#The hole where it was is still there but like. trap is gone. The cover is gone. All of it go poof.

[ratcandy]

Should’ve put out another “will my traps have spiders” poll because today I could’ve given the unique answer of “trap stolen”

[florencebirdsong]

Pull, Don’t Push!

Kate Bishop x Reader

Marvel Kinktober 2024

Summary: Getting stuck under the bed hadn’t been on your plans today. Your girlfriend fucking you however…

Tags: stuck trope, kinktober, ass play (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), rimming, top kate, bottom reader

Words: 887 | AO3

Authors note: I wasn’t originally planning to have any ass play but Kate is an ass man. Shout out to @caroldantops for implanting that and her obsession with the stuck trope in my brain.

You knew under the bed was going to be a tight squeeze but you may have miscalculated. Your shoulders are stuck, even though they were just fine getting in (bruises are already forming). Thankfully it’s just the lip of the bed so you aren’t currently having the life squeezed out of you but still. Being stuck under a bed was not in your plans today. You’re lucky you already cleaned under it.

Deciding to give it one last go before yelling for your girlfriend, you push with your hands and try to shrink in on yourself. It doesn’t help. You kick your legs in frustration and knock over a half full box with a loud crash.

Packing is not going well for you.

Two seconds later Kate skids into the room, “What was that?” you bet she has her bow, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just please get me out,” is your miserable response. You hear the small thunk of Kate putting her bow down and then her footsteps hurrying over.

“Um,” her hands start on your body and not the bed. How she ever survives her missions is a mystery to you. Her hands pause on your hips.

“Kate. No.”

“But you’re not hurt,” they slide down to grope your ass, “or freaking out and you’re so hot like this.”

“Oh, my god,” you cover your face, “you are such a teenage boy sometimes.”

“Hey! I thought you found my stuck kink cute,” she audibly pouts.

“Do not give me puppy eyes right now,” you warn. Your voice is already weak.

“Please, baby?” she trails her fingers closer to where an ache is starting to form and starts massaging. She’s been with you long enough to know all your sweet spots and you are so screwed.

“You never mention this to anyone, you get one orgasm and afterwards you lift the bed with that strength you’re always bragging about,” you say. You knew what was going to happen the second she realised you were stuck and not hurt. She gets so desperate when a fantasy is being fulfilled and you can never resist it.

You can’t see her but it’s easy to imagine her blinding smile as her hands eagerly go to the waistband of your shorts.

“Imagine if you were wearing a skirt,” she’s practically drooling.

“Kate,” you warn but there’s a hint of a whine in your voice.

“I know this gets you hot too,” her fingers eagerly find your heat and she wastes no time sinking them inside of you. You’re wet enough that she slides in easily and she has you moaning in seconds. “Being trapped, having no say in what happens to you.”

“You’re the-“ her other hand finds your clit, “you’re the puppy here.”

“Mhmm,” her voice has gone all husky and it makes you squeeze around fingers tighter, “and you know how eager puppies are to please.”

You whine as she takes her hand away from your clit. Her thumb hooks into your cheek to bare you to her and one second later her warm tongue is meeting your tightest hole.

You moan and push into her. Her fingers haven’t stopped and the abandonment of your clit is more than made up for by the tongue circling you. You have no idea what you were going to say.

“Kate,” you moan and her tongue dips inside. She hums against you and your toes curl.

“You close already, baby?” she says in that teasing voice that tells you she isn’t going to let you being into this fantasy go.

“Fuck you,” you moan.

“I most certainly am,” her fingers curl and you cry out. For a second you wish you could wriggle free and wipe that smug look from her face but then her tongue slides back inside of you and you change your mind. She turns desperate and soon she’s mumbling against your skin,

“You’re so hot like this.”

“Come on baby, cum for me.”

“You sound so pretty with my tongue in your ass.”

You cum with her fingers curled against your g-spot and her tongue in your ass. Kate moans low when she feels you tighten around her. She sits up when your body has relaxed but keeps her fingers buried deep inside of you.

“I knew you’d be into it,” is the first thing she says.

“Kate, don’t ruin the moment.”

“I can still feel you squeezing around me,” she sounds so smug it’s hard not to kick out at her. Not that you can really feel your legs. “I knew you’d be into this. You love feeling helpless.”

“Oh my god, stop. I’m already well aware of that fact.”

“I wasn’t,” Yelena says behind you. You jump and hit your head while Kate quickly pulls her fingers away and moves to block you from view.

“Yelena,” Kate epically fails at trying to sound casual, “What are you doing here?”

You cut in with a much more important question, “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you are both completely unaware of your surroundings.”

You groan.

“You ask for my help with moving and then you waste my time?” Yelena asks.

“Like you didn’t love watching,” Kate says.

“Oh god,” you groan again. This isn’t going to stay between the three of you.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

May I ask for a request of tangerine x reader who works with Tan and Lemon. Idiots in love type. And on a mission one takes a bullet for the other or does something stupid during a mission to keep the other safe? and then when they are in the clear they get into a big argument about how stupid the other was and like all the yelling and arguing leads to slipping out a love confession. You can choose who gets injured tan or reader.

Also, I could totally see Lemon in the back just watching them argue sipping on some water that isn’t poisoned.

hii sunshine! love love love it! thanks for requesting, hope you like it 💌 @thewinterv I combined this with your request, hope you don’t mind 🤍

HONESTY HOUR.

tangerine x implied fem!reader

word count. 792

warnings. couple blood mentions

Missions were always complicated with Tangerine. Not because he’s difficult to work with or unskilled, but instead it was your feelings towards him that made working with him so tricky. Confusing feelings pertaining to the unspoken, unacknowledged connection between you.

And because of that, you never knew where you stood with each other. You each knew there was something there, a spark as such, but neither of you would dare speak on it. These repressed emotions have been marinating for far too long, the approaching expiry date much like that of a ticking time bomb. 

Today's mission was particularly challenging: you and Tangerine were tasked to retrieve something —you still were unsure of what exactly— while Lemon retrieved the other. You’d all often split on missions, though today two diversions were needed, and without a moment to think on it, you found yourself following after Tangerine. 

In hindsight, it may have been stupid – the current bullet wound in your lower arm acting as a giant looming ‘I told you so.’ As soon as you and Tan were rushed into a trap —a setup— it all kind of went blank, and you fought on autopilot without a single comprehensive thought. 

You were hardly aware that you were hit until Tangerine noticed it – the trail of blood leaking from your arm and on the floor in an inconsistent pattern. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Tan yells, eyes widening as he rushes over to you – jumping over the small pile of dead bodies.

“I don’t know,” you shout back, looking down at your arm in panic. “I don’t know.”

“Oh fuckin’ hell,” he continues his yelling for some apparent reasoning. “God, this is a fuckin’ disaster,” he says, moving a hand to cover the wound in your arm, his palm firm over the small hole – trying to apply pressure. 

“It’s starting to hurt,” you wince, tugging your arm away. The adrenaline beginning to wear off.

He holds onto your elbow with his other hand, keeping you still and stopping you from pulling from his attempt of help.

“Keep bloody still, man,” he furrows, eyes narrowing at you for a brief moment. “Knew you should’ve gone with Lemon.”

“Well if I did, you’d be dead. So you’re welcome,” you retort, eyes squinting at him in that same frustrated way.

“Yeah, well too late for that now, ain’t it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snark, snatching your arm away – holding over the wound in the same way he did. “Don’t have to be such a dick to me all the time, okay? I’m trying.”

“You never fuckin’ think. You always throw yourself in danger and I have to come and bail you out,” he scoffs, staring you down. 

“I never ask you to.”

He chuckles, the sound amused. “Oh, come off it.”

“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m a little princess,” you retort once more. “I don’t need your help, okay? I’m fine on my own.”

“Well maybe that’s our fuckin’ problem then,” he says, voice far calmer now. 

“What does that mean?” you ask, tone softening like his. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore,” he scoffs. “We gotta get back to Lem and get you sorted.”

And as he goes to leave, walking past you, you grab a hold of his arm to halt him. “What do you mean by that?” you question, eyes darting over his face.

“Nevermind.”

“No,” you tug his arm, extending your neck to meet his eyeline. “Tell me.”

He sighs, purposely avoiding your eyes. “I care about you, alright?” he confesses, speaking almost reluctantly. 

You move to stand in front of him, making him face you – forcing him to look at you. You smile faintly at him, the softness in your eyes silently prompting him to say what else he was thinking.

“I like you, okay? I don’t wanna see you hurt,” he admits. “Happy now?”

You nod sincerely, smiling at him. “That’s why I always go with you… sounds stupid, but I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Yeah?” he says softly, a faint grin lining his lips. “So what’re you saying?” he chuckles, pushing you into a confession like you did him.

“I’m saying,” you pause. “I’m saying I like you.”

“You do?” he takes a step closer.

And before you have a moment to reply, you hear footsteps approach, the presence snapping you from this little honesty round with Tangerine. “Oi, there you fuckers are,” Lemon shouts, spotting you both. “Got shit to do, now chop chop.” And when he sees each of your faces, he can’t help but laugh. Both of you looked so guilty. “About to finally do it, weren’t you?”

I fear this may be total ass

[eccentricallygothic]

Pairing: Dom-Boyfriend!Pedri | Brat girlfriend!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, m!dom, f!sub, power imbalance, Pedri is mean, face slapping, allusions to spanking, blow job, dumbification, humiliation, hair pulling, bondage, allusions to throat fucking, dirty talk, possessive!Pedri, daddy kink, sir kink. Minors do not interact. 

Your cheeks were flush and they stung from the strikes your face had received by the back of your boyfriend's hand due to talking back after doing everything in your power to tick him off. Your eyes were glossy and clouded with lust, lips swollen and mouth agape as you peered up at the male through your lashes. 

“What?” Pedri challenged you, one side of your head trapped in his fist by the hold he had on your hair. “You got something you wanna say to me?” Your form trembled from where it was on all fours between his bare and toned legs, your freshly spanked ass on full display since he had torn your slutty shorts off the moment you had been made to enter his apartment to be punished into compliance. “Well?” His voice was firm and harsh as his darkened eyes glared down at you from where he sat on the couch.

“N- No, sir…” You choked out, your exposed boobs -owing to your torn up tank top- pressing into your arms that Pedri had tied in front of you with what was left of your shorts. 

“That's what I thought” his blunt words only added to the hot tingles in your pussy and you felt more arousal bubble out of your needy hole. “Now come here and do the only thing you're good for” you were led to his angry cock by the clump of your hair he had coiled around his fingers. You stuck your tongue out obediently and gave kitten licks to the girth of his cock.

“That's it” your face dangled to the side when his fingers connected with your face once more. “See? Everything is so much easier when you're face first into my cock like you are meant to be” two of his fingers rudely intruded your mouth and you moaned at the feeling of your lips stretching around them, the cavity submissively tightening itself around them and sucking them clean of your precum that had covered his hands during your spanking which had included your poor throbbing pussy. “Not trying to be a smart mouth or anything and just serving your purpose by getting your pretty trap fucked stupid by your Daddy” your cunt blinked at his condescending words. 

Your ill behavior had started off as a joke when he had gotten his Euros win haircut and mustache a couple days ago. You would complain and bully him, tell him you didn't recognize him anymore and he wasn't your Pedri, tease him that he had lost his attractiveness and that you planned to run away the first chance you got. Since he knew you were just a spoilt, all talk brat, your boyfriend had ignored it and taken it in good humour until today when you had simply gone too far. The two of you and some of your friends had met up for lunch and a few minutes in you had began to babble about his hair to your company. But Pedri had still been lenient as well as patient. He knew you well enough to know if wasn’t coming from a bad place. And so when you hadn't been able to pull a strong reaction from him like you had been wanting to all this time, you had begun to playfully flirt with Fermin, going so far as to joke about moving on with him.

That, Pedri could not have.

And so here you were now.

Disciplined into submission by your Daddy.

“S- Sorry, sir…” You spoke with difficulty when he dragged his fingers out of your mouth and pulled them all the way down your bottom lip, giving you a swift smack when he was done. 

