#a single ship has been clouding my mind for such a long time but i dont know anything about like romance stuff so god damn it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingerbreadmonsters · 6 months ago

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sea change

or: no thanks, i'll use my oyster card.

gn!reader, warnings for violence, gore, and canonical character death, cute fluff that gets a bit confused along the way. it’s the return to the mer au! i tried to keep it at bay, but i guess i was just coasting. it’s never plain sailing when it comes to these two, so much love as always to the gang on discord and especially first mate @zozo-01, without whom i would be utterly adrift. warden digging a watery grave in 7100 words or less.

Everybody knows that your captain is looking for something.

It’s been his quest for as long as you’ve known him, and since long before that as well. Something he’s been chasing, something he’s been hunting. Day after day, night after night, he searches and searches – and yet he finds nothing, as if he had never looked at all.

Who knows what it could be? An elusive, unknowable something, anchored down deep in his soul and crying out to be found, yet never to be named. It might be treasure, but what sort of treasure does he not possess? What manner of riches, what silks or jewels or spices has he yet to find?

The question is a maddening one. Is it something else that he seeks? What port has he yet to visit, what person could elude him for so long? His name spans the seven seas, revered or reviled by every man in every port of every nation. Nothing hides from him, nothing escapes him. There is none, alive or dead, who has ever been a match for him.

And yet, nobody knows. He won’t say, and there’s no sane man who’d dare to ask.

He doesn’t ever say, but you see how it consumes him. It’s hellfire, roaring in his eyes with every contemptuous glance – it’s poison, ravaging his mind and choking his heart in its bitter, strangling grip. His great curse, clinging defiantly to his skin like thick tar. A jagged, gaping wound that bleeds and bleeds and never stops.

Call it a mission, a quest, a calling. Whatever it is, he is utterly tireless, ruthless in his unfailing search. A ceaseless, single-minded devotion to the neverending chase.

Aim level!

He’s something unexpected, he’s one of a kind. You can’t say you’ve ever met anyone else like him, and you probably never will again.

Ready…

Captain Vega is a singular sort of man, indeed.

Fire!

He’d told you about it only once before, awash in the crimson sunset of a port many months’ voyage from here, and even then he hadn’t told you everything. Only half-truths, warm and full of promise where they pressed to your skin, the rich brocade of his captain’s coat weighing down your shoulders as the chill of the night began to set in.

Whispers on the breeze, tales of a mythical treasure long thought lost. A prize with the power to commune with gods, to turn men into beasts and beasts into men, to command the sea itself as if it were nothing more than a child’s plaything. Something too good to be true, a legend that couldn’t possibly be real – and yet he swore, he swore he knew it was out there somewhere, waiting to be found…

You’d not been new to the crew of the Carpe Deus, but you weren’t exactly an old hand, perhaps a little less than a year since he’d captured you from the royal navy. At the time, his previous quartermaster had made no secret of his disdain for you – you had, after all, killed more than a few of his crew as they tried to raid your ship.

To tell the truth, you’d been quite proud of yourself. The scene lingers in your mind, even now. Blood, staining your uniform and dripping from your stolen cutlass, a trail of pirate corpses in your wake as you fought your way out from the carnage of the gun deck and the bodies of your slaughtered crewmates. You’d been heading up onto the main deck in search of your commanding officer, but to no avail – the night sky was dark and clouded, and the moonlit shadow of a man had finally stepped in and surprised you with a hard, cold pressure against the back of your head and the unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol being cocked.

You fought well, little sailor.

The HMS Delta had never made it back to port. As far as the navy were concerned, there had been no survivors.

But your fight, I’m afraid, is over.

Your many weeks below deck, rotting away in that dark, tiny cell, and yet he’d never got tired of you. There’s almost no such thing as a ransom on the Deus – a reputation for ruthlessness like the captain prefers has to be maintained somehow, after all – but he’d ordered you to be kept down in the brig anyway.

Perhaps he’d been intrigued by your viciousness during the assault, or perhaps he’d just wanted someone new to scare. You had nothing to lose, and nothing to offer but conversation, and as you talked and talked over the long voyage to McKinley, you’d slowly found yourself coming to like this towering, terrifying pirate captain that was holding you hostage.

He and his crew have always been legendary across the seas, the ghoulish villains of many a harbour’s horror story. But to actually speak to him? To hear the low cadence of his voice, to see those dark eyes glittering in the dim light, to know that this man – this cruel, violent man who’d killed more crews of more ships that you could even count – was deigning to spend his hours talking to you? An unimportant little nobody that the navy wouldn’t miss?

Well. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel flattered.

When he’d told you, it had been something of a surprise. Not knowing the captain as well as you do now, you’d considered this story, this tale of the mystical treasure he sought, as a sort of repayment. A belated acknowledgement of his subordinate’s cruelty to you, and the misery of your situation. But he’d disavowed you of that idea rather quickly – your repayment had actually come a few days later, when he called you up to the quarterdeck to find the old quartermaster mysteriously disappeared, leaving no trace at all.

The captain had smiled as he looked down at you, that heady, heart-stopping smirk that men say is the stuff of nightmares, and held out a dark wooden case. Inside, nestled among the felt was a beautiful pair of duelling pistols, white pearl inlaid in the stock and polished to a soft and lovely shine.

Captain?

Shocked, you’d only been able to blink stupidly up at him as he closed the case and pressed it into your arms, before laying a suspiciously-familiar cutlass across the top of it.

I’d take care of those if I were you, little sailor, he’d murmured, the song of his low voice curling about your shoulders with the sea breeze. Something tells me you might be needing them.

Strangely, there had been no complaints when, out of the blue, you’d been chosen to take up the empty position. Isn’t it wonderful, how these things turn out?

That captivity is long behind you now, and once they got used to you, the crew entirely accepted you as one of their own. Those pistols have saved your life more times than you can count, and in your hands that cutlass has killed twice as many unlucky sailors who found themselves the targets of the captain’s wrath. At his command, you’ve always been happy to put your particular talents to good use.

In all the time since then, you’ve never forgotten the story he told you. You’d sworn yourself to his service and his mission, and you’ve always followed him wherever he asked you to go, all in pursuit of his ambitions. His desires are your desires too, and your faith in him is so ingrained as to be absolute.

That’s why, as soon as he’d heard of this new story, you’d already been making plans to chase it before he could even say a word.

It had been almost nothing, a rumour of a murmur of a dream, overheard in a forgotten tavern in a dark, crowded port. The tale of a strange silence, spreading across the sea – a place where the waves are flat and lifeless, the eye of a great and swirling storm where the very ocean holds its breath, afraid of what it might disturb. A place where the water is ever silent, no creature daring to swim too close or fly too near.

“Captain!”

And a mysterious ship at its centre, with no sails and no crew, floating quietly atop the glassy sea with a magical treasure locked away within its hold.

“Captain, it’s him!”

It’s been three weeks or so since you left Port Duke, in pursuit of this uncanny storm, and the entire crew has been on edge ever since you first caught sight of it. The cry had gone up that the storm had been spotted, the glint of a spyglass from up in the crow’s nest, and you’d all held your breath at the ethereal, unnatural mist rolling across the surface of the sea.

This storm… it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

It’s not really a storm in the traditional sense, for a start. Its clouds are thick and dark, heavy like it could pour with rain at any moment, but that seems to be it. There’s no thunder, no lightning, no howling gales or stinging hail. Instead, the air is terrifyingly still and silent, and when you look up there are no birds in the sky.

From a distance, nothing had seemed amiss – but the deeper into its heart you go, the thicker this grim, oppressive mist seems to get. An odd, cold breeze had whistled past early this morning, as if you’d crossed some sort of unseen boundary, and the difference is astonishing after only a half day’s sailing. Up in the rigging, it’s barely possible to make out the horizon, but down on the deck you can barely see a hand in front of your face.

