and a part of you had come to terms with you never leaving, though you still asked the occasional stranger if there was any room left on their boat. The answer was always either a 'no', or only if you agreed to join as 'entertainment.'

Being stranded at sea on a massive wooden fish wasn't always easy. Sure, you got the best meals you'd ever taste for free, but you also missed out on so much of the world by being here.

You flinched when the door creaked open behind you, and turned around to see the man who had slowly wormed his way into your heart. Sanji stood there with two cocktails balanced perfectly between his fingers, and a smile. "Hey, beautiful girl. Can I buy you a drink?"

You shook your head and quietly laughed while he approached and handed you your favourite drink. You playfully chided him for making you drink this late at night, but took a sip and sighed in delight. You both leaned against the railing and watched the drunk boatmen stumble around, and laughed together when one would pass out on the front deck.

When you both settled back into silence, he plucked out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. "What's troubling you, my love?" He asked softly, as if he were afraid to break the tranquility of the moment. When you didn't respond straight away, he struck a match and lifted it to ignite his cigarette.

Instead of answering, you told him smoking was a bad habit and he smiled. "We all have vices," He simply replied and took a long, smooth drag of it. It had become part of his smell, the smoke. Normally, you avoided the horrid odor, and you didn't know if it was the brand, or the way he smoked them, but with Sanji it just... smelt like him. "Just like how yours is avoiding hard conversations." His eyes locked with yours and a playful smile graced his lips, as if he had just unearthed some hidden conspiracy and he awaited your reaction.

You rolled your eyes and leaned away from him, but was pulled back toward him when his arm wrapped around your shoulders and guided you against his body. You both weren't dating, but small, romantic gestures like this kind of made you wish you were. He knew you, and even in this short time, you knew him too. You knew that behind this playful and flirtatious front was a man who was genuinely curious about why you would escape up to the tallest part of Baratie away from everyone else.

When he raised a hand to push back a strand of hair behind your ear, you told him the truth. How you longed for adventure, and wanted to see the world. How you wanted nothing to tether you down, just be free without having to follow the rules of someone else's game.

He was quiet when you told him this. Without a word, he listened to your ambitions and when you were done, he whispered his own in your hair. The All-Blue... you hesitated for a moment, and asked if you could follow him to find it. He smiled and pressed himself closer to you, the stars twinkling far off in the distance as you felt pressure against your skin and realised his soft lips were against your temple.

"Of course." He muttered into your ear, before gently pulling you against his chest and placing another kiss on your cheek. The moment was interrupted by some angry, drunken shouts from below the deck. He pulled back and shook his head in amusement, his eyes reflecting the night sky above as he gazed into your own. It looked as though he struggled to find the words to say, before his shoulders fell and he smiled. "Goodnight, my darling."

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵:

You had many moments like that while working at the Baratie. Sweet, fleeting moments where both of you knew what you wanted, but neither had the courage to actually say it. To put it as simply as you could, you were scared to rock the boat - one wrong move and you would both drown. You, and Sanji, came with baggage. Heavy baggage. And to keep with the boating metaphor, you could only keep so much luggage on a rowboat before it starts to sink. Was it a depressing view of it? Yes, but it was also realistic. It was just better to keep things the way they were.

Unfortunately, a boy in a strawhat didn't exactly know that. From the second he walked in, he had decided that Sanji was going to be the cook of his pirate crew. And he wasn't going to take no for an answer. His determination was only fueled when you and Sanji helped fight off the fishmen that had tried to attack the Baratie.

Sanji said no. Well, it sounded more like a maybe to you. You knew this was the perfect opportunity for Sanji, and you followed him into the kitchen where he had began to prep for the next service. You told him he should go.

His smile from when you first walked in dropped, and he shook his head. "It's not a good idea," He replied, and went back to cutting. "There's too much here for me to just walk away from."

It didn't need to be said, but you said it anyway; were you the reason he didn't want to go?

He paused and stared down at the chopping board. "You are a reason," He said slowly, and finally met your gaze. "But not the only one."

"Are you worried about leaving her?" You both jumped when the pirate, Luffy, appeared almost out of nowhere. His smile was big and bright, and he confidently placed his hands on his hips. "She's strong, she'll be fine! You're alright with us taking your boyfriend, right?"

You and Sanji immediately broke into failed attempts at trying to explain you weren't dating, but Luffy just stared at you in confusion. "Well, then what's stopping you?"

Sanji didn't answer, and Luffy was called away by someone to cast off. You went with them to wave Luffy goodbye, when Sanji appeared with a packed bag. "I only have one condition!" He called out, and turned to smile at you. "I want to bring my girlfriend, if she'll have me?"

You blinked. Then blinked again. Luffy smiled. "Sure! She seems fun! And really strong too!"

You were still in shock, and a little confused at what was happening, but then Sanji leaned in. "No more being stuck. No more feeling helpless. No more playing by other people's rules. My darling- no. (Y/N), would you like to sail the world with me?"

Of course you said yes.

[dvchvnde]

Your grogginess lingers in the days after. A side effect of the painkillers, he says, but when you check—tucking the pill against your inner cheek when he leaves to go fetch something from the kitchen—it's just Tylenol. Prescription, of course. Extra strength with codeine. It shouldn't make you feel this sluggish, this out of it. 

Exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. One that doesn't quite fit; tight, constricting—an artificial veneer that leaves you feeling itchy and uncomfortable where it rubs into your flesh. Sinking anchored hooks into your consciousness that tug you down into a permanent state of hypnagogia. Suspended in a constant fever dream. 

Threads of fatigue weave through each eyelash until keeping them open becomes an arduous task. It's easier when you just give in—

“Need tae rest,” Johnny says when you tell him about it. About how much it worries you. “Ye’ve been injured, doe. Need tae sleep an’ heal.” 

Adds: trauma, maybe, when your skepticism shows over dinner of caribou burgers, rice pilaf, and more bannock. The way he says the word—so nonchalant for all its ugliness, cruelty—nudges inside your chest, and you waver. Flickering toward the striped scar on his temple. He'd know, wouldn't he?

Still. 

The unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach lingers, mouldering inside of you. Festering. Fed by the stretch of days that bleed into each other; of waking up to the same sequence, a new routine, over and over again without any escape. 

This new perspective hurts. Aches. But you adapt—change shape—until your days are spent languishing away in bed reading the books he gives to you, or listening to him putter around the house like a restive bird searching for an escape. 

This cabin is too small for his wings, it seems.

But despite having a stranger impede in his space, Johnny cares for you with an intensity that makes you feel smothered. Claustrophobic. He tends to everything, rarely letting you lift a finger. 

The embarrassment of that, of it all, fades at the end of the first week when he puts you in the tub, and slowly washes away the grime from your skin with a tender touch and eyes that bleed sin. 

(“Ah’ll take care’a ye,” he rasps, voice thick in his throat. “Donnae worry about a thing, doe.”)

It's fine, you think. It's fine in the daytime—

Your nights, however, are awash in seafoam. 

Clips, snippets; disjointed and broken. They flicker past like scenes of a movie you're unfamiliar with but never linger. Never stay long enough for you to find some form of comfort within the hazy silhouettes. 

Moments of waking up on a bed with a hand on your forehead, murmuring to you. Words eliding together in the slurry of your mind, incompressible. Unknowable. A warmth against your skin. A rough hand on your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek. 

The most jarring are the ones that come late at night when you remember the phantom weight of something slung over your waist, knotted tight between your breasts. Scorching heat glued to your spine. 

You think he's been crawling in bed with you. The thought alone makes you want to sob—

“Pretty wife ah go’ fer ma’self.”

Morning comes, and the worry from the night before is dissolved into an uneasy pinch in your guts. He’s normal—intense, dizzyingly so—but. Just a man. An odd one with a white, jagged grin. All teeth. Charming, you know. The sort of thing you'd fall for back home in a bar. Boyish. Simple. 

But he's—

Strange. 

Touches you a lot. Fingers tucked in the crease of your elbow, hand on your shoulder. Your knee. It moves higher up, planting itself on your thigh. Much too high to be appropriate. To be anything else outside of—

Well. 

No. 

You can't think about that. Not when your safety is tucked between those even, white teeth. With a broken ankle, negligible survival skills, and no sense of direction—

Thinking about that will crush you down to fine powder. 

You bury it around an unease smile. Polite and distant and edging slightly in hysteria when he leans down, eyes burning, burning, and murmurs something under his breath about his little doe. All his. 

(wife—)

It's a mistake. His accent is thick. You've misheard what he said. Don't panic. Don't scream. Don't offend him. He's nice. Nice, nice, nice. Just a nice man in the middle of nowhere who has a scar on his temple that looks like a shooting star, and madness in the back of his eyes that blooms when you catch him staring at you. Always. Like he can't bear to tear his gaze away. 