“No you're not” he knew you too well. “But you will be by the time I am donw with you.” Your jaw ticked and your cheeks squished against his muscular thighs when he pushed your head down on his cock. “After all, that's what Daddy is for, right?” Your flared nostrils tickled when he bottomed out in your mouth and his pubes touched your soft skin. “To wisen up his silly little girl” his words and the flex of his fingers across your face were tender. But his intentions weren't. 

And as Pedri unplugged your mouth to angrily shove his heavy balls to be sucked at in your mouth while angrily pumping his cock in his fist, you knew your poor throat had a long night to go.

.

i have been meaning to do this ever since the haircut omg! 

[odiesdayoff]

Trust Your Instincts

pair: Jaime Reyes x fem!reader

summary: Post-graduation, your childhood friend seems to be ignoring you. Once he shows up, secrets are revealed, voluntarily or not.

warnings: SMUT (18+++ MINORS DNI); begins as like pretty dubious, but turns into both parties consenting. Really thin line here, they do have a mutual attraction and explicitly say that they want it.

im gonna be so real i saw an ad for this and started writing...lol. Haven't seen BB at the time of writing this a while ago! Characters are prob inconsistent. i just have like a severe mask kink.

honestly this is unfinished, but i know in my heart I will never get back to it no matter how many times I say it lol. Imagine what happens next teehee.

“He’s not coming?” You brought the towel from over your shoulder and continued to dry the plates as Jaime’s mother handed them to you. Lunch was over and you were excited to see your best friend, but he was awol.

She gave you a sympathetic look as she handed you another clean plate. “I’m sorry, mija. He’s been acting strange ever since he got back. I know he misses you.”

You nodded and placed the towel on the counter. There’s no way he could possibly just up and abandon you after all this time. The two of you had been best friends since the first grade and even though he went all the way to Gotham City for college and you stayed in Texas, you were still close as ever. At least you think so.

“Well, I’ve gotta go. Thank you for the lunch, you know how much I adore your cooking.” You brought her into a hug and she kissed your cheek. She was like a second mom to you. All of Jaime’s family was basically your own. It took this long for them to stop the teasing about you getting together.

It had been months since Jaime allegedly returned to Texas and yet, he hasn’t reached out to you. Not by phone or in person, no matter how much you tried to talk to him. It felt worse than any breakup you’d gone through. Usually, he was the shoulder for you to cry on. 

A loud crash woke you up. It was around two in the morning. In your flannel pajama pants and a black tank top, you ran into your living room to see what happened. There was a large hole where your door should have been and laying on the floor was Jaime.

Your hand flew to your mouth and knelt down to him. His curls stuck to his forehead from sweat and his chest rapidly rose and fell. “Get away! Please, get away!” He pushed you away, yelling and borderline whimpering.

There was something wrong with him and you weren’t just going to do what he told you. “Jaime, please just tell me what’s going on. You’re not okay.” You pushed his hair from his face only to see the fear in his eyes as he looked at you. 

He flipped to his back and crawled until he hit the wall, his body colliding into it. Another dent appeared. Chips of drywall fell on him. “I’m…gonna call an ambulance, okay?”

You pulled out your phone, but before you could even unlock it, it was no longer in your hand. Jaime, now fully covered in a blue suit of armor, crushed it in his hand. “Oh my god.”

He dropped the phone and shook his head. “I don’t control it. It controls me. I promise you.” His voice was slightly distorted due to the helmet he had on.

“Okay, so can’t you call, like, Batman or something?” If this were a normal situation, you know that he would’ve laughed.

He held your shoulders. “I need you to get away. Right now.”

You shook your head. “I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

A robotic voice came from the suit, saying your full name and society security number. Jaime started to shake his head frantically and tried to step away from you. The suit disagreed.

The suit trapped you against the counter. “Please stop!” Jaime yelled. His helmet popped open to reveal his face, still scared. “I’m so sor-” The suit didn’t let him finish, instead it pushed him towards you. His lips crashed into yours. 

You felt guilty kissing back. It wasn't either of your volition, but the teenage version of yourself was screaming and frolicking in a field of flowers just to be kissing him. 

The robotic voice returned, louder now. “It is my duty to keep you healthy. Sexual health is one of those aspects.” The suit retracted more, pulling his shirt and jeans from his body. He was left in his boxers, staring at you. It continued. “I know you have a crush on her. Don’t be a pussy.”

His eyes widened and his cheeks grew red. “Is that true?” He sheepishly nodded.

You bit your lip. “It’s true for me, too.”

[tangerinesgirl]

Unravel

AFAB!Reader x Mark Hoffman

Word count: 1.8k

Rating: explicit, 18+, no minors

Warnings: smut, masochism, size difference, some brief talk of weight, creampie, mostly Dom!Reader but some Dom!Mark, spitting, p in v

Summary: Your ex, Mark, has no where to go after the glass coffin trap and needs your help...even though you've been on a break.

Notes: I wanted to challenge myself to write a fic that has more detail this time. Reading my works back they all seem super quick to get into the action. So let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!

You jump out of your skin at the loud bang against your apartment door. You begrudgingly roll over to the bedside table to check your phone: 1:03AM. Sighing, you put on slippers and stagger to the door. There's a more polite knock this time as you look through the peep hole: it's Mark Hoffman.

You and Mark had a rocky relationship ever since he became an apprentice for John Kramer. You found out from his clothing being torn, covered in oil and miscellaneous substances, or just straight up gone missing, and confronted him about it. He showed you the way of the traps and Kramer's ideology, part of you was sick to your stomach thinking about how many people have died like this, but the other part of you was seriously into how he would build the traps, brainstorming ideas and coming home all hot and bothered. But in the end, you had to take a break, Mark couldn't commit to a relationship as he was essentially married to his work. What you both had was fun, but you always wanted something more.

You unlock the door and Mark tumbles into your flat and walks straight into the kitchen. When you turn around you notice his once silk blue shirt is now red, full of cuts and glass shards. You don't quite know how he got to you; did he drive? Walk? Either way it was impressive how he's still standing. He swipes the kitchen table clean and dumps a first aid kit down. "Fix me", he demands of you. You sigh, thinking about how many months have passed without hearing from him and he turns up like this out of the blue, then inevitably grab some tweezers and sterilising fluid.

Nothing more is said after that, the only sound in the room is you cutting off Hoffman's shirt. Mark had actually trained you in first aid since he started up the traps, to cover for all eventualities. Things like how to stitch a wound, fix dislocations, and so on. You didn't think you'd actually have to use it when he left. It's not exactly like he could fish out the shards himself so it made sense in a way, even though it was painful for you to see him again. Maybe not as painful as the actual glass in his back though. You carefully start removing pieces from him, every so often he flinches but stays as stoic as ever. You put each shard on the table, disinfecting the tweezers as you go. It's painstaking, especially without a word being said. There's too many thoughts whizzing around your head, you wouldn't even know where to start, so you focus on your work instead.

You dab at the wounds with wipes, you notice a couple of particularly deep ones need stitches, and few more need steri-strips. You start to unwind your thread, and begin to close them up. He still flinches and groans occasionally as you fix his wounds. You're surprised you have enough steri strips for the rest. You give it one last glance over to make sure there's no more tint hidden pieces. Once you're happy with your work, you start to pack the rest of the stuff away.

As you reach for an unused bandage, Hoffman suddenly grabs your wrist. You turn to look at him, and he looks at you, deeply into your eyes, as if to say "thank you" without actually saying it, since that wasn't really part of his nature. He then glances down briefly at your lips. He thinks you didn't notice, but you did, and you look down at his too.

There's a lot of tension in the room, and you find it extremely hot that not a word has been said in the last two, maybe three, hours. You've lost track of time, you always do when Mark is around, because nothing else matters. You start to move forward into a kiss but you stop, inches away from him. Mark looks at your lips again. Then he suddenly puts his hand on the base of your skull behind your head and grips your hair. You let out a little surprise gasp.

Then everything happens so fast.

Mark slams his lips against yours, like a man starved, his kisses are desperate and all tongues. You both lightly moan through the heavy kisses, you sit on his lap and start to drag your hand through his hair in exchange, tugging occasionally. You start grinding while on his lap, searching for more. You can feel his member through his trousers. Then you accidentally knock one the cuts on his back and he groans out in pain, however you couldn't help but notice his cock twitch as you did so, now semi erect. You both stop for a bit and share a glance, not one of humiliation but of realisation. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, and start to purposefully play with one of his stitched wounds. Mark moans and quickly grabs your other hand that's resting on his chest.

"Stop", he commands. There's clearly some unsaid things between you and Mark. You stop and look at him, you both look at each other with need and desperation.

"I don't know how far I'll go, I can't promise I'll be gentle", Mark has danger in his eyes.

"I know", you admit. Mark was always the kind to take out a rough day at work through sex, and you had a feeling tonight was no exception. But it somehow felt different. It could be the time you've had away from each other, or whatever he experienced that night had him particularly wound up.

"Same safe word?", you ask. He nods slightly, and in a flash he's back to passionately kissing you. He lifts you up, trying to walk you to the bedroom, but can't see where he's going as he's so tied up in the moment. He slams you into a wall, you moan as the air is pushed out of you.

You break the kiss momentarily to remove your top, you must have each other now and can't wait until you're in the bedroom. Mark removes your bra, his hands replacing it. His hands are so large, one hand seems to cover your entire chest. His rough skin feels amazing on your soft breasts. You moan as you remove your underwear. Mark breaks the kiss to kick off his trousers and underwear. He catches you looking at his erection, he walks back over to you and grabs your hair.

"How do I look?", he growls in your ear. You moan and start to kiss him again.

Without warning he pushes his cock into you. You forgot how well he filled you up. He was just the right size, but girthier than average. His thickness stung a little since he slammed into you without warning, but it's a good thing you were already slick with arousal. You hold him around his neck as he's lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he's slamming into you against the wall.

With him still inside you, he then carries you over to the kitchen table. It's a good thing you packed everything away earlier. You put your feet on the edge, with your back on the table. Mark continues to push inside of you, sweat starting to glisten down his forehead, onto his large chest. Somewhat hairy, but oh so broad. His frame and arms have always been a turn on for you. Sometimes he was self conscious about his weight but you found it extremely hot. Especially the way it felt on top of you.

You sit up, breaking his momentum briefly, as you can feel the table shake, becoming more and more unstable. You push him to the chair where he was sat as you were cleaning his wounds, and motioned for him to sit down. You straddle him like before, only this time you were completely naked. You haven't felt this powerful for a while. You start to ride him, reaching behind you to start and fondle his balls. He tilts his head back in pleasure, mouth wide open. You stop briefly to hold his jaw open, you look over him as a dribble of your spit travels into his mouth. You forcefully close his mouth to get him to swallow, and continue to ride him.

It's not often you're able to take charge, but you were enjoying it. Hoffman, even though he wouldn't admit it afterwards, likes to think he's dominant at heart, but also loves it when someone takes control.

Your hands start to trail down his back once again. You could feel a few of his stitches had begun to unravel. Mark hisses as you trace your fingers over them. You stop briefly, making sure he was okay with you going further. After no safe word, you continue to pluck open a wound. Mark pretty much jumps out of his seat, slamming into you as he does so. You both moan, the lines of pleasure and pain blurring. You start to dip your finger into the warmth, blood coating your finger and travelling down his body.

"Y/N, I'm gonna-", Mark trails off. You remove your finger, and smear the blood as you caress his face. Around his lips, his jaw, down to his neck.

Mark is VERY into this, he's a massive masochist and seeing you like this has his mind going into overtime. What traps could you come up with? Maybe you could come with him during the next game, getting off on your hard work, putting each other in a trap, and seeing others in them. Watching them struggle in your game, totally oblivious to you and Mark having the steamiest sex of your lives over the monitor.

At this thought, he starts to cum inside of you. The biggest orgasm of his life. You continue to ride his orgasm out of him, the amount of cum you can feel inside you also triggers your orgasm. Mark slams you down by your shoulders to get you to stop moving as his penis slowly grows softer and twitches inside of you. You collapse into Mark's chest, both of you breathless.