Even the sea isn’t right, no waves to be seen save for the disturbance of the Deus as she cuts through the water. The water itself is smooth and clear like crystal, eerily unmoving, and you feel as though you could see straight down for miles if the day were only a little brighter.

Captain Vega has been restless all morning, patience even shorter than usual, snapping bitterly at the crew at the slightest provocation. He almost took Ivan’s head off with his dagger when he bumped into the bosun coming up the stairs from the orlop deck, and you’re fairly sure it took one of the gunners the better part of an hour to get it free from where the blade had embedded itself in the wooden wall.

Uneasy mutterings among the crew, the subtle chill of paranoia creeping down your spine. The storm has everybody on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The cruel sound of a blade being sharpened echoes through every corner of the ship, and you can’t help but sneak anxious glances over at Vega every few seconds as you sit at the table in his cabin and silently pour gunpowder down the barrel of his pistol. Something’s wrong, but you don’t know what you could say to help. Is there even anything you could say?

Despite the frightening atmosphere below decks, you’ve rallied the crew as best you can and sailed onwards, chasing the blurry smudge in the distance that the navigator assures you is really there. If there’s even the slightest chance that this might be the treasure you’re seeking, that you might finally be able to give the captain what he’s been searching for, you’re utterly resolved not to give in. You can’t let him down.

“Captain!”

Both of your heads snap towards the door as it bangs loudly against the wall. The blade of Vega’s dagger glints threateningly in the light, and your cutlass is already half-unsheathed before you even know what’s happening. The chair you were sitting in clatters to the floor, but you barely even notice.

“Up on the forecastle – he just appeared, out of – out of nowhere, sir, he—”

Vega glares at the trembling ship’s boy in the doorway of his cabin, before holding his hand out towards you. Hurriedly, you snap the frizzen back into place to finish reloading his gun, and quickly turn it around to give it back to him stock-first.

“You’re sure.” It’s not a question.

“I swear!” the boy stammers, backing away and nearly tripping over his own boots as Vega stalks towards him, narrowly jerking out of the way in time to avoid accidentally blocking his path. “You said to get you if something strange happened, sir, and he’s – Captain, he’s right there!”

You throw the poor boy a sympathetic look before hurrying out onto the main deck after Vega, a cautious hand on the hilt of your cutlass. You’re not sure what he might mean, but for Vega to be as on edge as this, it must be something serious.

It’s eerily silent on the deck. There’s none of the usual shouts or chatter that you’re used to, no crash of waves against the side of the ship, no cry of seagulls in the great sky above. The faint breeze that weakly fills the sails makes no sound, and even the sound of your boots on the boards seems muffled, somehow.

All around, the crew are frozen as they stare towards the forecastle. The air is thick and heavy with terror as the mist swirls around you, and the clouds seem oddly lower than before. Standing here in the middle of the main deck, it feels as though the storm itself has turned its eyes to watch you.

Captain Vega inclines his head slightly to the side.

And the creature that stands before him, peering curiously across the deck at the two of you, copies him exactly.

You’re here.

It’s a strange, slender figure that regards you both, perplexing in form. Its silhouette is like that of a man, and it speaks like one too, but its voice is something entirely alien – and it moves like water, like thick, viscous oil poured into a man’s shape.

It doesn’t even really speak, per se. No mouth seems to move, and yet its words seem to appear in your head as if you yourself are thinking them, a voice that your mind hears but your ears hear not. What sort of terrible creature is this?

But how? the creature asks, face melting and morphing in what might be confusion. This ship is not the Ecumene. This ship is not the Obscura.

“No, she is not.”

Vega’s voice is remarkably even, despite the way his hand comes to rest on the hilt of his sabre. “Speak not of matters which do not concern me.”

I recognise this ship, the creature intones, buzzing words filling your mind. I recognise you.

“Perhaps.”

You are Vega.

The captain doesn’t flinch. “I am.”

You overstep your bounds.

“There are no bounds that hold me.”

Are you sure?

The creature’s eyes are wide and frightening, something almost childlike dancing in its gaze as it slowly moves closer. Each step makes no sound, and each liquid tremor of its terrible body makes your teeth ache.

Sweet, fine features seem to ripple with the movement of the air, shiny and soft-looking, an unearthly beauty that can’t quite stay still. If you were to touch its face, you think it might be cold.

It seems almost like a kind of spirit, some sprite, a form of life you can’t recognise. For some odd reason, you’re reminded of the stories of the fey folk from your childhood, of fairies and shape-changers and powers so ancient that their names have been forgotten, leaving behind only the memories of the terror they wrought in the early days of the world.

Idly, you realise that the mist seems to part for the strange creature as it walks. Does it control this mist? Does it move at its command? Or does even the mist know not to touch it, for fear of what it might do?

“There is a ship at the centre of this storm.”

There was.

Vega’s glare is sharp and steely, so cold that the very air seems to freeze around him. “I am not such a fool. The ship remains.”

The soft mass of the creature seems to shrug, so casually that it makes you nervous. The ship remains, but what you seek does not. And that is the matter that truly concerns you.

Anyone else wouldn't be able to spot it, but you know your captain well enough to be able to feel the way he tenses slightly, to notice the way he leans forward almost imperceptibly. This… this thing that’s come aboard – it's putting him on edge in a way you've never seen before

“It concerns me, now?”

Moreso than it should.

Vega's eyes narrow. “So you would stand in my way.”

Your way is behind you, replies the creature, voice dripping and snapping with slick venom. It is not time. The prize you seek is not here.

“You misunderstand me.”

He smiles, but his tone is dark and ominous. “Whatever it is you believe I seek, it is of no consequence.”

Do not lie to me.

The creature’s tone hardens in an instant, words cracking like a whip inside your skull. If you want to live, you should leave this place.

“I will leave with what I came for.”

It is not time. It cannot be done.

“Then I will not leave.”

Then you will die.

It happens faster than you can blink. The ringing sound of a blade slicing through air, and in an instant, Vega’s sabre is drawn as he levels it at the creature’s neck. The rattle of guns being cocked sounds across the deck, that familiar flintlock click, and your eyes dart down to find that your cutlass is already drawn and ready in your hand.

The creature doesn't move, quizzically regarding the countless guns being pointed at it from all over the deck, before blinking once more at Vega.

You cannot be here. You will leave, or you will die.

“Words I have heard a thousand times,” Vega hisses, coiled like a spring. “And yet, I find that those who stand against me seem to change their minds rather quickly, when it matters.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something moving – with horror, you realise that the once-still sea is starting to froth and churn around the ship, the deck beginning to rock back and forth. The clouds overhead seem to darken before your eyes, the mist that surrounds you seems to thicken, and the first drops of rain begin to fall.

The creature turns its head slowly, to examine the blade that rests but a fraction of an inch from its neck. Vega doesn’t move, fingers flexing on the hilt of his sabre.

I have given you warning.

“You will give me what I want,” snaps Vega, and your body floods cold with adrenaline. “The wreck of the Weaver lies at the heart of this wretched storm, and its secret is mine.”

The Weaver…

It sounds familiar, somehow, but you can’t quite place it. What does he mean? Is that the name of the ship that's supposed to be here? Is this what he’s been hunting all this time?

There's no time to think about it, though, as the clouds above turn black, letting only a little of the dim, weak sunlight through. The deck sways nauseatingly as sudden waves roll angrily beneath the ship, and a deafening howl splits the air as the wind picks up out of nowhere.

The creature’s body moves sickeningly, like molten wax. You know nothing of that which you seek.

“I know what I am owed.”

It is not time.

The storm clouds seem to breathe. “You dare deny me?”

Leave this place.

“You think your pitiful atte—”

Leave this place, or—

“Enough!”

Vega laughs sharply, a short, manic sound that echoes out across the roiling sea. “I have come for the Weaver, and no man nor beast in all creation shall keep it from me!”

He lifts his chin as the creature bares its teeth at him, and you steel yourself for a fight. Vega’s weight shifts ever so slightly to his front foot, the razor sharpness of his blade catching the light in the fraction of a second before the blow, and—

Then you shall die.