He's a puppy. A dog. A good fucking boy. Stop being so crazy—

He brings you bread with fresh, homemade jam. Blueberries that grow along his property line. Juice. Water. He sits in the chair beside the bed and eats with you, tells you stories of his life back home. Scotland. Where he played football (an’ no’ tha’ shite ye call soccer) with his friends when he was home from deployment. An avid runner. He'd pace the streets of Edinburgh until his belly ached too much to continue. 

Tells you of this place he'd go to after. Eat his body weight in eggs, hash. 

His life feels like an improbable adventure sometimes. Deepening into dangerous territory when he admits, at your gentle prodding, that he was in the military. Secret sect. A taskforce. 

(“Need’tae know,” he wags his finger at you, a toothy grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Or ah’d ‘ave tae kill ye.”

You convince yourself he's joking, and offer a weak chuckle. It tastes of madness in the back of your throat.)

In these moments, there are three elephants in the room with you. So smothered are you by their presence, that thoughts of loneliness dwindle down to nothing. A faded memory haunting the hollow of your throat. 

The most obvious one is the mangled scar on the side of his face, slashing across his skin like a shooting scar. He touches it sometimes. Fingers pressing tentatively to the lumpy, misshapen mess of pink flesh. 

It's soft most of the time. A tender pat, like he's reminding himself it's still there. 

But sometimes, sometimes, he digs his fingers in so hard, they turn white. Like he's trying to chisel through flesh to scoop out everything inside. These moments are usually accompanied by bad days. Ones where he disappears outside for hours on end, only slinking back inside when the sky turns black. Haggard, knuckles pulpy mess of red. 

Or when he stays inside, despondent. Solemn. He stares at the wall without blinking. It takes him a long time to respond, as if the words are stuck inside his throat. And when he does, they're stilted and hollow. Monosyllabic. A broken amalgamation of incomprehensible colloquialisms and shattered English. 

When you ask what he said, he gives you a strange look. Like you're the one speaking in tongues. 

“Ahm jus’—” he makes a vague motion, and says nothing else. 

The pity is intense. You ache for this odd, broken man. To suffer so much—

It draws your attention to the second elephant. The one who pushes back into the corners, trying to hide. This growing thing that crackles in the air between you. Unfathomable. Intense. You're not sure what it is, or why it's here. It feels intimidating. Infinite. 

It crawls into your lap in the dark, this twisted, hideous babe, seeking comfort from the person who viciously pushes it away. A dog coming back to lick the hand that hurts it because it knows no better. Bad dog. Good boy. The wires cross, spark. 

What else do you do when pain and comfort come from the same hand? It whimpers this question out as it cries itself to sleep curled up on the lap of a person who refuses to touch it back. Cold comfort. 

You think of baby chimps and mothers with cotton skin and metal bones. 

Loneliness, you find, makes you desperate. It aches, a pulsing wound, spread over the whole of your pericardium. What do you do when the armour that is meant to protect you breaks? Cracks.

You don’t like to think about it too much because this path, this looping trail, leads you right into everything else you refuse to acknowledge. Particularly, the third elephant. 

Or rather—

The fact that the other side of the bed is always warm when you wake up in the morning. 

Johnny tells you he sleeps on the couch. 

Sometimes, when you press your face into the pillow, you can catch the lingering scent of pine, cloudberry. 

(You fold it up into a square, and shove it between the metal bars of your mother's ribs.)

[rainandandy]

Bigger than the whole sky

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Contains graphic depictions of violence, including public beatings and injuries that lead to death, themes of loss and grief, and the depiction of a harsh, dystopian environment with elements of oppression and cruelty. It also includes scenes of emotional distress, as characters witness the death of a loved one. Please read with caution.

Word Count:4209

Note: Kinda just went on with this one..... it hurt to write this and I based it off of the Gale beating scene in Hunger Games Catching Fire. Hope you enjoy (cry your heart out) with this

Life on Jackson's Star was steeped in bleakness, each day unfolding under the shadow of Weyland-Yutani's relentless control. The air was thick with dust and despair, the sky a perpetual overcast of smog that blurred the line between day and night. You, along with Rain and her brother Andy, had adapted to this harsh reality with a resilience born of necessity. Navigating through the oppressive regime required a careful balance of caution and subtle rebellion, as the omnipresent surveillance drones buzzed overhead like carrion birds waiting for a misstep.

The colony itself was a sprawling network of industrial complexes and cramped living quarters, all constructed with the cold functionality of corporate efficiency. The metallic clang of machinery and the hiss of steam were the constant backdrop to your lives, reminding you that the colony's primary function was to serve the company's interests, not the welfare of its inhabitants.

Despite the ever-present danger of being singled out by the guards for any perceived infraction, you three maintained a semblance of hope. In whispered conversations as you worked the barren fields or scavenged for parts among the debris, you shared dreams of a life beyond the company's grasp. These dreams were defiant sparks in the oppressive gloom of Jackson's Star, small but bright enough to keep the darkness at bay.

That day, as you toiled in the fields of Jackson's Star, the atmosphere was unusually tense, the air heavy with more than just the usual burdens. The rich, damp scent of freshly turned earth mingled oddly with the sharp, acrid tang of industrial exertion—a stark reminder of the unnatural union of nature and machine that characterized your existence. Clouds hung low, a somber gray canopy that seemed to press down on the landscape, intensifying the oppressive feel of the day.

The guards patrolled with heightened vigilance, their movements sharp and deliberate. Their fingers rested uneasily on the handles of their batons, twitching occasionally with a nervous energy that mirrored the electric charge of the air. Every step they took sent small shivers of apprehension through the ranks of laborers, their boots leaving deep, menacing imprints in the muddy ground.

Rain, ever the embodiment of resilience and quiet rebellion, had momentarily paused her labor. Leaning heavily on her shovel, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her mud-streaked hand. Her chest heaved from the exertion, breaths coming in short, labored gasps that she tried to quiet, knowing all too well the dangers of displaying fatigue.

It was this moment of vulnerability, however fleeting, that drew the attention of a particularly ruthless officer. Known among the workers for his harsh discipline and cold demeanor, his eyes locked onto Rain with predatory precision. The badge on his chest seemed to gleam more fiercely under the overcast sky, a symbol of the unchecked authority he wielded. His approach was deliberate, each step measured to instill fear, his shadow falling ominously across the rows of bent backs and bowed heads.

As he drew closer, the underlying threat in his posture was unmistakable, his baton now an extension of his arm, raised not just as a tool but as a weapon of control. His presence loomed over Rain, a dark cloud in a field already devoid of sunlight, ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

The overseer's voice sliced through the humid air, a harsh interruption to the muffled cacophony of clanking tools and muted conversations of the weary workers. "Hey! No resting!" His tone was sharp, the authority in his command unwavering as his eyes fixed on Rain. With a menacing flourish, he raised his baton, the metal gleaming ominously under the harsh artificial lights of the work fields.

Rain looked up slowly, her expression unflinching, molded into a mask of steely resolve that seemed to stiffen her spine. Her hands, calloused and stained from the day's labor, clenched into fists at her sides. She met the overseer's gaze with a defiant fire burning in her eyes, her jaw set, bracing for the confrontation she knew was coming.

From just a few feet away, you witnessed the standoff, and a fierce, protective rage surged within you. The overseer’s blatant aggression, the threat looming so palpably in the air, sparked a primal defiance in your chest. Your muscles tensed, coiled springs ready to release. Without a moment’s hesitation, your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you forward.

"Leave her alone!" Your voice, loud and clear, cut through the tension like a knife. Every eye in the vicinity snapped towards you, including Rain's, which flickered briefly with something akin to worry and gratitude. The overseer turned his glare towards you, baton still raised, his expression twisting into one of surprise and then anger at your challenge.

"This doesn’t concern you," he spat, his words dripping with venom. But standing there, facing down the threat to someone you cared deeply about, you felt a steadfast resolve take root. This was your battle too, and you wouldn't back down. "She’s just catching her breath, sir," you said, your voice a calm contrast to the growing tension, trying to diffuse the situation. "We’ll get back to work right now."

The officer halted, mere inches from you, his shadow looming over you like a dark cloud. His face twisted into a sneer of outrage at your audacity to challenge him. "Double shift for you, then," he hissed venomously, his baton now lifted to emphasize his authority. The electronic hum of the baton was a clear threat as it activated, crackling with energy. "Think you can undermine me? You'll regret it."

Your heart raced as you maintained eye contact, refusing to show the fear that skittered down your spine. As the officer turned away, his message clear, you felt Rain’s hand reached out, touching your arm lightly, her expression tormented. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, stifled by the oppressive atmosphere.