You both sit there for a moment, taking everything in. Mark still inside you, his cum leaking out onto the chair, onto the floor, mixing with the blood from his wound that you opened.

You eventually move and mention that you should clean him back up. Mark reluctantly agrees. Neither of you decide to put your clothes back on, as you start to disinfect the table and open your first aid kit again. You mend his stitches and clean him up, and Mark is giving you that look again. Looking at your lips, totally helpless. You sigh as you realise you'll be stitching him back up once again.

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 1

fandom: The Mandalorian

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch over your recovery. Things get dicey, buckle up!

tags/warnings: angst, injury, blood, fevers, hallucinations, hurt/comfort

word count: 2848

a/n: i've been writing on ao3 and suddenly remembered i have a tumblr. here you go.

That whole thing about your life flashing before your eyes before you die is bullshit.

You didn’t think you’d ever be in a position to make that conclusion, but considering you were working with the most fearsome bounty hunter in the galaxy, it wasn’t too far-fetched.

It was foolish to think that the two of you would get off scot-free, with the fact that the quarry you were hunting was a bounty hunter herself. Despite the considerable skill shared between you and Din, she’d managed to get the drop on you and now had you running on a wild goose chase around the galaxy. In fact, it had gotten to the point where even Din was wondering if she was worth it.

But then, just as it seemed you’d be chasing her around until the Empire came back to power, she holed up in a remote corner of a remote planet hardly occupied by anyone else. Part of you sensed that it may be a trap, but you were so eager to get this over with that you didn’t voice your concerns to Din. Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Now, Din is crouched behind a large boulder with you, engaged in what seems to be a never-ending exchange of blaster shots.

“We can’t do this forever,” you shout to him over the noise.

Din lets out a grunt of agreement as he rises to fire off another shot. “Any ideas?”

You breathe out a heavy rush of air and rack your mind. “Alright,” you start, tapping a finger against your blaster anxiously, “I’m gonna run out there and draw her fire. After that, you go around and get an angle behind her. Hopefully she won’t notice you with me distracting her.”

Din shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he insists, his voice as harsh as it can be through his helmet’s modulator. “If anyone’s running into the line of fire, it’s going to be me.”

“I’m a smaller target,” you counter, trying to match his persistence. You rise to fire off a few quick shots in the direction of the quarry before sinking down again. “I’m faster and I can get to cover more easily.”

Din is silent as he considers this. He knows you’re right; he just doesn’t want to admit it. Finally, he gives you the briefest of nods. “You get to cover as fast as you can, okay?” Is that a hint of worry tinting his voice?

You nod back. You have no desire to be shot today. “On my count,” you say back. “One, two, three!”

If perhaps you had been listening instead of discussing your plans with Din, you would’ve noticed that the opposing blaster fire had stopped in the middle of your conversation. Or if you’d waited another few seconds, the quarry would’ve come right to your hiding spot as she’d been planning to do. If you hadn’t been distracting Din with your talk of strategy, maybe he would’ve heard the approaching footsteps.

Instead, you stand and race out into the open clearing, only to come face-to-face with your quarry. Before you can even be surprised, she’s drawn a long blade from a sheath on her thigh and sunk it into your abdomen.

Your knees have hardly hit the ground before Din fires off three shots into the quarry’s chest. In tandem, both you and the quarry fall to the ground limply. The blade is still embedded in your torso, blood leaking sluggishly from around it. Your breath comes out in quick, short bursts.

The adrenaline stops you from feeling most of the pain, but it still hurts like hell. Now is when you imagine life might flash before your eyes, since it really does feel like you’re dying.

Instead, you find yourself watching the sky disappear behind Din’s helmet. The sun bounces off the shiny metal and nearly blinds you.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice is panicked and rushed as he slides to his knees next to you.

You say his name in a small whimper, hands grasping for anything to hold on to. Eventually they find purchase on a bit of fabric under his chestplate, and you try desperately to pull him closer to you.

“Dank farrik,” Din murmurs as he notes the blade still sticking out of you. “I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, this is going to hurt.”

You don’t even have time to ask what he means before Din’s hands are on you, applying heavy pressure around the wound. You let out a gut-wrenching cry as you see stars, the pain suddenly overwhelming. Your head spins as you weakly scrabble against his hands, trying to relieve the pressure.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta,” Din’s voice is broken but you hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears.

You beg for him to stop, the pain overpowering your rationality. If you were lucid and comfortable, you would’ve understood how vital his actions were. Right now, though, all you know is that what he’s doing is hurting you, and you want it to stop.

Din is hardly holding it together as it is, but hearing your agonized cries is almost enough to do him in. On the one hand, he desperately hopes that you remain conscious so he could assure himself of your survival. On the other, he wants nothing more than for you to pass out so he doesn’t have to hear you beg anymore.

 “Cyar’ika, I need you to hold pressure for me,” Din says, trying to pull himself together.

“No, please,” you plead, “it hurts.”

“I know, my love, I know. But I need to stabilize the wound so we can get back to the ship. I can’t do that with my hands here.” Din looks at you intently from under the visor, hoping to convey his desperation even to your pain-addled mind.

“Can’t you just take it out?” You whimper.

Din shakes his head as a wave of anxiety consumes him. Usually, you’re good with this type of thing, injuries and the like. It isn’t like you to consider taking out a penetrating object without the proper supplies. He knows the pain must be affecting you more than he initially thought. “You’d bleed out. We have to wait to get back to the Crest.”

His words seem to get through to you because eventually you suck in as deep a breath you can muster and lay your hands over his.

“Hold tight, I know it hurts. But you need to hold it as hard as you can.”

You nod and press down, suppressing another strangled cry.

“Good girl,” Din whispers as he reaches for the medpack in his bag. He opens it and is grateful he doesn’t have to hide the disappointment on his face when he notices its sparseness. Fortunately, there’s just enough gauze that he can stabilize the knife, and he knows there is more aboard the Crest.

Instructing you to remove your hands, he pads the sides of the blade with rolls of gauze before wrapping around them with another. He tries to dissociate from your pained cries as he manipulates your torso to wrap the gauze.

“Time to go, love,” he says, cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. Your eyes are half-lidded and Din knows that you’re running out of time. He needs to get this blade out and close the wound fast.

With his heart in his throat, Din reaches under you to cradle you in his arms. You let out the most heartrending scream yet as he lifts you. With each quick step Din takes, the pain blossoms throughout your abdomen.

“Stay with me, cyar’ika,” Din murmurs as he finally approaches the ramp to the Crest.

“’M right here,” you slur, blood loss making you feel lightheaded and airy.

“Good, that’s good,” Din reassures, more to himself than to you. He sets you down on your cot in the cargo hold, being careful not to jostle your wound more than necessary. He tries not to feel so anxious when you hardly make a noise to register the movement. “I’m just going to get some supplies; you hang in there.”

“M’kay,” you murmur, barely even recognizing what you’re agreeing to. Your eyes slip closed for a moment before you remember that you’re supposed to be awake. Wait, are you supposed to be awake? It would be so nice to sleep… But Din. Where’s Din? “Din?” You call out, eyes suddenly wide with panic. “Din!” you cry and the pain reappears in your abdomen.

Heavy footsteps approach you quickly and you try to turn to see who’s coming but the pain prevents movement. “What is it?” Din’s voice is a welcome relief.

You let out a long rush of breath. “I thought you left me,” you whisper.

“I told you I was getting supplies,” Din says, doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice at your forgetfulness.

“Right,” you nod slightly, the memory slowly coming back to you. “Din?”

“Yes?” Din replies as he sets up supplies to remove the blade from your abdomen.

“Did we get the quarry?”

“Yes, love,” Din takes a moment to cradle your cheek in his hand again, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. You notice he’s removed his gloves and can’t help but lean into his soft touch just a bit. “Don’t worry about that anymore. Let’s just focus on you.”

You nod your agreement as best you can.

Din talks to you in a gentle voice as he goes about ensuring he has everything he needs: more gauze, bacta spray, antiseptic, water for you to drink. He sets the cauterizer aside just in case, but prays that his own less-than-stellar suturing skills will satisfy. With slow and careful movements, he snips through the gauze around your abdomen to clear the field.  Once he can no longer delay the inevitable, he looks at you through the visor of his helmet. “I need to remove the blade now, my love.”

You nod again, watching as his hands settle around the handle of the knife. “I trust you,” you murmur, meeting the approximate location of his eyes behind the helmet.

Nothing could have prepared Din for the blood-curdling scream you release as he extracts the blade. He works quickly to pack the wound, which now rushes with fresh blood. Before he’s even finished, your head lolls and your eyes drift shut.

Din panics for a brief moment, reaching with one hand to wrap around your wrist and feels for your pulse. It’s weak, but there, and Din goes back to treating your wound.

…

You wake only a few minutes later to find Din applying a bacta spray to your now barely bleeding abdomen. The feeling is warm and tingly as your frayed cells attempt to knit themselves together. “Din,” you mumble, eyes still half closed.

Din’s head shoots up and he puts the spray aside. “Y/N,” he breathes, your name like a prayer on his lips. “I stitched you up. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply honestly. The pain is diminished now, and you feel grateful that you’ve missed the suturing, as it’s always made you uncomfortable.

“Good.” Din’s shoulders relax as some of the tension leaves his body. You’re nowhere near out of the woods yet, but at least you’re not bleeding out anymore. “It looks like the knife missed anything vital but it’s still a fairly sizeable wound. I’ll need to keep a close eye on it.”

You reach up toward him but with the confusion and the blood loss, you have no sense of direction. Din senses your desire though and captures your hand in his own. Your fingers are cold in his warm palms. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Din leans down and rests his helmet against your forehead. “Sleep now, cyar’ika. I’m right here.”

…

The next time you wake, it’s to Din holding a cup of broth beside you. He helps you sit up and gently coaxes you to take a few sips, insisting that you need to regain your strength. You manage to swallow down a bit, but the pain prevents you from staying upright for long. He reassures you that you can try again later.

The next three days pass in quick flashes of wakefulness. Each time, Din is there, changing your dressings or offering you more broth. By the morning of the third day, you almost feel a bit of your strength returning, and even manage to finish the whole cup of broth.

Unfortunately, when it rains, it pours.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you wake in the middle of the fourth night. Your entire body is wracked with shivers and your teeth chatter against each other uncomfortably.

Din is by your side in an instant, pressing a bare hand to your forehead. “Dank farrik,” he grumbles, rushing to retrieve the medpack.

“Din,” you slur as he returns. “’M so cold.”

“I know,” Din replies, hastily ripping open the medpack. “You have a fever. I’m guessing your wound is infected.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage to reply before you drift back off into a restless sleep.

…

When you come to again there are voices in the ship. One sounds vaguely like your mother. She’s urging you to wake up.

“I’m awake,” you grumble, trying to swat away the bees that are crawling around your face. “Leave me ‘lone. Wan’ sleep.”

“Cyar’ika,” your mother says, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You never knew your mother could speak Mando’a.

For a while, the bees don’t let you fall back asleep. You want to reach out and swat them away but someone holds a firm grip on your wrists.

“Get the bees ‘way,” you whine, pulling weakly against their hold.

“Shh,” your mother reassures. “You were hurting yourself. I have you.”

 The other voices are all jumbled and you can’t make out anything in particular. Everything feels hazy and unfamiliar. The only thing that comes through semi-clearly is the burning ache in your stomach.

…

A while later, something cold rests on your forehead and you reach to remove it. It’s uncomfortable and you’re already cold enough.

“Leave that,” one of the voices murmurs. You think it may be your mother again, but she sounds like a man. Your hand falls from your face and you drift off again.

…

There is an ocean in your head and in your ears and behind your eyes and you think it might be nice to go take a swim in it. It would be so nice and cool.