—and you’re reminded of your promise.

How long ago that day seems now.

It happens on every ship, for every crewmember to every captain. A pirate knows one home, and it is the sea. One family, and it is their crew. One oath, and it is their captain’s.

Some of the contract is purely practical, of course. It dictates how many shares of treasure you receive, lays out the chain of command, sets out the rules for the life you'll have at sea – all those ordinary sorts of things. It’s an agreement, plain and simple, to make sure the peace aboard the ship is kept.

It’s not all dry legalese, though. The oath is far, far more than that. And the oath that’s sworn aboard the Carpe Deus, the oath that’s sworn to Captain Vega, is very special indeed.

Swear yourself to me.

The night had been clear and balmy, bright stars in the summer sky above as you stood before him on the quarterdeck. The rest of the crew had stood around to watch as you pulled the dagger from your belt, and slashed a thin, crimson line across your palm, blood pouring down your wrist and painting the deck.

Silhouetted against the brilliant purple of the sky, Vega had done the same, deftly pushing up the sleeve of his captain's coat to grasp your wrist firmly in his cool grip.

You are of my command and my command only, from this day, until your last day.

You’d nodded, the words Ivan had taught you coming easily to hand. I am.

You shall heed my word as your law, at every time and in every matter.

I shall.

His voice had been calm yet stern, oddly soothing in its cadence as he held you fast. You shall hold no secrets from me, of any severity and persuasion.

I shall not.

Your will, your strength, your blood – all are as mine, from this day, until your last day.

It had felt like a prayer. All I am is as yours.

Know me, and be afeared, he’d said, and you’d shivered under the raw intensity of his gaze. To steal from me is death.

You'd shaken your head, defiant iron in your spine. I know no fear.

To disobey me is death.

I know no fear.

To betray me is death.

I know no fear.

Your shared blood, dripping from your clasped hands, soaking into the deck of the Deus and staining the dark wood. It was as if the entire ocean were silent, every eye of every creature turned to watch you devote yourself to Vega.

There can be no power over you, he’d said over the song of the waves, no guiding force or sovereign will that is greater than mine.

I am yours, and yours alone.

Then join me, he’d declared, and you’d felt as though your head was filled with incense, strong and sweet and sacred. From this day until the end of days, be it in armageddon or infinitude.

The crew had cheered at your swearing in, but you'd hardly heard it – all you’d known was the warmth of Vega’s hand in yours, and the dark brilliance of his smile against the stars. He hadn't let go of you, either, his free hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

I hope you know what you’re doing, little sailor, he’d murmured only for the two of you to hear, something wicked in the gleam of his eye. You ought to know that when I say death, I mean death.

You’d simply smiled, and met his gaze with your own. Anything for you, Captain.

The warmth of the night air had been nothing compared to the white-hot thrill that shot through you when he laughed, devious and entirely too charming. As he dismissed the crew with a shout, sending everyone scurrying back to their normal jobs, you think he'd heard the words you didn't say.

No need of fear to keep me by you, your heart had sighed, as light and sweet as air. To be apart from you would be death enough.

What a dream this all has been – what an incredible feeling! To hear your own name added to the myth of the mysterious Deus and its wicked captain, to know that your unwavering loyalty to him is immortalised in every port across the seven seas. To see men shiver at the mere mention of your name, to have your very face strike terror into the hearts of sailors without a single word.

You won’t ever leave him, you couldn’t possibly. How could you, with all you’ve seen – with all you’ve done together? The ocean is rife with stories of your legendary misdeeds, and yet more still are secrets known only to your crew. Countless ships have met their end, countless treasures stolen and sold, countless bodies thrown overboard to watery graves – all at the fair hand of Captain Vega and his faithful quartermaster.

Tales abound of the most terrifying pirate crew to ever set sail, the most feared ship to ever put to sea, the thin veil of horror that masks a vicious, bloodsoaked fairy tale. The sinking of the HMS Warden, the burning ports of the Peony Massacre, the escape from the brig of the Solitaire. It’s dread and death and love, and something more than love, too.

Everything changed, on the day you made that oath. You’ve sworn yourself to Vega a thousand times over, and you would do it a thousand more.

When you think about it now, the memory feels a little odd. Remembering how it felt to look out over the rolling sea, gaze drifting across the horizon as your blood mixed with his, you can’t quite shake the feeling that someone else was watching you, too.

That same feeling crashes down on you now, déjà vu blossoming in the pit of your stomach as the very sky seems to turn its eyes upon the deck of the Carpe Deus. Sick, sicker than you’ve ever felt before, the cruellest poison seems to hold your body fast as Vega makes to slice the creature’s head from its awful body, and—

—crash!

An almighty wave rocks the ship, sending everyone out on the deck flying. Tossed carelessly against the mast, you barely manage to cling on as several of the crew are thrown clear into the ocean below. The waves swallow them entirely, white froth on the black water, and they’re entirely gone in no more than a second.

Above you, the storm clouds finally split, and the few drops of rain turn into a deluge, driving down all around you and rendering you almost entirely blind as the ship keeps swaying back and forth – it feels as though the deck is almost vertical at times, so strongly do the waves hurl the ship from side to side. It’s all you can do to keep yourself anchored to the mast as the wood gets more and more soaked, eyes screwed shut against the furious storm.

Shouts and screams go up across the deck, and you can hear the sounds of carnage below your feet as cargo and cannons alike come loose. The raging wind shrieks past you, trying to rip you away from the mast, but you cling on as hard as you can.

Vega, Vega, you have to hold on. He needs you. You can’t see him, blinded by the terrible storm, but you know he must be there. To your right, one of the topmen latches onto the bannister that leads up to the quarterdeck, holding on for dear life, and you can barely hear his terrified ramblings over the overwhelming crash of waves.

“No, no, no…!”

He’s staring at something behind you on the other side of the deck, but you can’t turn your head to look, pressed against the mast as you are. There’s a brilliant flash of light, then the deafening roar of thunder far too close for comfort, and you realise what he’s – oh, God, you see it, coming over the starboard side – it can’t be, it can’t be—

“Forgive me, forgive me!”

Your captain, your captain. Anything, for him. Anything at all.

“God save us all…”

Even this.

“It’s the Hush!”

The air splits with an otherworldly shriek as something lurches from the water, too fast to really see, and snatches a struggling figure up in its grasp. Salt spray stings your eyes as you stare in horror, and the terrible, towering tentacles of a gigantic sea beast emerge from the black water to descend upon the Deus.

Your mind is numb with panic as you throw yourself backwards across the creaking boards, narrowly twisting out of the way of a huge, dripping tentacle as it smacks against the mast, tearing through the mainsail and sweeping across the deck. Rows of enormous suckers drag along the soaked wood, soft and rubbery, and you’re perversely awestruck by the sheer size of the hideous beast they must belong to.

It can’t be the Hush, can it? It’s a myth, a story to frighten children – a cruel and twisted monster that lives deep beneath the sea, so enormously vast that it swallows ships whole in its horrible maw, so absolutely hellbent on destruction that no man has ever seen it and lived to tell the tale.

Some say it’s like a great kraken, while others claim it’s more like a whale, but for every sailor there’s one thing that’s certain. To lay eyes on the Hush is to know death, plain and swift and simple.

Everything is utter chaos on the deck – you’re deafened by the shouting, the furious waves beating against the side of the ship, the driving rain and the shrieking wind. You can just about make out the vague shapes of the crew, axes and blades and guns being hurriedly passed around, but they’re obscured almost entirely by the awful flailing of tentacles as they rear out of the freezing water to tear the ship asunder.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realise that the strange creature, whatever it was, has vanished. Did it call the beast? Or are they one and the same?

Pistols are as good as worthless in this dreadful storm, powder thoroughly soaked by the torrential rain beating down on you, and your cutlass is next to useless against the thick, slimy skin that protects each tentacle. You’re nothing, you can do nothing against this unknown devil that’s turned its wrath upon you.