Seeing her distress, you turned to her, your eyes locking. It was a silent communication, filled with years of shared hardships and understanding. You shook your head slightly, a clear signal. "You’re finished for the day. Go home, I’ll manage," you murmured quietly, pushing her gently toward Andy, who stood a few steps behind, his synthetic eyes wide with a programmed concern that mirrored human fear.

"But I can help—" Rain started to argue, her voice low and urgent.

You cut her off, your tone soft but firm, "No, Rain. It’s better if you're not involved. Please, for me, just go back with Andy. Stay safe." The plea in your voice was evident, each word laced with your concern not just for your own welfare but profoundly for hers.

Rain's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions passing through them—fear, frustration, helplessness. Finally, with a weighty exhale, Rain gave a reluctant nod. Her fingers tightened around yours, conveying a silent vow to return. "Be careful," she murmured, her words nearly whisked away by the brisk wind. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of fear and resolve, before Andy gently guided her away. Even as they retreated, her eyes kept darting back to you, etching every detail into her memory, laden with palpable concern.

Rain and Andy hurried back to the sanctuary of your shared quarters, the familiarity of the space a stark contrast to the chaos of the fields. The safety of these walls, peppered with personal touches and memories of quieter times, stood as a silent testament to the life you had built together amid the harsh realities of Jackson’s Star. As the hours ticked by, Rains worry only grew.

The fleeting sense of relief vanished as the harsh chirp of the communicator shattered the tense silence. Rain's heart skipped as Tyler's voice, laden with unmistakable dread, crackled through the speaker. "Get to the square—now! They have her." The urgency in his tone sent a chill down her spine, each word heavy with a grim portent that sent them rushing into the cold, unforgiving night of Jackson's Star.

Rain and Andy raced through the oppressively dim corridors of Jackson’s Star, their boots pounding against the cold metal floor, the sound reverberating off the narrow walls, amplifying their urgency and dread. The dim lighting flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the walls, mimicking their frantic pace. As they emerged into the open expanse of the square, their breaths were ragged, steam rising in the chilled air, mingling with the low murmur of the gathered crowd.

The scene that unfolded before them was one of stark terror and injustice, staged in the heart of the colony under the harsh glare of floodlights. The square, usually a place of communal gathering, had transformed into a chilling tableau of authoritarian display. At its center, raised above the muttering crowd on a grim platform, stood you—your figure stark and diminished, bound tightly with rough cords that cut into your skin. The fabric of your work clothes was stained dark with blood, stark against the pale severity of your skin, lending a macabre tone to the scene.

Rain’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs, a stark contrast to the numbing coldness spreading through her veins as she caught sight of you. The captain of the patrol was there, his voice booming unnaturally loud through the speakers, reciting a list of crimes so absurd and fabricated that they would have been laughable under any other circumstance. His words sliced through the murmurs of the crowd, each one landing like a physical blow against Rain's consciousness.

"They’re going to kill her," Rain murmured, the realization slicing through her like a cold blade. Her words were barely audible, lost beneath the cacophony of the square, yet they carried the weight of an unbearable foreboding. Andy, standing steadfast by her side, reached out a hand to steady her, his own expression one of muted horror, unable to fully simulate human emotion but clearly programmed to respond with empathy.

Rain's face was ashen, the color drained as if she herself had been bled of life. Her eyes, wide and filled with a palpable terror, were fixed unblinkingly on you, witnessing the grim spectacle of the guards preparing their instruments of torture. The sight of the metallic electronic batons, glinting ominously under the artificial lights, sent a shiver of dread down her spine.

In that moment, the square felt colder than ever, the usual hum of colony life drowned out by the grave proceedings of this cruel justice. The crowd around them seemed to fade into a blur, their faces either grim or impassively curious, none daring to intervene. Rain felt a surge of helpless rage mixed with her fear, a tumultuous storm that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

The scene at the square was charged with tension and dread. The crowd that had gathered murmured and shifted on their feet, their discomfort palpable in the heavy air as the officers prepared for the beating. You stood defiantly, your back straight, jaw clenched, bracing yourself against the rough wood of the beam to which you were tied. The first blow came down hard, the sound of the baton striking you echoed through the square, a harsh clack that seemed to resonate in the chests of all who heard it.

You didn't give them the satisfaction of hearing you scream. Your teeth were gritted, each breath through them a hiss of pain and defiance. The guards, emboldened by your silence, continued with increased ferocity, each strike aimed to break your resolve.

At the edge of the crowd, Rain's face was a mask of agony. "Stop it! Just stop, please!" Her voice broke through the murmurs, shrill with fear and desperation. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood that dripped unnoticed to the ground. She made a move to break through the crowd, to run to you, but Tyler and Bjorn caught her by the arms, pulling her back.

"Rain, no! You can't—you’ll only get yourself killed!" Tyler hissed, trying to anchor her back with his strength.

Bjorn added in a low, urgent tone, "Look at me, Rain! We can't help her by getting ourselves killed. We have to think this through."

Rain struggled against their grip, her eyes never leaving you, witnessing each brutal blow. "They're killing her!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with terror. "We can’t just stand here and watch this happen!"

As the beating continued, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through your frame, the reality of your situation sank in deeply for everyone present. This wasn’t merely a punishment; it was a spectacle designed to quell any thoughts of defiance among the workers. Your suffering was meant to remind them of their place under the oppressive heel of Weyland-Yutani.

Bjorn's grip on Rain’s arm was iron-tight, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear, cutting through the chaos with desperate urgency. "It’s a setup," he growled, his words laced with a bitter edge of realism. "They’re pinning all types of lies on her.”

Rain's face crumpled, tears carving clean paths down her dirt-streaked cheeks. She tried to move forward, to reach you, to scream out against the monstrous injustice, but her friends held her back, knowing any further action would only lead to more tragedy. "Please," she choked out, her voice strained to breaking. "They can't do this. Not to her."

The crowd around you swelled, a collective beast of spectators who watched as the guards, satisfied with their grim work, finally stepped back. Your body, so full of fight and spirit, now hung limp and defeated. The sight was a brutal blow to Rain, her knees buckling under the weight of despair. "No, no, no," she sobbed, her hands reaching out futilely as if she could somehow bridge the distance and bring you back to her.

As the guards finally ceased their brutal assault, wiping the dark smears from their metallic batons with nonchalance, one of them looked over to Tyler and the rest of your friends with a nod that bore the weight of finality. “They’re done,” Tyler muttered, his voice ringing hollow in the charged atmosphere, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "We need to get her out of here." Kay, with her medical kit clutched tightly in her hands, was already bulldozing her way through the stunned onlookers. Her voice cut sharply through the tension, "Move!" she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. The guards, taken aback by her audacity, stepped aside, allowing her access to the platform.

Reaching you, Kay dropped to her knees, her hands moving quickly and efficiently as she checked for any sign of life. Her face was set in a mask of concentration, the lines around her mouth taut with concern. She pressed two fingers against your neck, searching for a pulse. After a tense moment, she looked up, her expression grim but relieved, "She’s alive. Just barely. Help me get her back."

Rain, who had been frozen by fear and grief, sprang into action at Kay's words. Her eyes, red-rimmed and haunted, met Kay's as she helped lift your limp body. "Be careful with her," Rain whispered, her voice trembling as she and Kay maneuvered you down from the platform.

As they carried you through the crowd, which parted silently to let them pass, Rain’s mind raced with panic and fear, each step towards their compound

Back at the small, dimly lit compound that you, Rain, and Andy called home, the air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of blood. The cramped quarters, usually filled with quiet conversation and the occasional joke, now felt suffocating under the weight of the night’s events.

As you were laid gently on the makeshift table, Rain hovered over you, her hands trembling as they brushed the hair from your bloodied face. "Please, stay with me," she whispered, her voice breaking, barely more than a desperate plea.

Navarro, who had always been calm in a crisis, took charge immediately. "Clear the table," she ordered, her voice steady. She moved quickly, removing the few items that cluttered the surface. "We need space to work."

Kay, who had been training as a medic before Weyland-Yutani’s brutal regime took hold, was already digging through her kit. "We need clean water, towels—anything we can use to stop the bleeding," she instructed, her hands shaking as she unpacked bandages and antiseptic.

Andy shuffled awkwardly by the door, his eyes flickering with distress. "I-I’ll get the w-water," he stuttered, his synthetic voice faltering as he rushed to the small sink in the corner, fumbling with the handle before managing to fill a bowl.

The first thing Kay did was assess your wounds, her expression growing more grim by the second. "This is bad," she muttered under her breath, though Rain caught the words and felt her heart clench in response.