…

When lucidity finally claims you again, it is with the sudden realization that you’re hardly dressed. You’re still clothed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, but it’s definitely not what you wore when you were injured. You feel reassured by the fact that there is a thin blanket covering you, but you question the change of dress anyway.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice comes from close beside you. “Are you with me?”

“Why am I naked?” you mumble by way of response.

“You had a very high fever from the infection. I had to cool you off quickly.”

You peek open your eyes slightly to see the Mandalorian sitting next to you on the floor of the cargo hold. “Am I gonna be okay?” you whisper.

Din squeezes your hand in his. “Yes, my love. Your fever broke last night and the infection seems to be calming down.”

“How long was I out?”

Din is silent for a long moment. You figure it must have been bad if he’s like this. “Three days,” he finally replies. You can hear the tiredness in his voice.

Silence stretches between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “Have you slept?” you ask.

Din huffs out a laugh. Leave it to you to be concerned about his wellbeing while you’re recovering from a stab wound. “I’m okay, cyar’ika. I can sleep now knowing you are on the mend.”

You hesitate to speak as he moves to rise from your side, but the feeling of his hand leaving yours is too much to bear. “Lay with me?” you ask shyly.

Din looks down at you and, not for the first time, you wish you could see his expression. Before you can apologize or overthink your request, he crouches back down. “Not here,” he murmurs, before reaching under you to carry you to his own bunk. You nuzzle yourself against his chest and notice the absence of his beskar armor.

He lays you down gently on the bed first, leaving enough room for himself. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs and you comply. You hear the familiar hissing sound of his helmet releasing, before the warmth of his body is behind you. He fits snugly around you, one arm resting across your waist but being careful to avoid your wound.

You let out a sigh of satisfaction, feeling secure in his hold.

“Rest, cyar’ika,” he says, chest rumbling against your back. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

>>>

part 2

[rossmacdonaldsgf]

be my mistake.

you can’t quite pinpoint the beginning of the end. it happened in a harsh blur of events that left you wounded and bleeding. your heart begged for mercy and rest as you watched the days aimlessly swim by in a circle of dread and sorrow. a hole shaped like him carved into your heart forevermore.

the time you spent together consisted of fleeting moments of love and tenderness. his hours ticking by as you helplessly clutched onto the strings, trying to sew together a future. he was cold and cruel, but he was warm and kind. he made your head hurt with his juxtaposing sides. forever spinning in a binding circle of happiness and him. he asked you to stay and you would. you did. forever. you would always stay as long as asked. so you still sat, a stone image of where he left you, cold and distant. the seasons changed but you always stayed, your hand reaching into the distance longing for a lingering touch.

immersed in the given darkness you watched the hope and light fade. he took away your opportunity to turn off the lights, leaving you in sinking darkness. across the city, he was sat, the city nightlife creating a hue of warm light in his room. he craved for darkness, the serenity it bought could’ve covered him with a shielding blanket away from his own tormented mind. he longed to feel you, smell you, love you, he ached in desperation to be with you again. he was trapped in a cage of his own mind, each time he blinked he was forced to replay the agonising moments it all went wrong. he was and forever would be, your mistake.

-

he was drunk. that much he could distinguish. his mind hazy and clouded, thoughts of you locked away as he clutched desperately onto the hips that weren’t yours. her hair was itchy, not comforting, her breath was too warm down his neck, too unfamiliar. her whisper was too harsh, she complimented his jeans, his mind was too hazy to remember where he got them. but you remembered, the day you fell so fast and hard, the day your life got caught up in a whirlwind of rock bands, tattoos and fame.

you had gone out together, browsing a few empty shops while interlocked in each others loving bubble, laughing and happy. he’d seen a pair of jeans, some old vintage ones, he declared he must have them, you bought them when he wasn’t looking. he’d swooped you in a kiss, declaring you the love of his life, you didn’t object.

the memory fought its way through the barricades of alcohol, battling its way to stop any decisions. she nestled closer, he pushed away the sick feeling in his stomach, the feeling that it wasn’t you. he took her home. not his home, a hotel room with clothes strewn across it, he felt nothing. he laid down next to her, his heart erratically beating, out of nerves or exhaustion he wasn’t sure. his head swam with the oncoming hangover and the guilt eating away at his thoughts. she threw her leg over his waist, nuzzling close to him, his body prickled, he didn’t want to hug. not now. not ever. not when she wasn’t you.

his eyes were heavy, the weight of exhaustion threatening to pull him into a slumber he wishes would last forever. she tries to talk, turning her head to look at him. his eyes water with the overpowering scent of lavender. a replica of your massage oil, he took it for granted, your soft hands. your loving touch. if he closed his eyes he could feel the lingering touch of your fingers melting away his anger. her touch was hard. he jolted away. she blamed it on the alcohol.

morning came with a noisy arrival. a repetitive banging awakening him. his head pounded, his vision blurry. his gaze fell upon a figure next to him, a figure he most certainly knew was not you. he dragged his feet, his muscles feeling heavy and weak, as if he were to collapse at any point. the door was heavy and agonisingly slow to open. your eyes were red, yet still so beautiful. he stared at you, for he feared if he dared to open his mouth, he’d be sick. sick out of guilt. you let out a breath that turned into a broken sob, his chin wobbled. he didn’t deserve to cry. not now, not ever. he explained a story that you had no care for. he got lonesome he said, he forgot he said, he’s sorry he said. god. all he does is speak, he’s not sorry you thought. ‘you’re not sorry.’ you said, it was quiet and broken, you were distant and cold, he felt your shame and longed to feel the warmth of your love. his chest heaved and for a moment you felt sorry, you opened your mouth, maybe to apologise or make a snarky comment, you weren’t quite sure. he told you to save the jokes. he shut the door, blocking you out. you reached a longing hand.

that night he drank. enough for george to tell him to quit and order a water. he didn’t touch it. the pristine liquid moving with each jolt of the table. each movement of the water making the nausea cascade in waves, he felt dizzy and unsure, if he were to try and walk he was sure he’d falter and fall. maybe he’d never get back up. maybe he’d never try. he took himself to the smoking area. he never fell.

his hand hovered over you. your picture so bright on his screen. the smile you held clawing at his heartstrings, he clicked, he wasn’t sure if he was expecting you to answer but you did, you were quiet, unsure. you weren’t you. his heart broke a bit more then, he wasn’t sure what to say. no word or sentence sounding good enough, he just whispered ‘she was my mistake.’ you hung up. he was thrust back into the memory of shutting the door on you, he wondered if that gave you the feeling of revenge, leaving him sat on the line, waiting to hear you. he felt angry, but he wasn’t sure at who.

he saw the girl who wasn’t you again, he felt lonely, he needed someone. he didn’t love her, no. but she made him feel good. she gave him that power back. but she wasn’t you. and she would never be. she never made him weak, never made him laugh so loudly people would turn, never made his eyes crinkle in the way that always gave you a chance to call him an old man. she never lived as hard as you. she just was there. he woke the next morning to a silence so deafening he covered his ears. no persistent banging on the door. just silence. torturous melancholy silence. you weren’t there. he wasn’t sure if you ever would be again.

the ghost of you trailed after his being in everything, he picked up his guitar and strummed a tune that sounded like you. his heart stopped for if he thought hard enough your lingering hand on his shoulder could be found. you could still see him sometimes, curled up in the duvet, sat on the sofa or waiting outside the door, but then you’d blink at he’d be gone. you watched his life through a screen knowing you’d never be part of it, your arms staying forever lonely with the reminder of his warmth. you don’t remember when you first heard the song. the lyrics lingering and stinging in a way that had you aching for salvation. he was your mistake. your loving, forever mistake. a mistake that would never be solved, he just lingered. and for you, you stayed in your ever lonely bubble, waiting for him, for if he’d come back. you think you’d let him be your mistake all over again.

[gloomiebearwritings]

W.I.P Whenever~

A teeny tiny snippet from something that'll take ages to finish because life is busy ( •̀ ω •́ ) Inspired by talks I've had with @chadillacboseman

It had been a few weeks since the outbreak started, and at least a solid two weeks since you’d lost contact with Simon. 

You hadn’t had any contact with anyone else either- just huddled down in a house you and two others managed to make safe enough to stay in for the time being. 

By now nightfall had already set in and both companions were still gone- maybe they got trapped or had to settle down for the night in some hole they found themselves in. And after making sure things were still holding up, you chose to try settling down for the night yourself.

But you didn’t even reach the end of the hallway before you heard the outside hatch leading to the basement fly open with force. The sounds of one of your companions racing towards the door, begging you to hurry up and open it- when you did he was covered in mud and soaking wet. His eyes were wide open as he frantically spun around to shut the door, but a strong, sickly gray hand grabbed the door away from him and practically ripped it off its hinges. 

From the near pitch black doorway sprung one of the un-dead who quickly pinned your companion against the wall, not even leaving you a second to consider helping him as he was dug into- leaving you only enough time and room to make a mad dash for your emergency exit. 

You didn’t even make it to the handle of the hatch before you felt the thudding footsteps come barreling towards you, and the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around your waist that ripped you away from your escape. The arms practically crushed you against the cold, wet material behind you, not even letting a sound escape you. 

And yet nothing came of it, you were just held there in a crushing grasp against a sopping wet un-dead. Something was off- you opened your eyes to see in the reflection of the window that familiar skeletal mask illuminated by the moonlight that peeked out from the clouds. Yet there was nothing there, those once warm, lively eyes were as cold as ice- hazed over just like all the others. “Simon-”

You could swear his eyes widened for a moment, as if he realized what he’d done before letting you go only to have you spun around to face him. 

His jaw hung slack as he stared you down, eyes looking like they were searching for why you were so stiff and leaning as far away from him as you were. It seemed like he was trying to find his words, or at least get them in line for you as his hands gripped your waist harder and harder. You'd think he was trying to crush your insides. Leaning in closer to your face, even as you pulled further away until you felt the wet skin of his lower jaw press against your forehead- a low rumble left him as if he was pleased with himself for “kissing” you. 

Now the edge of his headgear rested against your forehead as he remained leaned over, his milky eyes staring into your own as if to make sure you weren’t going to try bolting away from him before slowly bringing one hand away from your waist up to your face, his bloody glove leaving a streak across your cheek. As disjointed as his movements were, he seemed genuine in his attempts- even if it was leaving blood across your clothes and skin. “Y/N-” He barely croaked out, his voice sounding hoarse and worn out.

None of the others had ever uttered a word before, only screaming and yowling whenever they spotted something to tear apart. You pressed him, questioning if he actually understood what he just did or where he even was- but he didn’t respond, only straining out your name as he brought his bloody thumb over your lips. The feeling was horrendous and made you scrunch up, earning what sounded like an amused hum from Simon. 

The next few moments were still a blur, it still felt like a dream. You could remember hearing something coming into the room, the feeling of being ripped from his grasp, and the thud of your head on the floor. Between the blinding pains in your head you swore you saw Simon pick up the infected and break them in two, but at this point almost anything went.

Laid awkwardly on the bed you raised your head just enough to spot Simon at the end of the bed, facing away from you. Wanting to believe it was just a nightmare or that you were still dreaming you called out his name- but he didn’t turn to look at you, only stood up and left the room. You wanted to believe it was a dream you were having so badly that you couldn’t even be mad at him for walking away, only calling out his name louder until he came back into your blurry vision. He silently set down a glass next to you on the nightstand before moving your legs over enough for him to sit there next to you. You genuinely couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the water he brought you, only fixating on trying to force your vision to clear enough to see his face, only really grasping that familiar skull shape and his hand on your arm when you tried to reach for it.

You thought maybe he’d shove your hand away, only to be comforted by the feeling of his bottom lip against the back of your hand- his bare bottom lip against your bare skin, and it felt wet. 

Quickly you pulled your hand back to your side, glancing at it to see red smeared across where his mouth had been. You would have shot upright on the bed and moved as far away from him as you could if he hadn’t turned and moved practically on top of you to keep you still. 