“Captain!”

It’s too much, it’s too much! Staggering across the rolling deck, throwing yourself out of the path of the huge, grasping tentacles that threaten to seize you, you’re dizzy with fear as you watch your entire world be strangled by the beast.

The sound of shattering wood, groaning and splintering as it’s crushed by an unyielding grip. Blood splattered all over the deck, the shrieks of your crewmates as limbs are mangled or ripped away entirely by the horrible suckers that line each hideous tentacle, the horrible splash of bodies hitting the water. Cracking, crunching, screeching. The deck lists nauseatingly to one side, and freezing rain turns your fingers numb.

“Vega… Vega, where…”

Lightning strikes the sea with a mighty roar, the world instantly turning white and forcing your eyes closed. Are you saying anything? You can’t tell. All you can hear is death, all around you the ravenous storm.

It’s impossible to walk, so you’re forced to crawl. Soaked to the skin, your sodden clothes weigh you down – half-hysterical, you can’t help but think that you must look like you’ve already drowned. Is it still drowning if it’s rain that chokes you? Never mind, never mind, you’ve got to keep moving.

“Captain…”

There! There, that’s him, isn’t it? Peering through the storm, you can just about see the figure standing by the foremast, almost the only one managing to stay upright against the wind. Surely it’s him – isn’t that the confident silhouette of his coat, and the wicked curve of his sabre? Isn’t that the way he moves, elegantly ducking around the stays as he evades the grasp of the wicked beast?

He’s something else entirely. Your captain – with every step, you can almost hear the heels of his boots on the deck through the endless drumming of the rain, as though even this ungodly storm can’t lay a hand upon him.

You can’t see his face, turned away from you as he is, but you’re not far now. As you scramble clumsily across the deck, all your focus is on reaching him, helping him, fighting with him. If you and what’s left of the crew going to get out of here alive – and you will, you will, you always do – then he’s the only one who can do it.

Whatever he says, you do. Time and time again you’ve killed for him, and you’d die for him too. He’s nothing short of a miracle, the only one you can follow, the only one you can trust. The most important man in the whole wide world, and you couldn’t ever imagine a life without him.

Wickedly intelligent, and brilliantly wicked – Captain Vega has always seemed like more than just a mortal man. Smirking at you over his ale as the late night turns to an early morning, the tavern packed with the Deus’ crew celebrating another successful ransoming. Caked with blood as he pulls his dagger from a poor midshipman’s eye and pivots on his heel to hurl it cleanly into the lieutenant’s heart behind him. Throwing his head back and laughing as the afternoon sun beats down on the quarterdeck and one of the topmen, distracted by a pretty girl on the dock, walks face-first into one of the stays and accidentally drops his lunch overboard.

Your devotion isn’t blind – far from it, in fact. Everywhere you look, he’s there, and you know that it’s only because he lets you see. He’s the dark heart of a dazzling star, and you’ve never blinked, not once.

The crash of a body tumbling past you shakes you from your daze, smashing into the stack of crates that’s tied down in front of you. Reflexively, you throw yourself backwards just in time, cursing through a mouthful of rain. Covered in blood and unmoving, it’s impossible to tell who it is, or even if they’re still alive – so you stumble onwards, and cross your fingers in the vain hope that the unnatural angle of the neck isn’t as bad as it looks.

You don’t get far, though, as the ship tilts sickeningly to your right and forces you off-balance. Something hits the side of your head, or maybe it stays still and it’s you that runs into it, and you’re almost knocked into a jagged hole in the lattice hatch, the top half of you suddenly hanging down over the ruined cargo deck.

Head suddenly full of bubbles, your eyes are too blurry to really see anything down there, but you force your heavy body to try and drag itself away from the ominous drop below. It’s hard, wet fingers slipping on soaked wood, and you wince at the sweet, sharp smell of spilt rum that leaks from the carnage in the hold.

God, what a waste. It’ll have destroyed the stolen shipment of cocoa you were planning on selling in Mont Blanc, along with all the tobacco. Not to mention there’s half a hold’s worth of cotton down there, four crates of silks and twice that of furs…

Your whole body aches, feeling as though every inch is bruised and sore. Perhaps that’s why it takes you a moment to realise, as you heave yourself out of the splintered lattice, that that’s not exactly what spilt rum should smell like.

You can smell the alcohol, to be sure, but there’s something else as well. It shouldn’t be so metallic, so sickly sweet and cloying, should it? There’s something familiar about it, something that reminds you of other voyages, of other storms and other near-misses out at sea. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it almost smells like—

—oh, good God in heaven, its just like—

“Get down!”

Horrified, you shriek the words as loudly as you can as the realisation sinks in. You can’t tell if anyone heeds your call, or if the storm rips it away before anyone even hears it, your heart rattling in your chest as you throw yourself backwards. The foremast in front of you stands tall against the screeching sky as flickers of blue fire seem to appear around it, a hazy lilac glow that bathes the ship in its dim and gloomy light.

It feels like an age, terror holding you fast to the deck like thick, black pitch, staring uselessly at the unearthly flames that crackle around the masthead. For a single moment, you can see everything in all its wicked detail. The darkness of the storm gives way to the torn sails and slashed rigging that sway uselessly from the masts, to the mauled, gore-soaked bodies of your crewmates littering the deck as they lie dead or dying. The tentacles that ensnare the Deus beat ever more furiously at the groaning wood, stretching clear across the deck and beginning to crush the middle of the ship in earnest.

Your teeth ache as the air begins to sing, and through the pouring rain you see the shape of a single figure running towards the prow of the ship, sabre drawn and ready to strike. His hat tumbles from his head as he steps up to the forecastle, long hair falling from its usual ribbon – the creeping shadow of a man-that-is-no-man seems to laugh at that, standing impossibly still atop the bowsprit even as the ship sways and the sea spray crashes into him.

“Captain—!”

It’s not enough. You were never going to be enough. Blue firelight fizzes in the air and sparkles on your frozen tongue, and the dripping, awful tentacle of the beast lurches from the waves to wrap once, twice, three times around Captain Vega’s thrashing form, and rips him messily in half with a slick, wet crunch.

It looks as easy as breathing.

Blood pours down upon the deck, turning the sloshing seawater pink. Skin stretches and frays, muscle untwists and spirals away from itself as insides become outsides, falling wetly on dark wood. The pointed tip of the creature’s tentacle winds about his slack jaw and the back of his skull before wrenching nauseatingly to the side, and your captain’s head hits the floor several seconds before the rest of him follows suit.

A beautifully sharp, pearl-handled sabre clatters to the deck.

You must scream. You must, but you can’t hear it – you can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, as a jagged bolt of lightning slices through the sky and strikes the foremast right in front of you.

The world turns white, and you’re falling.

And falling, and falling…

Perhaps it’s the beast, finally cracking the ship in half, dropping you through the remains of the cargo hold and into the churning froth below. Perhaps it’s the raging gale that sweeps you up, knocking you overboard like nothing more than the soft white seed of a dandelion, floating along on the summer’s breeze. The rain might turn to hail and pelt against your skin with such force that it buries you deep within the core of the sinking ship, or the waves themselves might rise up to steal you away, tugging you down and down into the very stomach of the sea.

Or perhaps it’s none of those at all, this sickening weightlessness in your stomach and the howling torrent of agony in your head. Smashed and splintered wood, sinking down and down through the blue-green water, all that’s left of the beautiful life that you used to have. It falls apart in an instant – there’s just the pain, and the emptiness, and the smoking crater where you used to be.

A distant splash. Salt fills your skull and your mouth and your lungs, filling up all the soft space inside you. Down, down, down. Your ruined eyes burn, but are they open or closed?

He’s gone, he’s gone.

You’re utterly alone.

It’s getting harder to think, but you don’t really want to. Black water gushes into the yawning chasm that seems to split your chest in two, yet it can’t smother the searing pain that wails inside, white-hot and desperate. You don’t struggle or kick, but let yourself be pulled further and further away from the wreckage that surrounds you, tumbling slowly and inevitably to the seabed.