"Just tell me what to do," Rain said, her voice thick with fear but laced with determination. "Tell me how I can help."

"Keep pressure here," Kay instructed, guiding Rain’s hands to a deep gash on your side. The wound bled sluggishly, staining Rain’s fingers a dark crimson. "Navarro, I need more gauze, and a needle and thread. We have to stop the bleeding before anything else."

As Rain pressed down, she leaned close to you, her breath warm against your ear. "You’re going to be okay," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "I’m right here, baby. We’re going to get you through this."

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open just enough to focus on her. "Rain..." your voice was weak, barely more than a rasp. "I’m... sorry."

"Don’t," Rain choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "Don’t apologize. Just hold on, okay? Just hold on."

The room was silent save for the occasional clink of metal instruments and the sound of your labored breathing. The bowls of water that Andy brought over quickly turned pink, then a deep red as Kay and Navarro worked to clean your wounds. The table beneath you was soon stained with blood, the scent of iron heavy in the air.

Kay’s hands moved quickly, stitching up the worst of the gashes, her face set in concentration. "We need to get her stable," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "She’s lost too much blood."

Andy hovered nearby, clutching a clean towel he had found, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and helplessness. "W-will she be okay?" he asked, his voice small and hesitant.

"We’re doing everything we can," Navarro replied, her tone a blend of reassurance and reality. She exchanged a look with Kay, who only shook her head slightly.

Rain noticed the exchange, her heart sinking further. "She has to be okay," Rain whispered, her voice cracking. "She has to."

Hours passed, and the night deepened, the oppressive silence of the compound only broken by the sound of your shallow breaths and Rain’s quiet murmurs. She held your hand tightly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rhythm meant to comfort both you and herself.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the words she was afraid she’d never get to say again. "Please don’t leave me. Not like this."

You managed a weak smile, though it took all the strength you had left. "Love you... too," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "Always."

Rain leaned down, pressing her lips to your forehead, her tears mingling with the blood and sweat that covered your skin. "Always," she echoed, her heart breaking with every passing second.

As dawn approached, your breath became more labored, the fight slipping from your body. Rain felt the shift, her entire world narrowing down to the weakening pulse beneath her fingertips. "No, no, no," she whispered frantically, her grip tightening as if she could somehow keep you anchored to life. "Please, don’t go."

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and peace. "It’s okay," you whispered, though it cost you everything to say it. "I’ll... always... be with you."

Rain’s sobs filled the room as your eyes slowly closed, your hand slipping from hers as your body went still. The silence that followed was deafening, a hollow void where your heartbeat had once been.

"She’s gone," Kay said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the unmistakable edge of sorrow. Her words cut through the room like a blade, the finality of it crashing down on Rain like a tidal wave. The compound, already dim and cold, seemed to grow even darker.

Rain didn’t respond immediately. Her body began to tremble, first just a slight shiver in her shoulders, then growing into a full, uncontrollable shaking as the reality of your loss settled in. She leaned over your still form, her tears falling in relentless streams, splashing against your skin. "No... please, no," she sobbed, her voice breaking, clutching at you as if holding you tighter could somehow pull you back from the abyss.

Andy, who had been standing nearby, approached hesitantly. His synthetic form seemed to sag under the weight of the moment, his usually bright eyes dimmed with a sorrow that was unnatural for a machine. "R-Rain," he stuttered, his voice halting and filled with a strange echo of human grief. "She... she loved you so much."

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with despair. Tyler stood off to the side, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to reconcile the brutal end you had met with the strong, vibrant person he had known. His chest heaved with the effort to keep his own emotions in check, but the tear that slid down his cheek betrayed his inner turmoil.

Bjorn, always the stoic, had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were fixed on Rain and your body, the usual hardness in his gaze softened by a quiet, painful understanding. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. For all his gruff exterior, the sight of Rain breaking down over your body pierced through his defenses.

Navarro, who had been helping Kay moments earlier, stepped back, her hands shaking. The blood that had stained her fingers felt like it was burning into her skin, a reminder of how close they had all come to saving you—and how far they had failed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to break free, her eyes brimming with tears.

As Rain's sobs grew louder, more desperate, the room's silence was broken only by the sound of her heartbreak. "Please, don’t leave me," she whispered through her tears, her voice small, broken. She pressed her forehead against yours, her fingers tangled in your hair as she pleaded with you, as if willing you to open your eyes, to take just one more breath.

Andy knelt beside her, his mechanical hand resting gently on her shoulder, though his touch was cold. "I’m s-sorry," he managed to say, his voice almost robotic but laden with the echoes of human grief. "She was b-brave."

Tyler finally moved, crossing the short distance between him and Rain. He placed a hand on her back, his own tears now falling freely. "She saved you, Rain," he said softly, his voice strained with the effort to keep it steady. "She saved us all."

Rain didn’t respond, her world having collapsed to just you and the unbearable loss that consumed her. She clung to you, pressing her face into your neck, her sobs muffled against your skin. "I can’t... I can’t do this without you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, wake up. Please."

But the silence that followed was deafening, the finality of your death sinking into the hearts of everyone present. Kay moved around the table, gently covering your body with a blanket, her movements slow and reverent, as if any sudden action might shatter the fragile hold they all had on their emotions.

As the hours passed, the reality of the situation set in. Rain never left your side, her fingers still entwined with yours, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Andy remained close, his presence a silent vigil, his circuits whirring quietly in the background.

Bjorn and Tyler took turns keeping watch at the door, their usual banter replaced by a heavy silence. Navarro sat in a corner, her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the floor as she tried to process the loss.

Rain’s heart ached with a pain so deep it felt like it would consume her whole. But through her grief, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: you had saved her, sacrificed everything for her, and that knowledge, though it brought her no comfort, would be the anchor that kept her from completely drowning in her sorrow.

She leaned over, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, her tears mixing with the blood still staining your skin. "I’ll never forget you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I’ll never stop loving you."

[stellarbit]

New Arrangements

Word Count: 5.4k Pairing: fem!reader x tech and crosshair, light Tech nods Warnings: NSFW receiving oral, piv, dp, all that good jazz Summary: Tech thinks of a different way to please you, as long as Crosshair is up for it.

This was a request a WHILE ago (ya girl is a slow, anxious writer). And it's been rotting my brain. Working on Part 2 of Two Faces too

“You worry too much.” Crosshair snickered into your ear. You shoved him off with a hard elbow. His voice, that close, sent a rush of irritation and something more exhilarating through your veins.

He chuckled, not deterred, and gripped your chin, playfully tilting your head from side to side. “Keep making that face, and you’ll age faster than us.”

You pushed his hand off, “And you say Wrecker needs to grow up.”

Crosshair let out a low, amused snort. His demeanor was always a blend of mockery and challenge, yet you had learned to navigate these waters.

Meanwhile, Tech observed the interaction from across the campfire. The three of you were on duty, guarding the camp while Wrecker, Echo, and Hunter were away. Your constant inquiries about their safety had invited Crosshair’s teasing, yet Tech appreciated how seamlessly you meshed with his squad. The Jedi Council had assigned you to Clone Force 99 abruptly, a move that often led to friction in established teams. However, whether due to your trained Jedi patience or simply fortune, you had adapted well.

The longer you worked with them, the more comfortable you became. It wasn’t a word Tech would use but, in reality, you were getting attached. 

That is, enough that you were able to coax out Crosshair’s more gentle side - if you could call it that. He interacted with you with a brusque familiarity he reserved for his brothers: never overtly kind, but his jabs lacked real malice. It always piqued Tech’s interest. Lightening Crosshair’s often grim demeanor was no minor achievement, and Tech found this development enjoyable.

 Anything that brought light to Crosshair’s attitude was a rare feat and a welcome one.

It had taken longer than with Crosshair, but you eventually won over Tech’s tolerance as well. As Tech generally had the more focused tasks, the two of you were paired together often. Your role as a Jedi made it easy to guard him while he was engrossed in his work.

Your time paired together allowed you ample time to listen to his rambling, ranting, and info dumping. A habit you initially deemed mind numbing, yet these moments quickly became your favorite parts of the day. Tech, often engaged in some task at hand, grew to find your presence calming as well. 

It seemed that Tech, in his own measured way, cherished your attentiveness. You relished you time with you and he you. Oh, he relished you thoroughly and every single chance he could.

Crosshair pulled on a strand of your hair, “I need to do a perimeter sweep. Keep your senses extended and comm me if you hear anything.” Tech didn’t miss the little flush his brother’s teasing brought you. Crosshair’s task was one that gave you Tech a slim window of opportunity.

Not long after Crosshair departed, you were splayed out on a cot in the tent with Tech between your legs.