His weight knocked the air out of you, his skull mask grazing the side of your face it used to when you’d play your games of cat and mouse- and just maybe in your delirious state you wanted to believe it was just that as you wrapped your legs around his waist, teasing him by questioning who really had who now. And while he never responded verbally, he hummed aloud and pressed his masked face to yours before pulling away to hover over you. Your vision was still blurry enough that your mind saw his sweet face instead of the ghastly, blood covered skull, smiling back at you in that sweet, familiar way. 

The feeling of your hands cupping his face made him feel alive again, forgetting wholly just what he’d become as he dipped his head down to kiss your face again like he did earlier in the night. He forced himself to stay aware enough of himself to not kiss your lips or nip at your skin- he wanted you alive as yourself for as long as he could keep you that way. He could feel it, mixing with that painful hunger, the feeling of missing you- of being inside you. It was fucked up beyond belief, he knew that much, but he also felt he had nothing left to strive for or want anymore. 

[geekywritings]

I thought you were dead

Another Cal Kestis x Reader story as requested by one of my lovely readers! Thank you very much for the idea: “Your writing is GORGEOUS! Would you mind wrighting a Cal x Reader where they get separated for a while (I mean like everyone is almost sure that Reader is dead) and the reaction to when the Reader shows up or when they run into Reader on a mission? Perhaps with a new scar? Like on their leg or something.“

_________

The chance of something bad happening to either of you, or any of the crew, had always been high. Such was the risk of working for someone like Saw Guerrera, after all. But Cal had not been prepared for the crippling sensation when the day did come.

The mission had appeared so easy. Go in, demolition the newly built Imperial supply base on Alderaan, steal as much intel as possible and leave. You had done it a dozen times already.

But this time, the clue you had received had been a trap. They had been waiting for you, ready to apprehend the terrorists that had been messing with their logistics for far too long. The crew had barely made it out alive. Well, most of the crew. You had been captured.

“We need to go.”, Bode, the newest member of your merry band had insisted and Cal had to agree through gritted teeth. Even if every part of his soul screamed to go back and look for you. If there was even a sliver of a chance of you being alive, he wanted to take it.

But the rest of the crew had given him the grief reminder that the Imperials weren’t known to show mercy. Especially not to rebel scum. All he could do now was come to terms with his loss and seek revenge.

For months, Cal fell into a hole, trying to fill the inner emptiness with work. His missions got more and more reckless, the fight more aggressive. He was beginning to walk dangerously close to the Dark Side, and he didn’t give a shit.

Attachments were forbidden for Jedi and now he partly understood why. Because losing the person in his heart broke him in ways he never could have imagined. If the loss of the Order and his Master had been bad, this was nothing short of a never-ending nightmare.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, trying to reach for your body next to his, just to find the space empty. Your clothes were still in the little cabin you shared on the Mantis, as Cal didn’t have the heart to remove them. Everything was as if you could return any moment and although the crew tried to convince the Jedi to let go, he refused. Something deep inside rejected the concept that you were truly gone.

Perhaps it was the Force whispering to him, because he was right. You were alive. Barely at first, but you were breathing. They had not shot you on the spot, which was a miracle in itself. What awaited you instead had been torture. Days and days of it in the hopes to extract some information about the rebellion. You didn’t say a word and tried to meditate instead, as Cal had taught you how to do.

Weeks passed between pain, unconsciousness, and despair until they finally grew bored. Instead of granting you a merciful death, they sent you to the Imperial prison on Wobani for hard labor. A mistake on their part, really. Didn’t they know who you were?

Getting out of the shithole was difficult, but not impossible. You just needed to bide your time to learn about the place, the people who worked there, the schedules of the transportation going in and out. After that, it was just a matter of moving quickly.

With the ship you stole, you made your way to the last rebel base you had called headquarters, switching ships in-between to cover your traces. All you wanted was to sleep for a few days. And maybe get a good meal.

But what awaited you at the landing platform was worth more than any comfortable bed or delicious food. The Mantis was there! You hadn’t expected it! Even though Cal had been on your mind constantly, the one thing that kept you going, you hadn’t thought to find him here.

“Cal…”, your voice didn’t carry, too parched from a lack of water.

Leaving your ship, you forced your body to walk across the platform and toward the familiar ship. As if on cue, the Jedi you were hoping to see emerged, looking left then right, his eyes stopping on you.

Impossible! He had thought he had felt you, but to see you there… Alive.

His pulse sped up a hundredfold, as he rushed toward you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close for what felt like eternity. You could feel his body shake lightly, his tears wetting your hair. You had never seen him like this. Then again, you were crying yourself, so you weren’t judging.

“How?”, he whispered, not managing to say much else.

“Long story…” You weren’t exactly capable of much more.

Finally releasing you, Cal took a good look at you, noticing the changes. You had lost weight, your hair a mess of knots and tangles and scars across your arms and even across your cheek and eyebrow. He could only imagine that there were more hiding beneath your clothes. Yet despite it all, he was just glad to see you alive.

“Are you in pain?”, he asked.

“I forgot what it’s like not to be in pain.”, you couldn’t hold back the bitter reply. “But I am even more tired and hungry. Imperial prisons aren’t exactly known for their excellent cuisine.” The humor was lost on Cal, as worry still reflected in his eyes.

“Let’s get you checked up. And then you can sleep and eat as much as you want.” And with that, he picked you up with ease, heading back toward the small base the rebels had built for themselves on this desolate moon.

“I never expected to see you again… But I thought of you every day.”, you whispered on the way.

“I thought of you too… I couldn’t accept that you were gone.”, he admitted, eyes on the road.

“Did you do stupid things while I was gone?”, you asked, noticing the change in him as well. Harder, more serious, broken in a new way.

“When am I not doing stupid things without your supervision?” Ah, he could still smile. The Cal you loved with all your heart was also still there. Relieved, you cuddled into him and fell asleep long before you even reached the medical unit. You were back. You were together again. And you would never be separated again, you both silently vowed.

[theoneprecioustome]

Aikoto Moments Masterlist: Episode Aigis

This list will focus on the remake. To see how it fares in comparison to the original, check this post.

Notes:

Since Makoto isn’t actually in the game, most of the list will focus on Aigis' side of their bond as well as the little things that connect them.

There will also be third party quotes about Aigis’ bond with Makoto.

I bolded the most important moments.

The post is image heavy & contains spoilers for the entire game.

When that person died, there was nothing she could do to bear the pain. The machine girl found herself thinking that she had no use for a heart that did nothing but let her feel pain. And thus, the girl's heart became a blue butterfly, which took flight, and the pain in her chest disappeared. However, in its stead, there was now a large, gaping, empty hole in her chest. The emptiness in her chest didn't hurt, but it also did not let her feel anything. She wasn't alive anymore. Nothing but an empty shell, devoid of emotions, cursed to stand still in time where she was forever with no place to move forward to. — Episode Aigis Epilogue, Persona 3 Official Fanbook. Translation by Nenilein.

PROMOS

✤ The Key Visual of Episode Aigis features Aikoto. What's more, it reveals that Makoto in the original P3R art was meant to be looking at Aigis all along, like two halves of a whole.

✤ Soejima released an illustration to celebrate Episode Aigis. The illustration features Aikoto & Metis.

✤ The First Edition of the Episode Aigis soundtrack comes with a double-sided Aikoto box featuring the Key Visual and their AOA attacks. This is what Lotus Juice had to say about it:

"In the cover, you see P3HERO and Aigis looking at each other... if you open it, they'll be separated... like they're almost within reach of each other, but aren't. I wonder if that feeling gets across to fans as well? It's very beautifully done."

✤ SEGA Korea welcomed September with an Aikoto Calendar featuring the Episode Aigis Key Art (alternative link).

✤ HINEMOS released two more Aikoto Sake bottles to commemorate the release of Episode Aigis.

OPENING

✤ Episode Aigis features an exclusive opening & song focused on Aigis' feelings after Makoto's loss. Full lyrics here and Analysis in the post linked above!

(Lost without you) But little things like the scent of his cologne Is a painful remindеr that he’s gone It feels like my heart is suffocating How do you make amends when you’re gone from me? Even though with a win, how come I feel so lost? Nothing makes sense to me I’m so numb, so lost without you

BATTLE SONG

✤ The new Battle Song, Don't, is also from Aigis' POV. While it focuses on Aigis' feelings through her conflict with SEES, it also has references to her feelings towards Makoto. Full lyrics here!

Already lost my keys to the door wide shut Only had one wish now it’s never gonna come true Trapped in time Forever in remorse How could I ever be in peace when nothing else matters to me?

MENU & UI

✤ In the menu, Aigis is shown holding a blue butterfly who flies away from her. According to the old devs, blue butterflies are used to symbolize Aigis' heart, which is the perfect imagery for Episode Aigis. Curiously, blue butterflies also often used in relation to Makoto, which carries very meaningful implications they're soulmates your honor.

✤ P3R's UI is meant to represent "the Protagonist's Sea of Souls", and it reflects their psychological state. True to form, Aigis is shown looking sad and lonely in hers, which is how she has felt since she lost Makoto. In the Equipment menu, we can even see her reach out before sadly retreating into herself, as if she were trying to catch someone who is now long gone.

PROLOGUE

✤ During the anime cutscene, we see a new rendition of Makoto's and Aigis' last moments together.

MARCH 31ST

✤ Aigis is the one who kept Makoto's Evoker after his passing.

✤ Aigis says that the one thing she feels certain of is that Makoto wouldn't have blame any of them for what happened, showing how well she understands him.

✤ Junpei comments that he’s glad Aigis has been “hanging in there” (spoiler: she isn't) because "It really seemed like you cared about him more than anything in the world."

✤ Aigis reveals that she remembers her last moment with Makoto whenever she closes her eyes. Depressed, she kept having the same dream over and over again: running after him, calling his name but never being able to catch up.

✤ She also recalls the promise she made him during the rooftop scene: "I promised to protect him, and I made that my reason for living. But now... that promise can never be fulfilled."

✤ Aigis says that one day, her sadness "mysteriously" left her. She stopped dreaming and requiring sleep. Unbeknownst to her, this is the event that draws The Abyss of Time to the dorms.

✤ When Aigis is scared of losing more precious people, she sees Makoto walking away from her and desperately tries to reach out to him. Then, Athena metamorphoses into Orpheus. It's interesting to notice that the effect used when Makoto disappears is the same effect used when Orpheus appears.

✤ Aigis and Makoto have the exact same Velvet Room and Aigis can even access his entire Compendium. In other words, they must share the same space “between dream and reality, mind and matter.”

✤ Elizabeth also explains that a Persona "represents one's heart and soul." Aigis can use Makoto's as if they were her own. Let that sink in!

✤ When Aigis thinks that reaching the Answer to Life may lead to her death, she is surprised to "discover how little the possibility bothered me." With Makoto gone, Aigis has lost her reason to live. It's to the point that when Aigis believes that she may die if she loses her key, she says: "If I did, then that would be fine..."

✤ During one of the activities with Metis, she comments on how fulfilled she feels whenever Aigis trusts her with something. If the player lets Aigis say "I think I understand", Metis will say: "Then you must have someone in your life who's just as important to you as you are to me." Which is quite big, because Aigis is literally Metis' everything lol

✤ Aigis getting Makoto’s power means she "inherited" something from him.”

✤ Aigis says early in the game that normally, people have a reason to awaken to their Persona, but that for her it was backwards. She had a persona and then she gained a reason (protecting Makoto). Later, we discover that the reason for her awakening to the Wild Card was that with Makoto gone, she has lost her purpose and her reason to live.

✤ The door that lies in the deepest part of The Abyss of Time leads to Aigis’ past and the moment she awoke to the "Persona abilities" Makoto had. In here we see Aigis' dream, the one where she runs after Makoto, trying to reach him in vain. We also find out that she was in so much pain and so lost after his passing that she wished she could go back to being just a machine again.

It was so painful losing him... I couldn't bring myself to do anything, so... I just hid in my room. For a while, I did nothing but chase after him in my dreams...

✤ Aigis' trophy is called "The one who dreamt", after her dream of Makoto.

✤ After the fight with Shadow!Makoto, he disintegrates into blue butterflies as Aigis desperately reaches out for him.