So this is how it ends, then. A fairytale unfinished, a tragedy unknown. An entire ocean’s worth of claret spilt in his name, and this is all you’ve got to show for it. The blasted carnage on the water gets smaller and smaller as your body starts to give in to the unrelenting pressure, and it’s so very, very cold.

You won’t be found. You won’t be missed. The wreck of the Carpe Deus will disappear, and nobody will ever know what happened.

Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

They’ll never know how you failed, they’ll never know how you couldn’t protect the one person who matters – mattered – the most. They won’t know about your broken oath, the shattered promise of a starry summer’s night. Your lovely cutlass will turn to rust, your cherished pistols will warp and fall apart, and you’ll be nothing more than foam on the surface of the sea.

Armageddon or infinitude. Your mind drifts away on the cold current, turning into stone, then into sand, then into nothing at all.

As you fall, you dream.

Soft lilac and bright white, stars peeking through the midday clouds.

Sweet syrup drips from a delicate flower, melting in your warm mouth.

And the call of a distant voice, from far across the waves, that feels like home.

Not so fast, little one.

I’m not finished with you just yet.

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

series masterlist

main masterlist

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vega #redacted warden #redacted hush #redacted ivan #redacted fluff #redacted angst #it's the mer au babey!!#ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 years ago

Text

Fic: Gratitude

Read on Ao3

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you (cishet woman)

Warnings: Mention of shitty exes with 1950's views on women, foreplay, fellatio, dick riding which is a form of transportation but only if you need to get to cloud n:o 9, unprotected PiV sex but it's fine (this is fic so you might not be unless you wrap that shit up), some sweet dirty talk but nothing bad, creampie.

Summary: You thank Frankie for doing his part of the cleaning before Christmas. And, you know, for being awesome in general.

Words: 2,670

The drone of the vacuum cleaner greets you when you step in through the front door, and once you’ve kicked off your shoes and hung your coat, you trail its cord to the living-room, where Frankie’s moved the coach to reach the nozzle behind it. He’s not playing music, like the two of you often do when you’re cleaning the apartment, and his jaw is set pretty tight, but when you enter and he looks up, a smile slowly spreads on his face. He hits the off button with his foot and draws his hand through his hair, wiping back the stray locks from his forehead.

”Hi, baby.”

”Hi.” You walk up to him and give him a kiss. ”You started without me?”

You’re not hosting this Christmas, but the holidays are a good excuse to clean properly. Luckily, both you and Frankie are pretty tidy and share standards for household cleanliness, but the problem right now is time. Both of you are working long hours and between that and the December darkness, it’s hard to find the energy and motivation to clean. You’ve decided to do a little each night during the week that leads up to Christmas; that way, you can do a little each day and still have a clean and fresh home on Christmas Eve.

”Figured I might as well,” Frankie shrugs.

You immediately see that there’s more to it. Frankie’s fine most of the time but there are still horrors lingering in the deep recesses of his mind. They don’t surface as often but when they do, they’re hard on him. He has his coping mechanisms, thanks to therapy and you. Busying himself with concrete tasks is one way of keeping the demons at bay. Cleaning is therapy.

”You want to talk about it?” you ask him quietly, hand resting softly on his broad shoulder. Frankie blinks, seemingly surprised, then casts his long-lashed eyes down in chagrin.

”Should’ve known you’d see right through me.”

”I always do.”

”Hmm.”

”Frankie?”

He pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. ”I’m good. It’s not that bad. Cleaning helps.”

”Okay, baby.” You kiss the hollow between two long, lean muscles in the front of his neck, and gently disentangle yourself from his embrace.

”You want me to get started on dinner?” you ask, raising your hand to draw our fingers through his thick hair. The way he visibly relaxes at your touch makes your heart swell.

”That would be lovely. Thank you.”

”Thank you for cleaning.”

You lean in to kiss him, placing several little pecks on his smiling lips. You really are infinitely grateful for Frankie and how natural it is to him to keep his home tidy. Your experience in that department hasn’t been good. Cleaning always caused arguments with every single one of your exes. One of them, who grew up in a home where his mother did absolutely everything, even cleaned her grown-up sons’ apartments when they were single, seriously thought women had a special gene for cleaning. You’ll never know what you saw in him but the experience made you ask Frankie on your very first date if he knew how to clean a home from top to bottom. He thought it was an euphemism for something dirty, and blushed like a schoolgirl. When the misunderstanding had been cleared up, he frowned and said yes, doesn’t everybody?

He was a keeper from that day on.

”You know,” you now add, ”boyfriends who do the cleaning get special treats.”

”Is that so?” Frankie rumbles low against your lips. Good god, his voice does things to you.

”That is definitely so,” you confirm conquettishly. ”I’m gonna treat you so good tonight, Francisco.”

”Mmm... looking forward to that.” Frankie looks a lot happier when he goes back to vacuuming, smiling broadly from the slap on his ass that you give him when he turns on the loud machine again.

Later, after the living-room has been cleaned, dinner eaten, and dishes washed, you take Frankie to bed. You give him a neck and shoulder rub, not that you’re very good at it, but he loves your hands on you.

”We go so much of the cleaning done today,” you tell him softly when you’re seated behind him in your underwear, carefully working a tense spot where his shoulder and neck meet. Frankie hisses low, tensing up for a second but relaxing just as quickly when you kiss his shoulder blade.

”One thing checked off the list,” he agrees, and you hear the satisfaction in his voice.

”You know, if you’re too tired for it, I don’t mind skipping the big clean before Christmas,” you suggest, fingers finding another knot in his shoulder. Working it carefully with one hand, you let your other hand run up the length of his neck and get lost in his soft curls. Frankie exhales in a happy sigh.

”I like having a clean home for the holidays,” he reminds you. ”And you know it helps me deal with... shit.”

”I know,” you assure him, pressing a kiss to the back of his head. ”Just sayin’.”

He hums low when you start to knead both his shoulders while trailing your lips up the side of his neck. The massage turns into caresses as you press yourself to him from behind and wrap your arms around him, Frankie turning his head so that he can reach you for a kiss. Soft and loving at first, it quickly ignites and spreads sparks through both of you. Your lips grow insistent and Frankie starts to contort until he’s facing you on the bed. He lays you down, lips staying on yours until you’re flat on your back, then he starts to trail kisses down your jawline to your neck.

”Frankie,” you remind him with a purr, ”I’m supposed to be doing this to you.”

”I’m not stopping you,” he murmurs, still spreading kisses over your skin while his hand travels down your body, softly squeezing a bra cup before tugging it down and freeing up one tit. His lips follow and he greedily licks at your budding nipple as his hand travels south and eventually slips underneath the waistband of your panties. You let him make you wet, enjoy the teasing brushes of his fingers over your slit, the kisses that follow his hand down your stomach. When he starts to pull down your panties and his mouth gets close to the growing desire between your legs, you stop him, clamping your thighs together. Frankie kisses your belly button and smirks.

”But this is the best part...”

”Believe me, I know,” you smile back, pulling him up for a kiss, ”but we’re not about that tonight.”

”We’re not?”

”Nope.”

”Then what are we about?” he wiggles his eyebrows, making you laugh.

”We’re all about you, Francisco Morales.”

You gently nudge him to roll over onto his back, then straddle his thighs and bend down to do to him what he just did to you: kiss his long, strong neck, lick and bite his nipples until they are pebbles against your lips. Your hand has found his erection already and is gently teasing it, like he was teasing you moments earlier. You kiss your way down his stomach, taking care to love every inch of the soft flesh that you know bothers him sometimes, look up at him to let him know that you love all of him, every bit that he doesn’t. Reaching the waistband of his shorts, you caress his hips and let your hands travel around to grab his ass, making him giggle unexpectedly.

”That tickles.”

You ghost your fingers over his hipbone again. ”This?”