“You enjoy it when I speak to you.” Tech said so plainly, as if he wasn’t squeezing three fingers inside you. He pushed them in deep, lowering his mouth to your clit as you whined back at him. He sucked on your bud, licking a few light circles around it, and felt you clamp down around him. Raising himself so that it was only his lips brushing you, he said, “Not being able to please you and speak to you is not the most ideal.”

He wanted to give you so much more, he wanted to push you farther every time. Singing he wished he had a second pair of hands for.

And a thought occurred to him. 

“Tech,” his name was a breathy moan. You squirmed on his fingers, trying to catch his lips on your clit again. “Your voice alone can finish me. Please.” Tech didn’t miss the desperation in your pleaing.

He kept working his fingers into you, further angling his head to watch your expression. The times he spent with you were becoming a game of strategy to him. One that he recorded and re-lived, as often as his little free time allowed. 

“And what is it you want to hear?” He swept a thumb over your clit, still aching for him, and sent an arch through your back.

Knowing he was in the midst of studying you, you threw your arms over your face to deprive him. If you were desperate and wanting, so should he be. “Read me binary code for Force sake. Anything.”

Tech thought he heard frustration in your voice, an unideal outcome considering his intentions. He unhooked the leg you had saddled over his shoulder and settled it beside his hip as he crawled over top of you. He gently moved your arms from your face and repositioned them above your head. Lining himself up with your entrance, he lowered his mouth to your ear. “Right now, I think I’d rather hear what you have to say.” Not making you ache another second, he easily slid inside of you.

It was a quick affair given the high risk of discovery. Tech completely worked you over just by whispering simple observations to you. Things like how you moved, looked, and felt around him. He took you right up to the edge of release, but cut you short. He was throbbing inside you, just as close to his orgasm, when he pulled out. 

Typically, Tech never left you wanting or waiting. He took pride in timing himself in getting you off. This time, if he wanted his idea to succeed, he needed you wanting more.

He grunted, struggling for composure. “Crosshair will be back soon. We should continue later.”

For a moment, you thought you might cry. You were wound so tight the ache was painful. Panting and foggy brained you just nodded along. Clearing your voice you said, “I didn’t know you were so cruel.”

He sat back on his knees, raked his eyes over your body once more, and tapped his goggles to end his recording. “Trust me,” Tech said, extending his hand. “It will be worth the wait.”

Afterwards, while the two of you composed yourselves, Tech gave you a sideways glance.

“Do you?” Tech queried.

“Do I what?” You responded without looking.

  “Do you trust me?”  He asked, stopping your hands as your head tilted in confusion. Surely that was obvious to him.

A second pulsed between you and you leaned over to give his arma squeeze. “With my life.”

Tech pushed, “And you have faith in my skills of observation.”

“Now, you’re just being silly.” You gave him a pat and pushed off the cot to exit. Tech caught your hand, adding weight to his question. For a moment you were stunned, you didn’t know what called for such seriousness. With a smile, you sighed and squeezed his hand. “I have as much faith in you as I do the Force,” you said and bent forward to kiss his hand. 

A barely there smile came to Tech. He sighed and stood with you. “I encourage you to keep that in mind in the future.”

When Crosshair returned you were still fanning the flush from your face. The ache between your legs had hardly subsided.

“Any word from the others?” He asked, setting his gun aside and discarding his helmet.

Tech tapped through his datapad, responding casually. “Negative and I suspect it will take longer now that the suns are setting.” Pausing momentarily, he brought his comm to his face. “Hunter, what is your status?”

It wasn’t immediate, but it was Echo’s voice that came back. “Hunter’s a little… tied up at the moment.” His inflection suggested that might be literal. “We still have a ways to go. Stay with the ship.”

Your head dipped back as you groaned, “That’s not good.” Swallowing your worry, you pushed off your knees to stand up. “In that case, I’ll be back.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Crosshair asked as he sat adjacent Tech.

You waved your hand over your shoulder as you walked off. “Just stretching my legs, I’ll be fine.” Stretch your legs and walk out the ache.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you, particularly the sway of your hips. He swallowed a groan and looked back to the fire.

Tech, noticing the shift in Crosshair’s demeanor, glanced over his datapad at him, assessing. “Your concern is unwarranted. She will be fine.” He observed Crosshair for a moment longer as he placed a toothpick in his mouth, then ventured into delicate territory. “Is it safe to say you find her attractive?”

Crosshair sputtered, wide eyed he whipped to look at his brother. “Wha- What does that matter to you?”

“Currently—a great deal,” Tech adjusted his goggles, his tone turning investigative. “Are you aware that she and I engage in physical relations?” When Crosshair’s stare intensified, Tech added for clarity, “Frequently.”

Crosshair covered his face with his hand, cursing into his palm. He had noticed the way you gravitated towards Tech and even suspected you’d caught Tech’s attention. Though considering your nature as a Jedi, he imagine you hadn’t acted on anything. It was why he let his teasing border on flirting.

It’s why he let himself fantasize about you.

“Why are we even talking about this?” The sniper groaned, exasperation already showing.

“Because I’m fairly certain she finds you attractive as well, and I have an idea that might benefit all involved. But first, I need to know: have you ever fantasized about her?” Tech’s question was direct, his curiosity unabashed.

Just as you circled back to the camp, Crosshair’s incredulous response pierced the air. “What?” Hearing this, you quickened your pace, pushing through the underbrush to catch an early glimpse of the scene.

When you burst through the final swath of foliage, the camp appeared oddly tranquil. Crosshair was casually leaning against crates on the opposite side of the fire from Tech, who was positioned exactly as you had left him, seemingly immersed in his datapad.

Neither of them said anything as you took a few slow steps towards Tech, still assessing the situation. Crosshair almost seemed like he was pointedly ignoring you. The oddity of it all made you smile curiously.

Sitting next to Tech you leaned over to whisper. “What did you do to piss him off?” Crosshair’s eyes narrowed in on you, a clear sign he’d heard you. 

Tech pulled his datapad away from his face, glancing at Crosshair. “He's not angry,” Tech clarified, setting aside his device completely. “If anything, he's nervous.” When Tech was fully present, more interested in a situation than his research, there was always a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, really?” You chuckled softly, nudging Tech playfully with your elbow. “And what’s got moody over there so nervous?”

Tech gestured his hand you, saying, “Most likely due to the anticipation of your reaction.” 

Confusion briefly crossed your features as you gave a small shake of your head. “My reaction to what?”

Tech adjusted his goggles and cleared his voice, a small glimpse of his own nerves. “To learning I’ve disclosed the nature of our relations to Crosshair.”

Your cheeks went warm and, for a moment, you could only blink at Tech. “Tech.” You said in a cautious tone.

He began again with no hesitation. “Crosshair is now fully aware that you and I are involved.” You opened your mouth only to be met with Tech lifting his finger. “More significantly, I've proposed the idea of him joining us. As I see it, it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Mutually beneficial arrangement?” You parrotted a little louder. You were suddenly very aware of Crosshair’s eyes on you. From your peripherals you noticed Crosshair shift his weight off the crates and your mouth went dry.

Tech twisted to face you head on. “The way you and Crosshair interact suggests a mutual attraction and, frankly, seeing him somewhat content is a rarity.” Crosshair scoffed from across the fire, but Tech continued. “I believe expanding our dynamics will prove enjoyable for all parties.”

Your lack of response, brows lowered but eyes wide, caused Tech to pause. A moment of hesitation passed over Tech as he considered the best path forward. His eyes shifted around before honing back in on you. The look in his eyes kept you locked in place as he leaned over and reached across his body to grip your thigh.

Facing away from Crosshair, Tech brought his mouth to your ear. Just for you to hear, he said, “And I believe you would find an evening with the two of us... quite exhilarating.”

Remaining still, your eyes flew to Crosshair. From the distance you were sure he couldn’t have heard Tech, but he was waiting, almost holding his breath, for your response. The ache between your legs bloomed again. Your thighs squeezed together, trapping Tech’s hand between them.

Between Tech’s proximity and Crosshair’s staring you down, you couldn’t hear anything over your own heartbeat. Abruptly, you stood, disentangling yourself from Tech, and nearly stumbled over your makeshift seat. You fanned your face, letting out nervous laughs while your eyes darted between them.

Before you could gather your thoughts to speak, Crosshair’s voice cut through the tension. “Now who’s nervous?” His tone was taunting, yet when you looked at him, your nervousness seemed to have evaporate. Crosshair poised, nearly predatory, as if waiting for a signal to spring into action. Undeniably captivating.

For Crosshair. Seeing you flushed and breathless with excitement brought his fantasies vividly to the forefront of his mind. He raised an eyebrow, his typical smirk softening into something more tender.