✤ Aigis can't decide whether she wants to go back to the past, or respect Makoto's sacrifice and remain in the present. Irritated by Aigis' predicament, Yukari accuses her of running away from her own feelings for Makoto.

✤ Metis explains that she would do anything to protect Aigis, because she is "all she has". This prompts Aigis to say that she, too, once felt the same way about someone.

✤ Aigis being willing to lay down her life to not have to fight her friends makes Metis break down. She echoes all of Aigis' buried feelings at Makoto's sacrifice. "Why do you have to die? Why does it have to be you...? Why can't it... be me instead? Please don't leave me behind... I'll give my life for the key, too! And if that doesn't work... then I'm coming with you! So we can always be together... Please, don't leave me all alone!" 😭

✤ Aigis realizes that she has been running away from her own feelings. Before going back to the past, she needs to know why Makoto did what he did—because she won't give up on what's important to her.

✤ After that fight, Aigis finally acknowledges that she wants Makoto back, too, and explains that she needs to know exactly what he did before she can make a choice. Despite her own feelings, Makoto's come first to her 😭

✤ Aigis screams "No!" as Erebus aims for Makoto. We also get two new shots of Aikoto's last moments together, showing Makoto smiling peacefully on Aigis' lap.

✤ After the final fight, Yukari acknowledges her jealousy over Aigis inhering Makoto's power and says that just like Makoto, Aigis is the one who knows how to move forward.

✤ Aigis reaches the very same Answer to Life that Makoto did: Friendship and Bonds are what give people life.

✤ Metis tells Aigis that there's still a way for Aigis to keep her promise to protect Makoto, and that is by fostering connections with others, so that they may one day reach the same answer they did.

✤ Metis is revealed to be Aigis' Shadow: the manifestation of the heart Aigis wished away after losing Makoto.

✤ Once Aigis regains her heart, she breaks down crying at last, finally processing her grief at losing Makoto.

✤ Before she fully fades away, we hear Metis' voice talking to Aigis and telling her how she can reach Makoto so he won't have to carry on alone anymore.

ENDING

✤ Aigis goes back to the rooftop for the final cut-scene. Just like that last day she spent with him, there are cherry blossom petals blowing in the wind.

✤ The credit song, Brand New Days, is once again from Aigis' POV. It focuses on her feelings towards SEES and Makoto as she walks forward into a new tomorrow.

There are days when I tire of calling out the meaning of my life, and my head droops But still, in my heart (So look up to you) Is your smile

✤ During the credits, we see Aigis looking back over her shoulder as she walks through the Moonlight Bridge (the place that started it all for her and Makoto). Lastly, cherry blossoms once again welcome her when she reaches the school. Considering their meaning (Don't forget about me), I'd like to think they're yet another reference to the fact that Aigis will go on living—forever carrying her memories of him.

✤ The Clear Data Save features Aigis' portrait over a cherry blossom background. If you beat the game on Heartless, a cherry-blossom-colored butterfly is added and placed over Aigis' heart.

EXTRAS

✤ In Orpheus' myth, he descends to the underworld in search of his dead wife, Eurydice, but ultimately fails and finds his own death. Knowing this makes Aigis having Orpheus as her main Persona even more meaningful. Not only is Orpheus' Makoto's Persona—so it's like he's left a piece of himself with her, his own version of I'll Never Leave You—it also represents Aigis' plight during Episode Aigis: either moving forward or going back to the past in search of Makoto. Unlike Orpheus, Aigis is eventually able to move forward carrying her memories of her beloved with her.

✤ Aigis' Compendium is signaled by a bookmark with a red butterfly, while Makoto's is the same bookmark but with a blue butterfly.

✤ Two dictionary entries evoke Aikoto. The first is That Day, which mentions it's "the last day Aigis ever spoke to him." The second is Aigis' Past.

✤ One of Elizabeth dialogues is "Do you posses the power to overcome any adversity as well? Just as he did...?" Another of her dialogues foreshadows Elizabeth wanting to ask Aigis to help her free Makoto's soul from the seal ("When the time comes, I may ask you to..."), just like in Persona 4 Arena.

✤ When Fuuka learns that Aigis may die if her key is taken, Aigis explains that she didn't want SEES to worry over her, too, when they're all "doing what they feel is best... for him..."

✤ Just like in The Answer, Yukari spends the game jealous of Aigis because she heard Makoto's last words and inherited his power—although this time she luckily handles it a lot better. This leads Mitsuru to explain that Yukari doesn't mean Aigis any malice; as she does so, she acknowledges Aigis' feelings and says that Makoto did no mean any less to Aigis than he did to Yukari. Later, Yukari herself ends up acknowledging Aigis' feelings and suffering over Makoto, strengthening their friendship.

✤ It's revealed that both Mitsuru and Yukari made promises to Makoto, or rather, to themselves after Makoto's passing. This bears mentioning because Aigis' promise to Makoto is never described in such terms in the game. At the contrary, in the original game, Yukari even goes as far as comparing them to say that unlike Aigis' promise to Makoto (あなたと違う), hers was one-sided (一方的に), highlighting that Makoto was there to acknowledge Aigis'.

✤ Metis tells Aigis that "The souls of all living things are connected through a plane similar to a sea." The Seal of Souls is likely where Makoto & Aigis are shown together in the opening, and the storyboards even describe it as an "unexpected reunion" 😭

✤ Mitsuru decides to give everyone their Evokers back, so it’s fair to assume Aigis still has Makoto’s.

✤ The Persona 3 Official Fanbook holds a short story about Aigis and Metis (I included an excerpt of it at the top of this post) and a column on the symbolism behind Aigis getting Orpheus (Orpheus, just like Aigis, went to the underworld in search of his lost beloved). While it's not material that came out with this version of Episode Aigis, it's still as relevant (and touching) as ever, so I really recommend reading it.

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 6 - Alfie Solomons

Alfie Solomons x male!reader

Prompt: Hostile environment/"I don't know how anyone could survive that."

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries, death, the brutal conditions of ww1, rats, swearing,

Summary: A poorly planned attack leaves you stuck in no man's land. Even if you make it back to the so called "safety" of the English trenches, nothing will ever be the same.

With every passing moment, the cold of the mud was seeping further into your bones. The frigid water the filled one side of the fox hole was already beginning to soak your legs.

German bullets still whizzed over head, picking off the rest of your squad as they scrambled for cover, and the safety of the trenches they would never reach.

Beside you Miller's shaky, gasping breaths were coming quicker and quicker. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to ignore his hands pawing at you, begging for help you couldn't give.

"Please- ple- pl-"

His last shuddering breath gave out, and he was still beside you. You kept your eyes screwed shut, struggling to force your lungs to work again.

For a moment, the bombardment stopped and you peeled your eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of the ash gray and smoke filled sky.

Once, there had been blue skies here. Blue skies, and green fields, eaten up and spit out by the war machine. Eaten up and spit out, just like you and the other men scattered across the smoldering, toxic land that laid between the two trenches.

Had any of your squad made it back? You had barely started to move, in an attempt to peer over the top of your hiding spot, when the return fire began, leaving you trapped, pinned down by your own men.

As afternoon turned to late evening, the bullets whizzing overhead remained constant. Somewhere, a few yards from your fox hole, you could hear something un human letting out grunts of pain. You tried not to think of what injured beast, or dying man was laying there, and why no one would put it out of its misery.

You couldn't stop yourself from shivering now, even huddled close to Miller, and your breathe hung above you, in great white clouds. Your feet and ankles had long since gone numb in your soaked boots.

As night fell, you knew that there was no chances of anyone coming for you. Even if any members of your squad had made it back, how could they report you alive? When they'd last seen you, you'd been being dragged head first into a shell crater by a wounded Miller flailing for balance.

Something small and dark skittered over your leg, and it took all your strength to keep your stomach from heaving as you heard small, sharp teeth beginning to tear at the wound in Miller's side.