Frankie twitches. ”Yeah, don’t do that, unless you want a laugh fest instead of sex.”

”Don’t they say that unless you can laugh together in bed, you shouldn’t even be having sex?” you tease him, tracing one single feather-light finger over his hip. You feel his muscles flex, but he doesn’t jump.

”They say a lot of things.”

You come up to kiss him. His arms go around you at once, pulling you right into the warm length of his body, his tenting boxers a stiff promise against your thigh.

”I love you,” you tell him between kisses. ”You’re perfect.”

”You are.”

”I know.” You pull away and resettle between his legs, bending down to nuzzle his hard length through the boxers. Frankie sighs in exasperation but you take your time before you relieve him of his underwear. Ducking down, you kiss and lick first one thick thigh, then the other, his hard cock twitching as it gets lost in the tickle of your hair.

”Babe...” he moans, reaching down to stroke himself. You swat his hand away lovingly.

”I know, you just have to be patient.”

”You’re killing me.”

”Not yet,” you wink at him, getting a strangled laugh in return as you finally close your fingers around his girth and swirl your thumb over the wet tip. You don’t tease him anymore but start to lick the salty head of his cock with great care, as if you were a cat mommy cleaning her babies.

”God, baby...” Frankie whines, stroking your hair and reaching for your hand. You take it and knit your fingers together, smiling up at him as you take him in your mouth. It’s always a bit of a struggle: he’s wide and hard and veiny, but you’ve had a lot of practice and can handle it now, even if you can’t take all of him like this. You work your hand on the thick base of his cock and your mouth on the top, meeting in the middle as you drool on him and get him all wet.

Frankie’s let go of your hand now and is burying both hands in his hair, eyes pressed close as he moans nonsense, blown away by your tender loving care. You take your time and go slow, in no hurry to get him off. This isn’t for that, it’s just foreplay.

When he moans your name, and his hips twitch, you release his cock with a wet pop and wipe your mouth. You know his cues, his tells, and it’s time to stop so he doesn’t blow. You come up to give him a wet, loving kiss.

”Good?”

”Madre de Dios...”

”So, good,” you grin before rolling down next to him and taking off your panties. Straddling Frankie again, you fix his eyes with yours as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra, releasing your tits to freedom as you whisk the garment to the side.

”Hmm,” Frankie hums, ”it never gets old. Love seeing the girls like this.”

”So predictable,” you shake your head, but you’re pleased with his adoration as he sits up enough to bury his face between said girls. He motorboats them playfully before focusing on one, kissing and licking the soft flesh in search of the nipple. When finding it, he devours it immediately and starts to suck forcefully. Your head falls back as you moan loudly, a direct line of pleasure flooding from your chest down to your pussy, making it throb even harder.

”Frankie...” you whine, pulling back a little but surrendering to his growled protest. You lean into his mouth and hands, finding him between your thighs and almos lazily guiding him into you, one inch at a time. When he’s fully sheathed in you, Frankie releases your tits and instead holds you close, breathing in short stutters as he rests his forehead to yours. You shift a little, brows drawing together momentarily from the insane stretch. Frankie cups your cheek and brings a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

”Relax, my love,” he groans, himself as taken with the tightness as you are. ”You can take me.”

”I can take you,” you acknowledge, hands on his broad shoulders drawing strength from him. ”Just give me a minute.”

”You can have two.”

Gradually, you manage to accomodate him, and you make him lie down on his back. You hiss as the changed angle makes it feel like he’s all the way up past your cervix.

”Goddamn, baby, that’s deep,” you shake your head with a little laugh. ”It always gets me.”

”Always gets you off...”

You slap Frankie’s tummy gently. ”Knock it off or I won’t ride you.”

”As if you could stop now.”

”You’re right,” you sigh as you start to move tentatively, seeking the right spots and angles, finding them faster than expected. ”Frankie...”

”I know, baby, it’s okay, take what you need from me,” he groans as he grabs your hips to hold on for the ride. You move tightly back and forth to hit your spot, sitting up straight and rubbing your clit with one hand as the other cups your breast. It’s a sure way of having an orgasm, riding Frankie like this, having all of him inside of you and rubbing everything at once, because he’s filling every inch of you, the delectable fullness driving you crazy as you ride faster, harder, until the orgasm takes you apart. You give your clit a rest and lean forward, supporting yourself with your hands on Frankie’s chest, still grinding your hips but slowing down and changing the rhythm and movement. Now you move up and down, your release lubing Frankie enough to allow for frictionless pleasure.

”Oh, sweet baby,” he prays, covering your tits with his big hands. ”Baby, just like that, I love that.”

”I know, baby,” you moan, coming to an almost lazy pace, placing more weight on your knees to allow for a thorough slide up and down his cock. ”It feels so good to cum on your cock, I’m gonna let you feel it too.”

You lean down to give him a sloppy kiss. ”I want you to cum in my pussy, Francisco, can you do that for me?”

”Yes, my love,” he groans, licking into your mouth, ”I’ll do that for you.”

”Good boy,” you coo, burying your hands in his soft hair as you continue to kiss him. He’s like putty in your hands, taking kiss after kiss from you, moaning at how tightly your wet pussy is squeezing him as you maintain a steady, slowy pace. Still playing with your nipples, it’s by now more for his pleasure than yours, but you are more than happy to give him that. You know he’s closing in on his climax when his hands desert your tits to instead fist into the cover by his sides. Your name comes in short puffs, his face scrunches adorably.

”Just like that,” he whines, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips, ”don’t stop fucking me, please!”

Your thighs are burning but you go faster, and the wet squishy sound of your slick pussy swallowing Frankie’s cock is joined by the increased slapping of skin again skin.

”Let go,” you urge him in a soft voice, ”it’s okay, Francisco, cum in my pussy, please.”

You lean down over his so that you can embrace him and let him wrap his arms around you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck as you ride him to his release. When you feel the first, hot ropes of cum paint your walls, you squeeze him hard and kiss him everywhere you can reach.

”Thank you,” you whisper between kisses, ”thank you, thank you, baby, thank you...”

Frankie trembles underneath you, his whole body stiff before he pulls you down next to him. His cock slips out of you, trailing cum down your thigh, but neither one of you care as you kiss each other softly. Frankie’s chocolate eyes are dazed but simmering with warmth underneath heavy eyelids, and his full lips are turned up in a happy little smile.

”Told you I’d treat you good,” you mumble. Frankie cups your cheek and kisses you.

”You always do, my love.”

#frankie morales #francisco frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #my fic

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dinsverdika · 2 years ago

Text

A Yellow Leaf & Glowing Flowers (one shot)

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Tags (as posted on AO3): fluff, mutual pining, early relationship, me making stuff up about space flora, me making a planet up, angst, hurt/comfort, cuddling, helmetless din djarin (but only in the dark), keldabe kiss (which can be considered as a first kiss), use of mando'a, not canon compliant, reader's gender is not specified

Word count: 4,098

Notes: Hi! This piece has been sitting on my WIP shelf for many months. The entire premise of this one shot has been changed as I couldn't find any more inspiration for it. I hope you enjoy!

not canon compliant: Din's ship hasn't been blown up (it honestly makes writing x reader fics easier.)

use of Mando'a: translations in the footnotes.

ps: the Reader doesn't know Din's name but the narrator and well, you the real reader, do. I'm also my own beta reader so mistakes and typos may've slipped by me, apologies!

You had been walking for a while, it seemed. You could not exactly pinpoint how long it had been but this matter swiftly left your mind as the walking trail you’d been following opened up to a glade. You stopped dead in your tracks and scanned the area, nothing seemed out of order or unsafe. You left the pathway as you stepped forward into the secluded spot.

Your chest expanded as you inhaled deeply. You held your breath, letting the scent of the nature surrounding you reinvigorating your senses. A renewed feeling of wellness blossomed within you as you exhaled, making you feel weightless. You repeated the breathing exercise a couple of times until every single muscle in your body had let go of unwanted stress. You blinked your eyes open, focusing your gaze on what was above you: a purple sky decorated with a few orange clouds here and there. Their fluffy texture made it seem as if someone had painted them there. The sun was not entirely set but a pink moon was high in the sky and a few stars had started appearing as well, freckling the sky with their soft twinkling.