“Crosshair?” You managed to say with a small, flattered smile playing on your lips. “You want this?”

After a tense pause, he discarded the toothpick in his mouth and walked around the fire to where you stood beside Tech. With a steady voice Crosshair said, “I.. wouldn’t have agreed to discuss it if I didn’t.”

Eyes blown wide, your heartbeat throbbed between your legs. Holding Crosshair’s gaze a heartbeat longer you looked down at Tech with a nod.

A spark of excitement hit Tech’s eyes. “Excellent.” Tech smiled and pushed off his knees to stand. “In that case-”

You interjected quickly, “Right now.”

“Right now?” Crosshair repeated incredulously.

“That… would be my fault.” Tech walked past you and patted Crosshair on the shoulder. “You two head into the tent, I’ll be in shortly.” Without even having to see your shared confused expression Tech sighed, continuing to walk to the comm station. He clarified, “It would be wise to make sure we are alerted if the others are near.”

A hand settled on your lower back as Crosshair guided you away. “We’ll leave you to it then.” Crosshair said after him. He leaned down, ducking into you as you both crossed the tent’s threshold. As he pushed into you a breathy laugh kissed the skin of you neck. “Should’ve seen your face.”

You tried to shove him off with bump of you hips - a playful move you’d done dozens of times. With his hand still resting on the small of your back the movement slid his hand into place on your waist. 

He remained close, looking down at you and his grip firming on you. “Since when have you…” He started saying but trailed off. He didn’t need to finish, you knew what he was asking.

“Since the day you caught me from falling in the river on Kuat.”

He craned his neck back, a smirk shifting his lips. “Didn’t I then drop you into the river?”

Even just his hand waist sent your heart racing. “It made me laugh,” you replied with a light shrug. Rising onto your tiptoes, you whispered close to his ear, “Or maybe the first time I saw you shooting from one knee.” Settling back onto your heels, you shrugged again, smiling slyly. “I like the way you pose.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, but his amusement was evident as he slipped his hand up to the nape of your neck moving to stand in front of you. Unable to think under the weight of his touch you stepped into his space. 

You opened your mouth but Crosshair’s voice came first, “Don’t even bother asking.”

He wasn’t wrong -you were going to ask him the same thing. Instead, you reached up and gently guided his hand from your neck to your chest, pressing his palm against your heart. When the pace of your heart registered with him you said, “I was going to ask you to kiss me.” 

His eyes widened and it was now Tech’s voice that rang out. “Oh good, at least you're somewhat comfortable.” Crosshair pulled away like you were too hot to touch. “I would not be shy if I were you, Crosshair.” Tech said as he started stripping a few armor plates off. “Otherwise this will not have the desired effect for you.”

Tech stood with the majority of his plating stripped from the waist down. He came to your back, hands slipping in front of you to make quick work of your belt. It clattered to the ground, and your tunics soon followed, each piece of clothing creating a soft thud. 

Crosshair, still only a few feet from you, memorized every newly revealed patch of skin with an intensity that seemed to magnify the air between you.

When you were down to the bandeau, his breath hitched. When Tech released the bandeau, and you were finally exposed to him, a shudder ran through Crosshair. He’d been hard for sometime, but the sight of you now made him painfully harder. He grit his teeth as his cock pushed against his codpiece.

The flush of your chest, heaving in a mesmerizing way, matched your face. Crosshair extended a hand, gently grazing your nipple. Your eyes fluttered at the touch and Tech felt you shiver. 

“You should kiss her.” Tech suggested as he trailed his hands down your sides, over your stomach, and to the buttons of your pants. “You must talk to her.”

Crosshair cupped your breast, running his thumb over your nipple before catching it in a pinch. You took a sharp inhale and Crosshair moved in on your parted lips. He was gentle at first, kissing you slowly and sucking on your lip, but when you moaned into him Crosshair matched the noise and deepened the kiss. He held your face in place moving his lips against you as if he’d rather devour you than breathe.

When he heard the sound of fabric rustling, Crosshair finally eased up. Leaving you panting and leaning into his touch. As Tech kneeled he pulled your pants with him, trailing kisses down your back as he went. 

Crosshair stood back to let you step out of the pile of clothes around you. You were completely bare and squirming where you stood. His eyes roamed your body, snagging between your legs before meeting your gaze again.

Crosshair chuckled and said in a low voice, “I should’ve tossed you in a river much sooner.”

“Not exactly the time, Crosshair.” Tech said as he tugged you towards a cot. Crosshair followed at half the pace. 

Sitting you at the edge of a cot, Tech positioned himself between your knees. He pivoted to look back at Crosshair who kept a distance. “Are you ready?” Tech asked.

Crosshair tipped his head to you. “Aren’t you going to ask her?”

Tech didn’t break eye contact as he took one finger and traced it up over your wet folds. A string of your slick trailed after him as he brought his finger back in front of him. “Oh,” He said as he examined his wet fingers. “I don’t need to ask.”

You hooked a leg over Tech’s shoulder and pulled his attention back to you. “I’m done waiting, Tech.”

Tech shrugged, quipping, “Told you.”

On his knees, Tech leaned in to place a kiss on your cheek and give you access to his goggles. Your finger traced the side of his goggles until you felt a button. A light tap and a soft beep indicated and you were recording. Tech pulled back to press a kiss to your lips. “Thank you, Sarad.” 

He traced a hand from your neck, between your breasts and down to your thigh. Pushing your leg farther to the side Tech tucked his head in close to you and blew air over you. You hadn’t even shivered through the chill yet when Tech took your clit into his mouth. He gave your bud light, fast licks that deepened into slow rolling laps.

You lowered yourself onto your elbows and let your head dip back. You moaned softly, mewling your pleasure as Tech worked you up. He slid two fingers inside and your head snapped back up, eager to watch him work. 

It took you a moment to remember Crosshair’s presence, but when your eyes met Crosshair’s you nearly came on sight. Tech felt you tighten and slowed his rhythm -  you needed to last longer than that. 

“Cross?” You panted, eyes dipping to see if you could spot any sign of his arousal. “Are you…?” You wanted to hear, see, and even feel more of him-  but the words escaped you.

Crosshair never witnessed the look you were giving him, but he knew exactly what you wanted. He took slow steps forward, his hands dropping to the plating below his waist. The first to drop was his codpiece, revealing a large bulge behind his blacks. “Does that answer your question?” He drawled, his eyes caught on Tech’s movements.

“Show her.” Tech said in a momentary breath. He kissed the thigh you had over his shoulder, mumbling into your skin. “She wants to see.”

Crosshair flicked his plating to another cot. His hands gripped into fists a few times before he slipped his blacks out of the way and released his cock. Another burst of excitement rushed through you and Tech immediately eased off. He looked up at you, assessing how far gone you were, steadily curling his two fingers inside you.

Focused on Crosshair’s length, unsurprisingly similar to Tech’s, you bit your lip. “Show me.” You whined, your order sounding like pleading.

Crosshair stepped within reaching distance and did exactly as you asked. His hand slid down his shaft, lightly squeezing at the base and started a slow pace as he watched you quiver under Tech’s touch.

For a while you basked in the high of the two men worshiping you. Tech pushed you to the threshold of release once more before he stopped moving. Pulling your eyes from Crosshair you watched Tech sit back and wipe his palm over his mouth. Gently removing your leg he moved around your side to be face to face with you. 

“Crosshair,” Tech said, brushing a knuckle over your cheek. He leveled a look at his brother and asked, “Are you or are you not going to participate?” Tech moved himself behind you, supporting you between his legs. He left the spot between yours as an open invitation.

Crosshair didn’t hesitate. He kept his eyes on you as he kneeled, hands sliding up your inner thighs. As he settled in, Tech used one hand to circle your breast and the other roamed the rest of your skin in search of sensitivity. “Gently licking her is the best to start.” Tech advised, his eyes consuming every reaction you made.

The sniper dragged his thumb over your pussy, making a noise when your wetness pooled over his finger. Catching your attention, Crosshair smirked and dropped his gaze. He couldn’t stop the moan he made at the first glimpse of how truly aroused you were. His eyes locked with yours again and he lowered himself to you. As he opened his mouth, a whine made it past your lips as you eagerly waited for his touch. When he finally pressed his tongue flat against your entrance he licked the entirety of you and ended with a flick over your clit. 

The pressure he applied felt like electricity shot through you. Your hand flew to his head, gripping through his hair to gently push him back. His mouth was slightly open, his tongue still wet from the taste of you. 

“Gently.” Tech said firmly. He pulled you back to rest against him, your head resting close to where his cock pressed through his blacks.