You couldn't stay here.

~~~

Half a mile away, in the so called safety of the officers quarters, Alfie found himself staring down at the report he'd never wanted to make. He'd known the attack was a bad idea.

Well. He'd had a bad feeling about it anyway. Of course the intel had turned out to be bad. Of course he'd gone and lost the only thing he had to lose in this whole damn thing.

He'd gone and lost you.

The report in front of him now was detailing the extent of that loss. The list of names he was jotting down was long, and mostly uncomfired, but the worst was the last name on the list, which he couldn't bring himself to copy onto the official report.

Your name sat there, staring up at him in smudged graphite. Taunting him, and all the decisions he'd made that had brought the two of you here. All the times where he'd had the opportunity to send you home and out of harms way that he didn't take.

A knock on the door frame pulled his attention away to find Peterson standing in the doorway, "Captain?"

He let out a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face, "What is it?"

"Duggan's spotted something. Coming this way."

Alfie groaned, starting to stand up, "'f it's more fuckin krauts wha-"

"No krauts, Cap- 'e says it looks like someone's crawling through no mans land."

That had Alfie on his feet, and moving away from the makeshift desk, "One of ours?"

"That's what we're trying to find out Captain."

Alfie motioned for him to lead the way, following the private through the narrow passage of the quarter and out into the main trench. Duggan's position was in the outer defense line, and it took a few tense seconds to reach the sniper.

"There you are- I finally got a clean shot on the bastard," Duggan scoffed as they came around the corner toward him, "And guess what I see?"

"What?" Alfie asked gruffly.

The sniper gave him a half assed salute, "It's one of ours. One of those poor fuckers what got sent up the middle."

Alfie motioned for Duggan to move, taking his place on the perch and grabbing for his binoculars.

"Really?" Peterson was asking, "Thought that most of them boys got shot up."

"Yeah. Shot to god damn pieces. I mean split down the middle by fire, caught between a rock and a hard place, with that mess to get back through?"

The words grated against Alfie as he searched the field, allowing himself to hope against hope. When he caught sight of low movement, he could make out no more than the edge of a helmet, and dark mud stained khaki.

"I don't know how anyone could survive that." Duggan was saying.

"How far out do you reckon he is?" Alfie asked abruptly.

Duggan shrugged, "Couple hundred yards, maybe. Problem is the second we go over the top for 'im the German's 'ill have eyes on us."

Alfie frowned, considering the possibilities.

"You're not seriously thinking....?" Peterson hazarded.

Duggan gaped at him, "Captain with all due respect-"

"I never said we were doing anything," Alfie snapped, "You're right, there's no way to get to him. Keep me posted."

The wait was agony. Alfie paced back and forth along the narrow passages of the officer's quarters, a hand worrying through his beard.

It seemed like an eternity later, when he stepped out into the main trench again, unable to wait any longer when he heard a yell in this distance.

"Christ it's (y/l/n)! Get the Captain!"

He was already halfway out to the outer line by the time Duggan was crashing into him, stammering your name, and all but dragging him to come.

"How is 'e?" Alfie demanded as they lumbered along.

"Not a more than a fucking scratch on 'im!" Duggan laughed bitterly, "The lucky fuckin basatard."

The relief of making it back to the trench was so immense it almost beat out the feeling of Miller's phantom hands grabbing at your arm, his choked voice in your ears. Almost.

You'd barley been hauled to your feet by an astounded Peterson when Alfie was shoving his way into the circle of men crowding you, the relief barley hidden on his face.

You looked at each other for a long moment, a thousand words passing between you without either of you needed to open your mouths.

Alfie threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the crowd, "Let's get you cleaned up, matey, eh?"

You leaned into his touch, silently praying that no one around you would notice, or think it anything but a friendly touch between friends who had nearly lost each other.

[wingedblooms]

A rose in the thorns

Remember when Madja told us that the Cauldron made its mark deepest in the mind? And then Sarah showed us this:

The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

Her flowers are described as sleeping buds that are tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. Feyre describes her mental gates this way just before Elain uses powers that might be connected to mystics. And then, as others have pointed out, Sarah shows us this in the next book:

But Mor scented nothing, saw nothing. The tendril of power she speared toward the woods revealed only the usual birds and small beasts. A hart drinking from a hole in an iced-over stream. Nothing, except - There, between a snarl of thorns. A patch of darkness. It did not move, did not seem to do anything but linger. And watch. Familiar and yet foreign. Something in her power whispered not to touch it, not to go near it. Even from this distance. Mor obeyed. But she still watched that darkness in the thorns, as if a shadow had fallen asleep among them. Not like Azriel's shadows, twining and whispering. Something different. Something that stared back, watching her in turn. (Mor's pov, acofas)

A shadowy watcher in the woods, as if it had fallen asleep in the thorns. That imagery is eerily similar to Elain's sleeping buds. As a seer, she can find and watch others from afar.

"This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world." (Suriel, acowar)

Mystics seek a higher consciousness, to become one with the divine. In tog, beings of a higher consciousness are what characters referred to as gods. And what did we learn about them from the memory in the witch mirror?

They had no forms. They were only figments of light and shadow, wind and rain, song and memory. Each individual, and yet a part of one majority, one consciousness. (eos)

If mystics become one with the divine, then this might mean they become part of that greater consciousness, travel like figments of light and shadow. This could explain why Elain is paired with the half-wraith twins and it’s possible her mystical travel might mimic how Feyre moves when she is connected to the Cauldron through a living bond.

I could not remove my hand. Could not pry my fingers away. I was being shredded apart, slowly, thoroughly. I flung my magic out, desperate for any chain to this world to save me, keep me from being devoured by the eternal, awful thing that now tried to drag me into its embrace. Fire and water and light and wind and ice and night. All rallied. All failed me. Some tether slipped, and my mind slid closer to the Cauldron’s outstretched arms. I felt it touch me. And then I was half gone. Half there, standing silently next to the Cauldron, hand glued to the black rim. Half … elsewhere. Flying through the world. Searching. The Cauldron now hunted for that power that had come so close…And now taunted it. [...] Time seemed to slow and warp. The dark power of the king speared toward us. Toward that clearing where I was neither seen nor heard, where I was nothing but a scrap of soul carried on a black wind. (acowar)

Feyre’s connection to her form is shredded and her tether to the world slips as she is embraced by the Cauldron. She travels with it across the battlefield, a scrap of soul on a black wind, and is forced to watch tragic events unfold. Trapped by the Cauldron, Feyre was not able to step out of its black wind shadow to help, but Elain was.

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas. But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” (acowar)

And this is probably why Elain’s rose is half-hidden in shadows next to the Mother. Her Cauldron-blessed powers might allow her to be half-there, half-elsewhere when she becomes part of that greater, divine consciousness.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess–perhaps even the Mother herself. (acosf)

It’s possible she used this power to locate the Suriel, which was practice for the main event: answering Feyre’s pleas and taking down Hybern in place of the Cauldron. Her Sight—a truth teller itself—likely activated Truth-Teller, guiding her to exactly the right place at the right time. The question is, since she is not bound like Feyre, did she then winnow (ie, travel like Hope through the Void, light cutting through the darkness) to save her family? And has she continued to help them in this way?

Islands of grass dotted the expanse, some so crowded with brambles that he could find no safe place to land. The tangles of thorns were a mockery of what might have been - as if Oorid had ever produced roses. Not a single flower bloomed. [...] Run, a small voice whispered. Run and run, and do not look back. The voice was female, gentle. Wise and serene. Run. [...] Run. Was that voice merely all that remained of her human instincts, or something more? She gazed at her reflection as if it would tell her. Something rustled in the thorns of the island, and she snapped up her head, heart thundering as she scanned for that familiar male face and wings. But there was no sign of Cassian. And whatever was in that bramble...She should find another island to head for. (acosf)

This small voice warning Nesta to run also reminds me of Elain’s warning cry to Feyre before she is Made by the Cauldron.

My sisters were shrieking over their gags. But Elain’s cry—a warning. A warning to—To my right, now exposed, Tamlin ran for me. To grab me at last. I hurled a knife at him—as hard as I could. (acomaf)

Sarah planted Nesta’s questions in the Oorid scene to make us wonder. Is this voice something more? And is Nesta’s reflection, her own flesh and blood, a fun hint? After all, who is even better than the spymaster at keeping secrets, and who would’ve known where Nesta was headed? Elain might have defied her sister’s order (like we knew she would) to stay away from the Cauldron and help yet again, a rose bloom half-hidden in the shadows among the thorns. And I bet she will learn a ritual to help focus and ground her movements.

[simplydannie]

Previous “The Meeting”

Based on @zephyrmars ask here!

Upon looking for his family, Floyd finds himself in the most unlikely places…and at the hands of two teens he didn’t know were set to change his life forever.

“Gone…. They’re gone…” Floyd stood at the center of the Troll tree… It now lay empty, not a single soul in sight… the Trolls were gone, all gone. Floyd fell to his knees. Did they all get eaten? Did they escape? His heart sank.

Branch… little Branch.

“I just left him… I thought… I didnt….” His colors began to fade. He looked around, he peeked inside the tiny homes…Everything was still here, nothing was taken, nothing was broken… they saw the opportunity and ran for it, they had too. Hopping down to the base of the tree he saw holes, giant ones. It seems in their attempt to retrieve them, the Bergens dug, and dug. Yes, they did escape.

“They have to be alive… I have to find where they went.” He said to himself. Getting up he ran out of the Troll tree before any Bergens saw.

For nearly 20 years he had roamed in isolation looking for his family, for any sight of Pop Trolls.. Floyds colors were completely gone, wasted, not a single dose of happiness left in him. He sat on top of a tree branch curled into a ball…the way he spent most nights…If 20 years of searching led him nowhere, then he was completely hopeless. Tears began filling his eyes like they did every night. That’s when heard the voice. Peeping down below he saw hooded figures, giant hooded figures…he’d never really seen anything like them before. They weren’t Bergens, their features were almost doll-like…

“You find any?”

“Nope. Seems like we’re all dry on this end.”

“Dammit. We’ll search another location tomorrow. These Trolls only have so much to where they can hide now.”

Floyd’s ears had perked up at the mention of Trolls. He had grown desperate by now, any mention of them was a hopeful one since all the villages he had run into didn’t have his family….Maybe, just maybe…

In the blink of an eye, Floyd flung himself from the top of the tree into their vehicle below. He hid from view of these giant creatures.

“Please, please, take me to my family.” He whispered to himself as the vehicle began to move…

That’s how he found his way in Under Rageous, that’s how he found himself trapped by two greened haired teens. Floyd had no idea where he was being carried too. All he could hear were the voices of the two figures…

“He doesn’t look so good Vels.”

“Doesn’t matter. A Troll is a Troll and a Troll means bitz.” He heard the female voice say.

Floyd stretched out his tiny arms to reach for the cloth that covered the trap he was in, but not luck… he pulled the tiny bars surrounding him, banging them hoping they’d budge, nothing, he was trapped…

“Are you sure about this?” He heard the male voice speak again.

“Stop it Ven. We’re doing this. Stay here.” Floyd heard her footsteps fade away. The Troll was curled into a corner when the cover was lifted. His eyes adjusted to the dim lights. Floyd was able to get a good look at the kid this time: stringy green hair under a purple beanie, pale, pale porcelain like skin. A doll like face, but covered in scars, a tired look in his giant eyes…He looked at Floyd with a sad expression…There were no words between them for a moment, just silence as they looked at each other.

“I’ve never met a REAL Troll.” The boy said. Floyd remained silent. “Why are you gray? They said Trolls have the prettiest colors, but you don’t have any.” A look of concern crossed his face. “Are you sick? Do Trolls get sick?……Do Trolls even talk? Do you even understand me?” He blabbed. Floyd couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his face….in some form or another, his curiosity reminded him of Branch.

“I understand you.” Floyd responded.

“Oh thank God! I thought I was talking to my own for a minute there.” The boy had moved himself into a corner far from view. “What’s your name?”

“…..Floyd. What’s yours?”

“Veneer! And the girl you saw with me is my sister, Velvet. She’s moody, but she’s nice enough.”

Silence passed between them again when Veneer finally asked, “Why are you all gray?”

“I….” It took a moment for the Troll to respond, to find the right words… “I just lost my colors…”

“You can do that?”

“When a Troll looses all sense of hope and happiness…Yes, it happens.” Floyd curled himself into tighter ball.

“Why are you not happy?”

“My family…I can’t find them.” The Troll buried his face into his knees. Veneer’s heart sank…He had a family. Trolls. They all had families. And here were Under Rageons taking them and selling them for their own personal gain. He glanced around, he was far from eyes, far from view. Opening his trap, Veneer reached inside and gently scooped the Troll up in his hands and placed him in the pockets of his red vest.

“What are you-“

“Shhh.” Veneer hushed him. He tore apart a section of the trap, making it seem as if the Troll had escaped. Veneer draped the cloth back over it. “Stay quiet.”

Within moments his sister appeared with a male Rageon beside her, a few years older than they were. “There it is.” She pointed to the trap Veneer still held in his hands.

“Nice one, Ven. Seems you have slowly proven yourself to our group.” The male Rageon responded. Veneer swallowed the lump that was in his throat, trying his best to hide the fear behind a smile. “Give it here.”

Hesitantly, Veneer reached over and gave the trap to the Rageon, “Those bitz are all ours! You know how much money this little Troll is going to- What the hell!” Upon uncovering the trap, he saw that it was empty, the little metal bars broken and bent, “Where is it! What the heck happened!”

“VEN?” Velvet glanced at him wide-eyed.

“He was there. He was there I swear! We…we both saw it.” Veneer replied.

“WELL IT’S NOT HERE NOW IS IT!” The male Rageon tossed the trap straight into Veneer’s face causing him to stagger back, his body began trembling in fear.