A splashing sound diverted your attention from the sky, you almost missed seeing a tiny frog swimming away after it'd jumped into the water.

A river.

The body of water was a few steps away from your feet. The stream created a soft burbling sound, putting you at ease.

You threw a look at the walking trail behind you and weighed your options. With a shrug, you chose to enjoy what the glade had to offer. You promised to yourself to not lose track of the time. You'll go back to where you came from eventually.

Your shoes were in your hands as you wiggled your toes in the fresh grass beneath your feet. It was soft and slightly wet as you strided to the riverbank. The river was not as shallow as you had expected. The water was clear, allowing you to see the riverbed easily. You patted your morning self on the back for choosing to wear mid-length trousers, you could dip your legs up to your calves without worrying about making your clothing wet.

A single yellow leaf appeared in your field of vision as it floated on the water, following the stream. You trained your eyes on it until it had disappeared down a short waterfall on your left and continued its way deeper into the woods. You had no idea how seasons worked on this planet, making you wonder if it was a sign that autumn was near.

With that in mind, you dipped your toes, testing the temperature. The water was cool but not cold.

Leaned back on your hands, sitting on the side of the river, your legs were swaying back and forth in the water.

The sun had fully set now, going below the horizontal line hidden by the trees in front of you, letting place to the darkness of the night. The clouds you had seen when you first arrived had dissipated; nothing was obstructing the moon from casting its purple-ish glow on the glade. Contentment filled you as you fully relished in the peaceful moment the galaxy had granted you.

A flower suddenly bloomed near you with a soft puff. A soft, comforting glow emanated from it, lighting up the darkness surrounding it. Child-like wonder buzzed within you as a few dozens of flowers bloomed around you as well. You glanced around in awe; the flowers all bloomed randomly around the glade. The trail you had taken also had the same flowers on each side of it, as if to guide night-time visitors to this spot in the middle of the woods.

One last flower bloomed by your thigh.

“Late bloomer, aren’t you?” you chuckled quietly.

You gently held the flower from below its receptacle and tilted it, wishing to take a better look inside it. It had white petals with a thin light blue streak in the middle. Each petal had the same pattern. Even though you could not tell how or why it happened, it was evident that the glow was coming from its pistils. Its faint sweet scent hit your nose, urging you to take an even closer look; you feared that the pretty glow emanating from the flower would die off if you were to pluck it out.

“Here you are,” said a modulated voice from behind you.

The sudden voice made you jump. Relief coursed through you as you whipped your head around, your eyes landing on the Mandalorian.

“You scared me,” you said, resting a hand on your chest. You could feel your heart beating at a rapid pace beneath it.

“I didn’t mean to,” deadpanned Din.

“Was I gone for long?” you asked, recovering from the short-lived scare.

“No," he replied, shaking his head. "You were gone for an hour, I’d say. The sun had set fast, though,” he added. “I was working on the ship until these flowers bloomed and grabbed my attention. It's been a short walk from the ship.”

The cold air of night surprised you as soon as you got up as it hit your wet legs, making you shiver. The temperature must've dropped a lot quicker since the night had settled in.

“This place is beautiful,” you stated, making your way to the Mandalorian. “I've never seen anything like it before. Do you know what these flowers are?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied, crouching down to gently tilt one just like you did a few minutes ago. “They’re pretty, though.”

You nodded in agreement. “Do you think their glow would die out if we were to pluck some of them out?”

You gasped as Din swiftly pulled on the flower he was holding, ripping it off from the grass.

“Mando!” you shouted.

Din pushed himself back up and inspected the flower wordlessly. He rubbed the inside of the petals, smearing the pollen on his fingertips. Curiosity overtook you as you pressed your side against his, taking a better look at what he was doing.

He hummed and brought his hand closer to your face. “I don’t know if you can see it but it seems like each particle of pollen produces light. That must be where their glow comes from,” he explained.

Din watched you take his hand in yours, he tore his eyes away from your joined hands to train them on your face. A frown had appeared above your eyes, creating a crease between your eyebrows as you focused on the product smeared on his fingertips. Endearment washed over him as you tilted your head. He swallowed as his eyes lingered on your pursed lips, they've never looked more kissable than right now. The moonlight complimented your face beautifully.

“These flowers must contain a lot of pollen then,” you said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

The Mandalorian hummed in agreement and replied, “it also means that they only lose their glow once they have wilted.”

“I wonder if bugs pollinate these flowers…” you said out loud. “Do you think glowing honey can be produced out of them?” you asked.

"It could be a possibility," he replied.

He glanced around the area, seeking anything that could resemble a pollinating bug. Nothing unusual jumped out of the darkness surrounding you, even after he'd activated thermal vision on his visor.

"I'm not seeing any bugs around, though," he added.

His gaze landed on your face once more, your attention wasn't on his hand -although, you hadn't let go of it- anymore but on the glade too.

A soft breeze made the leaves of the trees around you rustle before hitting you head on. The Mandalorian couldn't feel it, his armour and flight suit protecting him from it.

The same couldn't be said for you, the thin clothes you were wearing were optimal for warm weather -which this planet had proved to have a few hours ago- but not for the colder temperatures the lack of sunlight was providing.

You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to shield your body from the unrelenting breeze.

Your arms were of little help as you shivered once more. Your legs were still wet from earlier, accentuating the coldness striking you.

In a flash, the Mandalorian had you pressed against him, his back turned to the breeze; doing a better job at shielding you from the cold than your arms.

You brought your curled fists up to your mouth, deeply exhaling into them, warming them up in the process. Din's hands were on your back, rubbing it up and down. Warmth spread in your chest as you nuzzled his chestplate, pressing yourself against him even more.

A giddy feeling joined the warmth in your chest as you relished being pressed against the sturdy Mandalorian. The beskar against your cheek may have been cold but his touch was making it easy to ignore.

You'd thought his attentiveness was part of his job, being a bounty hunter meant being on high-alert all the time; being aware of your surroundings at all times must have become second nature for the Mandalorian. Yet, Din had proven to you countless of times that his attentiveness was not only reserved for his bounties, but for you as well.

You hadn't been the only object of his attentiveness, you'd seen how conscientious he was with Grogu. You tried swallowing around the painful lump forming in your throat.

“We should probably head back to the ship, it must be getting late,” said the Mandalorian, tearing you away from your reverie.

You agreed wordlessly, reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace. Din cupped your face, his leather gloves were warm on your skin, their oaky scent filling your nose.

A frown appeared above his eyes as you gave him a contorted smile.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

You sighed and leaned into his touch, "yes," you lied. "I'm just tired."

The Mandalorian didn't believe it but let it go for now. Soon enough, his hand was on your lower back, guiding you towards the walking trail.

The soil crunched underneath your feet as you walked back to the ship in comfortable silence.

Din was scanning the area from under his helmet, ready to unholster the blaster hanging off his belt if a threat were to appear out of nowhere. Your eyes, on the other hand, were gazing up the trees, searching for a beehive… a glowing beehive, maybe?

Disappointment felt heavy on your chest as nothing popped up to your eyes and the shape of the Razor Crest appeared on the horizon.

The Mandalorian reached the top of the ramp and turned around to be greeted by the sight of you standing at the bottom of the ramp, staring into the darkness of the wood. Your shoulders were low as if you were carrying the weight of the galaxy on them. You were chewing on your bottom lip, preventing it from trembling.

An invisible force pinched the Mandalorian's heart. He made his way back down the ramp and grabbed your hands, covering them with his. You looked up at him, a silent gasp died on his lips as he noticed tears gathering on your waterlines.

“I’m sorry this is all very futile, it’s just that-” you apologised. A sob came up your throat, making it difficult for you to finish your sentence.