“She seemed to like it.” Crosshair countered with confidence, pushing out of your light hold to taste you. He ran his tongue over you again, but this time he finished with swirling around your clit. You rested a hand on his head, your thumb mimicking the motion of his tongue. Crosshair hummed at the touch and covered your clit, sucking gently on you until your hips bucked against him.

Meanwhile, Tech rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You do like that,” he pinched slightly harder. “Your chest is flushing and your thighs are quivering - it would seem you are close.”

You admitted to it in a quick hush as your eyes fluttered to look up at Tech. Crosshair’s mouth was faster and more desperate than you were used to, but his gentle pressure was driving you to delirium. Tech watched your eyes gain the familiar glossed over look he constantly sought after. You were indeed close, painfully so.

Writhing under Tech’s touch, you rolled your head to the side and pressed your cheek against the heat of Tech’s cock. You kissed the hard length, then ran your tongue over the fabric separating you. Tech hissed and you felt him throb against you. 

“Ah, not yet.” Tech said, but didn’t pull your mouth away. When you tried twisting to gain more access, he finally moved you away. He looked down at you, angling his head to capture every inch of you. “I have a better idea.”

He said Crosshair’s name, who, recognizing the tone,immediately paused. Crosshair grazed your folds once more before pulling away while Tech slid his arms under you. You were used to Tech guiding you through positions and easily followed his lead until you were straddling him at the end of the cot.

Crosshair came up behind you, nestling his face into your neck. He deeply inhaled you and, on a strained exhale, saddled himself against your backside. You were so focused on the fact that Crosshair’s cock was pressing against you, you didn’t catch Tech pulling away his blacks.

Gazing up at you, Tech let his cock throb for a moment as he savored this view of you - panting, dripping, and blatantly pleased. He held your hip in place as he guided himself to your entrance. When his head glided over your slit, your focus dialed back in on Tech.

You felt the quiver inside you and couldn’t contain the way your hips gyrated in search of Tech. “You must lower yourself slowly.” Tech groaned as you did just that. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a breathless sound. The way Tech first filled you always took your breath away. This time you weren’t sure if you’d catch your breath. 

Tech pushed up into you, testing your limits, before rolling his hips back and lifting you back up. The two of you moved together like that for a few motions with Crosshair moving against you in tandem. When Tech was completely coated in you and you were adjusted to his size, Tech moved a hand to your back to pull you forward. As you bent with him, Tech kept himself buried inside of you.

He throbbed inside of you, but held you in place. “Crosshair.” He strained to say.

Silence fell over you and Crosshair as you both realized what Tech wanted. Crosshair found you already smiling over your shoulder at him and knew you were going to be the death of him. You were so confident and - “So beautiful.” Crosshair finished his thought out loud.

Another part of him wanted to know just how hard he had to fuck you to wipe that confident smirk clean. He cocked his head and snorted at the thought. Another time.

Crosshair leaned over, spitting on his cock as he began stroking himself again. He gathered his precum and covered the head of his cock in it. Sufficiently wet, Crosshair brought his cock to where Tech sat inside you. He slid his cock up against you and used his thumb to guide himself in. 

Each of you held your breath as Crosshair rocked his hips to slowly, inch by inch, work his was inside. He wasn’t even half way sheathed when you cried out.

Crosshair yanked you up against him. He was worried you were in pain, but was met with blissed out expression. Your leaned back into him, a hand reaching up for his face.

“We’ve hit her G-spot.” Tech explained as he took an exploratory thrust. When he slid back inside you, stretching you out with Crosshair, he felt the tell tale hip thrusts you made when you were about to cum. “Crosshair, hold her still.”

Crosshair fortified his hold on you, taking the moment to bury himself deep inside you. Suspended in the air, you were helpless against Tech’s touch. His thumb found your clit, pressing into you and he starting fucking you from below. 

You and Crosshair moaned in a similar way, both of you at the point of no return. Tech saw the two of you trembling against your pleasure and knew exactly what to do. He gave two hard final thrusts and squeezed your clit between his fingers and you were finished.

Pleasure broke through you, sending your back into an arch and your legs trembling. Crosshair clamped his mouth down on the nape of your neck, while Tech bit his own lip - both of them breaking through their orgasms. The two men shuddered against you and spilled themselves inside you. Cum quickly leaked out of you and down their cocks, acting as lubrication for their final mindless thrusts. They were both spent and basking in the haze of their climaxes.

Their throbbing threatened to push your past your limits, but collapsing back into Crosshair you didn’t think you’d mind even if they did.

The three of you panted for a few moments before you tapped on Crosshair’s arm, a silent request. He left a kiss on your skin as he pulled out of you, cumming spilling after him. The sudden loss of him almost made you pull him back. 

Tech relaxed underneath you. A pleased smile curved his lips and spread when he touched your face. “You were wonderful.” His praise warmed your chest. 

By the time Tech helped you up, Crosshair was already cleaning himself off and retrieving his armor. You blocked his path, hands on your hips, a playful smirk on your lips. “Not even going to help clean up?” Though your tone was light, teasing, you enjoyed prodding him just to see his reaction.

Crosshair responded by placing a toothpick between his lips and tipping your chin up with a finger. His eyes locked onto yours, unswayed by the allure of your body below the neck. “When it is just mine,” he murmured, his voice low and enticing, “I’ll lick you clean myself.” With a tap to your chin, he stepped around you, leaving you slightly agape in his wake.

Tech came over with your garments and a towel, a slight smile playing at his lips as he handed them to you. He then sat back on the cot, his gaze lingering on you as you began to clean up. With a tap of his goggles, he stopped recording. “This will certainly be… interesting to review,” Tech remarked casually as he started to reassemble his armor.

As you wiggled into your pants, you hummed a laugh. “Don’t you mean exhilarating .”

A light blush bloomed over his cheeks. But he pointed a finger at you. “I was not wrong about that.”

“No,” you planted a kiss on the top of his head with a smile. “You were not.”

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!demon!reader, airhead!reader ( rono takes advantage of that ), stuck porn, compromising positions, reader is suspended mid air, :3 sensitive horns, mentions of rono’s bondage ( ball gag / bound hands ), thigh fucking, suggested free use post fic, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗱𝗼𝗹𝗹’𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗯𝘀 ∣ doll’s choice [ ronové + stuck ]

you were starting to think Ronové wasn’t really trying to help you.

he’d been so sympathetic to your plight when he first found you; the dainty, little chain that tethers your horns together tangled in the chandelier you’d been helping Glasyalabolas hang in one of the halls. of course, when you’d gotten stuck, Glas had simply laughed, and even went so far as to kick your step stool out from under you, and you’d been left, dangling by your delicate, little horns ever since, feet hovering just above the marble floor.

when Ronové happened to come across you, he’d crooned as he approached. an absolute mountain of a devil, you were grateful he’d been the one to find you in such a state. no doubt, even with his arms bound the way they were, he would have no trouble lifting you up until your horns were freed. “Aw, haha.” perhaps you didn’t notice the wicked intent in his dark chuckle as he approached, running his leather-bound forearms over your body as he seemed to take in your predicament. “You poor thing. You need some help getting down, so you?” you’d been certain that must’ve meant he was going to help you, so you nodded in desperation, smiling in relief. the pressure on your horns would be lifted soon. you wouldn’t be stuck like this anymore.

but now, as you stared down, watching Ronové’s cock slide back and forth in between your thighs, you weren’t so sure he was really going to free you. “Rono…” you whine soft, nibbling on your lip. “Are you still going to help me?”

“Mhm,” Ronové growls more than answers, a subtle bubbling in his throat as he drags his face against your shoulder. the ball gag in his mouth is wet with spit, as if taking advantage of you in such a state has made him foam with lust and depravity. “But… a beautiful, little devil all wrapped up like this? Well, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of your predicament. Now, keep those soft thighs clenched so I can fuck them.” his voice is always just a little bit altered by the crimson obstruction that his sharp canines bite into, but it was astounding how he’d adapted, and was able to form sentences, you thought.

the tip of his cock was swollen and pink as he rammed it into the fleshy, supple seal of your thighs as you tighten your muscles, obediently. you whimpered, feeling the rugged veins that spiderwebbed his manhood rub against your flimsy panties beneath your skirt. in a way, Ronové was a superior devil to you. a much stronger one, at the very least, so resisting him would be impossible.

the way his moans rumble against the gag in his mouth when he gets closer. “Good girl, just like that. Tighten those muscles for me.” as he purrs to you in praise, he smears his face over your shoulder, leaving a sticky, shiny layer of drool from his constant slobbering over the gag. “Ah, make it feel just like a nice, warm cunt and maybe I won’t have to rip those wet panties off and pound you out.” as if to exaggerate his threat, both of his arms, swaddled in leather, hook around your waist and gives your body a firm tug downwards, to force you to perch on his cock as he rams it between your thighs as they get stickier and stickier from his smearing of precum. you yelp, feeling the chains pull on your horns. the hundreds of nerve endings located there screaming with the intensity of his display. but you mewl, too. you can’t help it. his cock is snuggled flush against your panties, thrusting between your thighs at a rapid-fire pace, and you feel stimulated from the tip of your horns all the way to your throbbing clit, electrified. though your feet were falling asleep from dangling there, helpless, you didn’t even bother to think about them. your hands clenched into tight fists, your eyelids flutter, and Ronové chuckles, hoarsely. “What pretty, distressed sounds this silly little devil can make. You’re going to make me cum, just like this…”

panting, you try to turn to look over your shoulder, “A-and then you’ll get me down?”