“It escaped. We’ll go find another one.” Velvet tried to intervene.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CATCH ONE ROAMING AROUND IN UNDER RAGEOUS! THEY’RE DAMN GONE AROUND OUTSIDE TOO! THIS WAS OUR CHANCE! YOUR STUPID BROTHER RUINED IT WITH HIS STUPID TRAP!” He shoved Velvet out of the way and made his way to Veneer, grasping him by the collar of his shirt. “YOU SAID TO TRUST YOU! THAT YOUR TRAP WOULD WORK! AND WE DID! YOU FREAKING IDIOT!”

SMACK.

He hit Veneer clear across the face.

SMACK.

He hit him again.

SMACK.

And again.

“Stop it!” Velvet jumped in just as he was about to hit another blow, hitting her instead. She held her face and winced at the pain it left her.

“Your brother has caused us enough trouble, he has lost us enough bitz. We’re done. You’re no longer part of this group. You work and fend for yourselves now! One thousand bitz! That’s how much you need to pay us back. If you don’t, we will find you.” With his boot he kicked dirt in both their faces. Veneer spat out blood as he felt a loose tooth somewhere inside.

“Vels! Vels are you okay?” He went over to his sister, checking her face.

“Me? You’re the one he let hell on!” She grabbed his face looking at him up and down. “God, it’s going to swell. We better get home and ice it now.” She grabbed his hand and began to walk away.

“Um, Vels…” Veneer attempted to speak as she dragged him down the streets of Under Rageous. They passed by various Rageons and Bergens alike. They scoffed and laughed as they saw his condition.

“Mind your business! Giant apes.” Velvet yelled.

“Vels…I have something I need to tell you…”

“Not now Ven. I just want to get home.”

“Vels you have to listen, and you can’t get mad….”

She stopped, she turned and looked at him, “Mad at what?”

Veneer pulled her into a dark, empty alleyway. He pulled her behind dumpsters away from any eyes, “Please, don’t get mad.”

“What the hell Ven, spit it out!”

He reached into his pocket in hopes he was still there…He was. Veneer wrapped his hand gently around Floyd, bringing him out he showed him to Velvet. Her mouth dropped. Her eyes moved rapidly between the Troll and her brother.

“You….YOU LIED!” She yelled.

“I had too. It didn’t feel right. He doesn’t look good. Just look at him Vels. And he has a family!”

“BITZ VENEER! WE LOST ON BITZ!”

“You know we would only see not even half of what we would’ve gotten for him. You know that!”

“WE OWE THEM BITZ NOW BECAUSE OF THIS VENEER!”

“Don’t worry about that…I have some saved up. Vel’s we need to make sure he get’s out of here. What if his family is here? We could help him find them?”

Floyd looked back and forth at the arguing siblings. They reminded him a lot of his own…He looked at Veneer. His face was bruised, his mouth bleeding, all because he wanted to save him. Protect him..

“Can I say something?” Floyd called up to them. Both Rageons glanced down at him, “Thank you. You, you didn’t have to do that.”

Veneer smiled, while Velvet scowled.

“Why do you always have to be like this Veneer?” She said.

“I can’t help it…He needs his family.”

Floyd smiled, but a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He fainted at the palm of Veneer’s hand. All he remembered hearing was the sound of the Rageon boy screaming his name.

The smell of warm food is what awoke Floyd. He opened his tiny eyes and found himself wrapped in a small cloth, a sock was made into a pillow for him. He find himself in a small home that reminded him a little bit of the single roomed Troll homes. Floyd heard bickering. He turned towards the small kitchen and saw both twins hovering over the stove.

“Garlic powder. Mom said garlic is good for the immune system.” Velvet said.

“Wasn’t it onion?”

“No garlic.”

“I swear it was onion.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s garlic Veneer!”

“…..it’s onion….”

Velvet threw a wooden spoon hitting the top of his head. Floyd found himself smiling a lot this day…something about these two just clicked with him. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being surrounded by a family like this for the first time in a long while, a family that reminded him of his own. He looked around and saw there was not sign of their parents or anyone else. Were they on their own? This young? He’d guess they were only about sixteen, maybe even fifteen.

The twins turned around to see he had woken up, “Oh you’re awake!” Veneer beamed.

“…Joy…” Velvet rolled her eyes and went to sit on a small couch they had. Veneer had found the smallest bowl and spoon they had.

“..Yeah that’s still kind of big.” He said placing the bowl in front of Floyd.

“It’s fine. Trolls can have a big appetite. It smells good.”

“Our mom would make this when we were sick, and you looked kind of sick. OH! Vels agreed you could stay as long as you needed too.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” The girl had laid herself on the couch and closed her eyes.

Floyd smiled, “Thank you. I think this is the most rest I’ve had in the longest time.” He began taking sips of the soup when he saw Veneer eyeing him curiously. “What?”

“I don’t know if it’s just me, maybe it’s the lighting? But…You’re not looking as gray as you did when I first saw you. Is your color coming back?”

[bramble-mouse]

A giant is in a sticky situation and they have to rely on there tiny friend to help them get out, or it’s the other way, Or both!

My immediate thought: glue trap. I may use the prompt again where a giant needs a hand!

Mice were pests- at least that was how the beans viewed them. They were horrid little things that stole food, left droppings in the pantry and bit holes in bags. But really, mice were actually very lovely creatures. At least Plumeria Mossdew thought as much. They shared many of the same characteristics that borrowers had- large ears, fur, cute tails, claws. Rats could be frightening (though some were sweet when hand-reared from pups), brown spiders were nightmarish and owls were a worst case scenario for a borrower, especially since she lived alone- out in the garden, no less. Food and water were easily found, her little twig cabin tucked away on the property boundary. Yes, there as much to be found out in this vast wilderness of a bean's yard, but sometimes Plumeria had to venture inside the house and find what she could not come by outside. Flour, fabric, buttons, needles, thread, spices- all manner of wonders Plumeria felt it was worth the danger to grab. Normally, she had no problem. The elderly bean that lived there napped often or contented herself listening to old jazz tunes on the radio while she crocheted. Sometimes, Plumeria paused to watch her work, appreciating the dedicating in those weathered, patient fingers. But as time passed, the old granny's fingers grew shakier, her face thinner. One day, after Plumeria had been gone for a food few months, the granny was no where to be seen. She feared the worst, felt a pit settle into her stomach when she found a crochet hook put away, not a bit of yarn in sight.

Plumeria cried that night and decided to stay in the house. After all, she'd never once seen a soul visit the old lady as long as they'd both lived here. She would miss the bean, her quiet contentment with a simple life, a friend who Plumeria doubted ever knew she existed. Staying proved a poor choice. Because the following day hen Plumeria decided to take a few more things out of the kitchen and say hello to the little mouse family living in the walls, she fell prey to more than prying eyes. A pest. Was this how so many mice and rats died? Plumeria lay immobile, eyes red and puffy from sobbing all night and her round glasses askew on her face. A glue trap. Yes, she'd heard of them, of the horrific manner in which sweet rodents died on them. Would Plumeria be the first borrower to meet her end here, unable to move as she starved to death? The fear and exhaustion lasted the night until she succumbed to exhaustion.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" A voice boomed. It was masculine in nature.

Plumeria's eyes cracked open, half-sealed by dried tears. The ground shook. A bean. "Of course I'm pissed! Glue traps are inhumane! I don't fucking care if there are mice, you could have asked me first!" The voice continued to shout. Plumeria's head swam. Should she have been afraid? Or perhaps her struggling and crying through the night had deprived her of that ability now. All she could see was the far away cieling, cobwebs clinging to the corner above her, a little overhanging of countertop half obscuring any further sights.

She thought to turn her head but the glue trap impeded much movement. Still, Plumeria mustered some strength and found a bean in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans stooped over collecting another glue trap off the ground, his other hand holding a phone to his ear. At least...Plumeria assumed it was a phone. It wasn't like the old woman's, a blocky thing that sat in a reciever. This bean's was flatter, with a colourful case covered in illustrations of insects. "Gran left me this house. In her will. Look at the fucking will. I don't want you in here again if you're gonna do shit like this." The bean growled in the reciever and stood up, crunching the glue trap in his hand. He realized his error a moment later when he swore under his breath and tried to shake the trap. It was stuck to his hand. He groaned. "I have to go. I'm changing the locks, and you're not getting this fucking house from me to demolish. I don't fucking care how much gran's land will fetch you, you never even called her. Not even once, and you were in town." The bean paused. Whoever was on the other end of the line had plenty to say because the bean had to draw in a deep breath. "Gran's barely been dead a few days, you scummy fuck. We're done." The bean hung up, pocketed his phone and ran his fingers through a thicket of curly black hair. "Fucking christ..." He exhaled, shaking his glue-trapped hand again.

Anger. No, not just anger but anger at the treatment of pests- of creatures like the lovely mice in the wall, like Plumeria. The impulse grew, a new hope and desperation blooming in the borrower's chest. It went against everything her late parents had taught her, to reveal yourself to a bean but at the end of the day, this bean would either find her now or find her desiccated corpse moldering on this trap.

"...H....Help." Plumeria's fluttering voice rasped as loud as she could manage. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she summoned her courage, her energy and tried again, loud as she could. "H...Help me...P...Please..." She closed her eyes, tired from even that small effort. She was so hungry, so thirsty, so tired. Had she only been there only night, stuck to the trap or had it been longer? Plumeria wasn't certain. But when the ground tremored again with bean footsteps and a shadow fell over the trapped borrower, she managed to open her eyes again, beady and red. And full of a panicked face, freckled and green eyed, marked with a septum ring.

"....Holy fuck." The bean stammered, the words like vomit as he fell to his knees. It felt like an earthquake. "I'm hallucinating, I'm..." Plumeria's gaze stared up, pleading. Would he walk away, assuming she wasn't real? Was she about to die after all? The bean let out a humourless chuckle and got to his feet. He crossed the kitchen, opened a cabinet and took a bottle of something out. He took a washcloth from beside the sink, then crouched down in front of her again. The bean opened the bottle and when the neck hovered over top of her, Plumeria managed a weak whimper. "Look, I..." The bean hesitated. "It's olive oil, and...I'm just gonna use a little bit to help you get free, alright? And...if I'm crazy and you're not real then I guess I'm just pouring olive oil on an empty glue trap." Plumeria drew in a deep, shaking breath. She said nothing and closed her eyes. Oil cascaded thickly over her lower half. The bean was being slow about this, methodical, as if he'd done this many, many times. Consciousness was difficult, and so Plumeria flitted in and out, only half aware of the gentle strokes of a cloth, of ginger pulling on her lips to get her free. This would be over the next time Plumeria woke, she decided. She would be free or she would be dead, succumb to the stress of it all, of a body strained to its limits.

Author's Notes: I'm gonna be continuing this so no, Plumeria has not succumbed to a glue trap! It might be a bit clunky but I still wrote something! Thank you again for a fun prompt anon :D

[lovejosephquinn]

I’d like to apologise for my sudden outburst, please enjoy my random Saturday afternoon smutty thought.

💀 UNDER 18s DNI TYSM.

Just imagine Joe not being able to wait to get home after a night out to have his way with you. Your boyfriends devilish, dominant side had come out to play and with you both being severely intoxicated and horny as fuck, it was inevitable that you couldn’t last another minute without laying hands on each other. “Fuck my cocks raging for you, beautiful.”

Imagine him dragging you down a dark alleyway away from the lit up streets and crushing you with all his body weight against a wall, gripping your arms up against it so you can’t move and kissing you desperately, feeling every movement of his tongue dance around yours, biting down on your lip swiftly and clutching onto your face, his fingers squeezing the life out of your cheeks. Lifting up your dress and finding your clit to begin lapping his finger tips in circles, hitting a particular sensitive spot with every rub, making your legs jolt rapidly, if it weren’t for him holding onto your arms above your head, you’d be long gone on the floor.

Imagine letting one of your hands escape and cupping the palm of your hand straight over his trousers, massaging into his erection earning small whimpers and even more desperation from his lips as they move down to mark your neck.

Imagine him bending you over lifting up your dress completely to your hips, exposing you from the waist down hearing him growl behind you, spanking your ass cheeks simultaneously and watching your thighs clench together. “Spread em baby, I need to fuck you right now.” Relieving his cock of its trapped stance, it springs up to attention, pre cum leaking from the tip of his thick end, you turn your head round to where you can watch it dribble onto his shirt, licking your lips at the familiar taste tickling your senses.

Imagine Joe pounding the shit out of you, showing no mercy on you as his cock plunges in and out of your hole at a relentless speed. His balls slapping up against you. Your hands slipping off the brickwork you were holding yourself steady on. Your moans become too loud so Joe takes the opportunity to force you up to his level, bucking his hips up to continue his drive and covering your mouth with the palm of his hand to silence you. The muffled noises drove him insane, he leans to whisper in your ear “You’re such a naughty girl letting me fuck you in this alleyway, taking this big cock so well yeah?”

Imagine Joe’s thumb sneaking back to your aching clit continuing where he left off, the only support you’ve got is his hand that’s moved down to grip your throat. “Cum on my cock you filthy little slut.” The intense combination of your clit being over stimulated and your pussy getting fucked ridiculously good, your orgasm washed over you in an instant, your whole body gave way as you whimpered into Joe’s mouth, he brutally moved his lips onto yours when you climaxed, just so again too much noise wasn’t heard.

Imagine Joe pushing you down to your knees and plunging his cock into your mouth, fucking your face and picking up the pace he left off at. “I’m going to fucking explode down your throat, I’m so god damn close Y/N.” The last thrust which touched your tonsils saw cum spewing out of Joe’s tip, his hands cupped the back of your head holding you in place where it felt the best. He stifled his hot groans, staring into nothingness as his body and soul came back down to earth, the orgasm still throbbing in your mouth, tiny droplets of cum still making their way down your throat. “My pretty girls so good to me.” Joe breathlessly brings you back up to kiss you once more, the desire still well in him to make you feel good. He carries you out of the alleyway bridal style like nothing happened, wobbling slightly still intoxicated, you laughed and until the moment you got home and that was when he mentioned he fancied a midnight snack, he ate your cunt ravenously, giving you no room to object and when you dropped your second orgasm of the night, he pushed just as hard for the third. Joe wasn’t one to give up on making you feel good.