Ronové laughs, hoarsely. “What gave you that idea?”

“Y— you said you’d help me!” you cried, baffled by his seemingly sudden change of plans.

“Oh I will help, don’t you worry,” he explains, though you can hear the grinding of his teeth against the gag as he snorts in pleasure through his nostrils. “Once I’m done with you, I’ll be sure to tell the first devil I come across that you’re all tied up in here. I’m sure that after you’re used to your limit by however many more come across you, someone will get you down, sweetheart.”

[celedrielarchive]

pity those who only watched the trilogy and based their impression of Galadriel and Celeborn solely on it. In the wider legendarium they have several versions of their meeting and story and all of them are extremely romantic and beautiful.

I love them falling in love in Doriath, and Galadriel leaving everything and everyone behind and staying there and even in Middle-earth first and foremost to be with him, and him later leaving everyone and everything he knows behind to travel with her.

I adore the version where they met in Valinor too, i think this one would make for an amazing on-screen adaptation. Elvendom in Valinor is in a crisis and falling apart, Galadriel of the Noldor is ready to push back against Feanorians, and suddenly she comes across a Telerin prince Celeborn who shares her convictions wholeheartedly. They fall in love and become a team, fighting together, then deciding to leave for Middle-earth together. Celeborn builds her a boat and they both sail to Middle-earth not caring for anything they left behind, or if the Valar would disapprove of their departure. And again, since then they are a team, a united front, and a constant for each other amidst the ever-changing world around them, “fighting the long defeat” together.

Can’t wait for Rings of Power to bring this beautiful dynamic to life on screen once Celeborn makes his debut at last!

[nyeddleblog]

Unrequited. [Part 2]

Pairing:Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader. Warnings: Mentions of masturbation, mentions of Peter's past encounters, reader works for a Fashion Magazine and drives a car, reader is attracted to women too. Summary: It was a normal day in your life until you were haunted with the memories of last night. A/N: There's a reason why I prefer writing OCs, and not reader inserts, but I'm trying very hard to edit this x oc fic, to make it an x reader fic. Please be gentle if I slipped some corrections...

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 2: Daily.

The morning after was quiet, almost too quiet. You woke up to your alarm making you groan and listened attentively for any sign of life. Nothing. No clatter of dishes as Peter made breakfast, no shower running as he sung, no low whistling coming from his bedroom. Your apartment was invaded by an eerie silence.

You grinned then; not to be cruel, but it felt nice to be peaceful for once. 

As you stood up, getting ready for a shower, you took a good look at the few hickeys you were going to have to cover up for work. There was no way in hell you were going to let Peter see them after what happened last night, so you peeked out of your room to check if he was anywhere to be seen, but no, just your usual disarray. 

Empty cereal bowls and coffee mugs littered the coffee table, clothes were strewn across the living room floor, and your roommate was nowhere to be seen. A wave of relief washed over you. At least you didn't have to deal with his post-coital charm, his teasing or his endless apologies.

You took a long shower then, feeling completely sore. Your muscles ached from training, your back was starting to show signs of aging and, dear god, your fingers were cramping. You really needed that hot water, and the silence.

Thank you, Felicia Hardy, for leaving that boy wordless and ashamed.

You took the time to dry and do your skincare before even coming out of the bathroom. No annoying knocking? Not a single one. You were going to look so good that day. 8 hours of sleep, full make-up, pretty outfit and you were ready to prepare breakfast.

You weren't soulless, however, you were starting to get a bit worried. 

As you prepared some scrambled eggs, you made sure to leave some hot cakes for Peter to eat and a hot cup of coffee in the counter and, by the time you were ready for work, you went over to his room and gently knocked on the door.

"I left you some breakfast on the counter," you called out, hearing some kind of groan in response. That was good enough, "Try not to burn the place down while I'm out."

You grabbed your bag and headed out, welcoming the cool air of New York city as you drove. Your office was still impeccable and a fresh stash of papers awaited for you on top of your desk. You smiled, letting yourself fall on the chair. Fuck, that chair was so good.

Your morning went by between answering emails and phone calls. You had mastered the art of multitasking when you had started as an intern and by then, being the Fashion Editor of the company, you could admit that you enjoyed it.  It was a fast-paced environment that demanded constant attention and adaptability, but it was comforting.

When you heard your phone buzz, at around one pm, you chose to take a small break. You greeted the few colleagues that you hadn't had the time to see during the morning and picked your bag to get lunch on the cozy coffee shop across the street. 

You had a few messages from Peter, thanking you for the meal; but there was the one message that made your heart flip and created a smile on your face. MJ.

hiya, sweetheart.

It was casual, a fling. They'd agreed to no attachments. MJ was just very fun to be around, that was all. And well, she ate pussy like she was starving. But seeing your texts was always the part of your day when you forgot about everything and everyone.

You wrote back and they were already settled for a bit of fun that evening, right after work. That made your evening, until you heard buzzing again.

"Peter" you answered.

"Huh, someone's happy..."

"That's none of your business" You told him quickly, but you were smiling and you knew he could hear it in your voice, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just wondering if you'd like to have some take out tonight. You know, as an apology."

You scrunched your nose, remembering the day before. Yeah, it happened often. You understood why, too, you would definitely bang Peter yourself if you hadn't known each other since high school, but one thing was fucking him and another completely different was listening to him groan and whine for another every night, when you needed to work the next day. 

That was annoying.

"Don't worry, champ" you shrugged, "Besides, I'm probably not going back home tonight."

"Oh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No 'oh's, Peter. Just going to a friend's house..."

"Is it Iris?"

You pressed your lips together and, just as your food arrived and you gave the waitress a small, thankful smile, you said, "No, it's not Iris."

That still hurt.

"That sucks. I liked Iris."

You liked Iris too.

"Well, anyways" you grabbed a piece of your sandwich with your hand as you tried desperately to change the subject, "If you bring anyone over, make sure to let me know. I may come back tonight..."

"Noted"

"See ya', Pete."

"See ya, Gabby."

Peter wasn't a bad roommate, despite his late night habits. 

After living with him for seven years, you got used to his antics and once you did that, only good things were left. He always washed the dishes when you were too tired, even if it wasn't his turn, he'd also remember your favorite foods and the brand of pads you bought. He'd get the spiders for you and he'd try to set you up with other people. He cared for you and you cared for him.

But hearing him have sex was an issue.

The first time an incident like the night before's happened, you weren't brave enough to let him know. You both must have been around twenty, it was back when you were just an intern. 

You remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by bed creaks and obscene moaning. When you got a hold of your surroundings, you were jumping out of your bed getting as far away of your room as it was humanly possible inside your apartment, meaning getting inside the kitchen.

But it was bad timing, horrible timing because they were finishing and, being the king of aftercare he was, Peter went over to the kitchen to give the lucky girl a glass of water. 

And you made eye contact.

And you could see in his face that he knew then that you'd heard them.

It was so awkward.

You didn't want to hear them, you wanted to sleep. But your first year living together was back when you were too quiet and too shy to truly set boundaries, so that kept happening.

It didn't help that Peter was as vocal as he was, even when he tried not to be. He stammered and cursed, and sometimes he'd say some pretty dirty things. It sucked, but you'd already made out the pattern in his voice when he was about to finish.

After seven years of living together, you two grew closer and you were able to let him know that the walls were too thin in your own unique way. You'd hint the hours you'd be out, stay over with friends, blast some music in your room or you'd simply give him a small knock on the wall to warn him when you heard him come in.

Last night, however, was the first time in a long time that you'd heard him be this loud. You heard everything, from the ragged breathing to the sloppy wet sound their lips did when they kissed. And it would have been fine if Peter hadn't surprised you with his midnight activities while you were in a middle of a self-love session. 

You tried to ignore it, putting on your headphones and keeping it up, but then you heard what he was saying  and you were going to be haunted by the memory of reaching your climax with the voice of your best friend in the background. 

You finished your sandwich feeling dirty.

NEXT PART.

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