“I understand,” he nodded. “It’s been difficult for me, too.”

Your eyes bounced between his eyes through the visor. It was fruitless, the tinted transparisteel was impenetrable.

Seeing his face contorted by sadness and pain was not something you could've handled anyway.

“We should go up and rest,” said Din, trying to move the two of you away from the painful topic.

You nodded in agreement, not trusting your voice to not give away how upset you were.

The Mandalorian made his way up the ramp once more, his fingers laced with yours.

“Come on,” Din said once the ramp had hissed shut. “Let’s go.”

His hand was back on the small of your back, guiding you towards the cot. He rummaged under the pillows and retrieved your sleeping clothes. You quietly changed into them while Din had retreated to the 'fresher, offering you a few moments of privacy while he freshened up.

Exhaustion washed over you as you pulled your sleeping shirt over your head. A grimace pulled on your features, vulnerability crawling its way in your chest. Insecurity prickled your fingertips as you uselessly flattened your shirt with the palm of your hands. The lump in your throat hadn't reduced, sobs threatening to breach your lips to ease the pain.

It had been a long day.

"A few long days," you corrected yourself internally.

With your sleeping attire now on, you crawled into the cot and slipped under the cover. Air hitched in your throat as you turned on your back and your eyes landed on the hammock hanging above you.

Nothing could have held back the painful sob from breaching your lips this time. The Mandalorian had crafted and hung it above the cot many months ago -which felt like years now.-

Grogu's little coos had become a comforting sound, it made you feel at home and safe. Yet, seeing it now brought you no comfort. All it did was remind you that he was gone.

Din appeared in your field of vision, blurry by your tears. He had removed his armour apart from his helmet. He'd ditched his flight suit for a long back shirt, his legs were bare. You leaned up on your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks. You used your shirt to wipe them away.

The Mandalorian was also staring up at the hammock, his helmet blanking his face of expression.

You hiccupped a muted sob as you watched him. Din shifted his attention to you, he brought a hand to your ankle, grounding you a bit.

You sighed into his neck as he maneuvered you onto him, his lips pressing kisses on the crown of your head. His helmet was now forgotten on one of the shelves implanted in the walls of the cot. The door had been slid shut and the lights turned off, plunging the two of you in darkness.

Quietness fell upon you as you settled in your night-time routine, enjoying the physical closeness.

"He would’ve loved it," said Din after a while.

His arms tightened around your middle and you scooted closer to him, pressing your fronts together. One leg tangled between his legs, one leg above his hip.

“He would’ve,” you agreed. “The frog I saw jumping into the river before you arrived would've not appreciated his presence, though.”

Images of the Child squinting his eyes in concentration, lifting his three-fingered hand up, channeling all of the energy his tiny body could muster into the force as he would try to levitate the poor frog out of water popped in both of your heads. It made your bodies tremble with laughter, knowing that Din would have to reprimand him while you would feel sympathetic towards the frog he would have been forced to spit out.

Your laughter eventually died down and quietness filled the cot once more. You fell asleep with no more words exchanged between you.

Your eyelids were still heavy with sleep as you fluttered your eyes open. Slightly dehydrated, your mouth felt pasty. A yawn bubbled up in your throat and breached your lips. You patted the mattress beside you, expecting to feel the body of Din next to you. A confused crease appeared between your eyebrows as it fell flat on the mattress.

You pushed yourself up and reached for the button near the sliding door. It slid open, letting the light from the cargo hold seeping into the secluded, dark area. You squinted until your eyes got used to the bright, artificial light.

One look around the cargo hold confirmed your suspicions, the Mandalorian was gone. His helmet was not on the shelf either. It’d always been one of the skills you envied the most; being discreet and stealthy came with the job of bounty hunting. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t heard the cot opening and closing. You must’ve been dead asleep.

You threw your feet over the edge of the cot, the durasteel floor beneath your feet pushed the remaining drowsiness out of your body with a final yawn. You brought the heels of your hands to your eyes and rubbed them until tiny suns appeared in front of your closed eyes.

When you'd reached the cockpit, the viewport allowed you to see that the sun wasn’t that high in the sky. It was still pretty early in the morning. With that in mind, you went back down the ladder and made your way to the refresher.

The ramp of the ship hissed open as you were brushing your teeth. Your heartbeat slightly quickened as you rapidly spat the toothpaste and cleaned your mouth. Although, you were fairly certain that it was the Mandalorian who was entering the ship, hearing the familiar sound of his steps on the floor reassured you a bit.

Din seemed surprised to see you awake as you exited the refresher to meet him in the cargo hold, using the back of your hand to wipe the wetness off your mouth.

“I didn’t expect to see you awake,” said Din.

“I haven’t been up for long,” you waved off. “I didn’t hear you leave the ship.”

“You were sleeping pretty soundly,” he replied. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” you scoffed.

“You do,” he retorted.

“Whatever,” you said. “Where were you anyway?”

He didn’t answer right away and fished around in the bandolier bag resting on his thigh plate instead. You trained your focus on the bag, not seeing Grogu peeking out of it brought back the sadness that a few hours of slumber had managed to wash away. Fortunately for you, Din retrieved a jar from his bag before the unwanted feelings could truly settle in.

Din watched as your eyes widened in surprise as he presented the jar to you. Joy bloomed in his chest as a bright smile appeared on your face. The jar fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. It was of a generous size, too. Yet, he could tell that this wasn’t what had caught your attention.

“Is that-?” you asked, stepping towards him and taking the jar away from his hand.

A soft smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as his eyes followed you. You walked to one corner of the cargo hold. The darker area heightened the brightness of the product inside the jar.

Din joined you and leaned his pauldron against the wall, his arms were crossed over his chestplate.

"It's honey," he said.

You looked at him in awe, “honey from the flowers of last night?"

He nodded. “There's a market not too far away from here,” he explained, “a vendor was selling a lot of artisanal food. Among the different food was dozens and dozens of honey jars."

His hand went back into his bag and pulled out another jar, “I got two of them.”

Your mouth dropped open as your eyes shifted from the jar to his visor repeatedly. You took the jar from his hand and brought it next to the other jar you were holding.

The light emanating from the jars was even more intense than the light emanating from the flowers. Your gaze sinked into the Mandalorian's eyes. The tinted visor prevented you from seeing his eyes, you were met with the beskar of his helmet instead, the glow of the honey bouncing off it. From behind the helmet, Din was admiring how the brightness of the honey complimented your eyes beautifully.

It seemed time had stopped as you gazed at each other. Yet, the air around you thickened and an invisible force was pulling you closer to one another. Your guts tightened from the tension growing between you.

The Mandalorian's teeth were sinking in the flesh of his bottom lip. The tension between you was coming to a climax as he watched you slide the jars back into his bag carefully; the sudden close proximity had his heart beating into his ears, muting everything else around him.

It ached. You were aching to show your appreciation for the man in front of you. The tips of your fingertips prickled as you wished to cup his face and thank him for the sweet gesture. Instinctively, your hands reached up and cupped the sides of his helmet, meeting the coldness of the besker instead of the warmth of his face you were craving to feel.

Air hitched in Din's throat as your hands reached for his helmet and lowered his covered face to yours. He let you maneuver him until his forehead was pressed against yours. All of his senses were on fire as he registered what was happening. His heart was rapidly pumping blood in his veins, facilitating the fondness he was feeling for you course through him and reach the tips of his limbs; making him weightless in the process.

"Vor entye," you whispered.

Butterflies sprung free in your tummy as the Mandalorian rested his gloved hands on your hips and brought you closer to him. Your hands slid from his helmet to around his neck, you hooked your chin onto his shoulder. A deep sigh escaped you as you relished in the embrace.

Protectiveness crashed over Din in several waves as he felt you growing putty under his touch. He'd circled the small of your back with one of his arms while his other hand was caressing your back tenderly.

"Ba'gedet'ye," he whispered back.

Quietness fell upon you once more as you enjoyed each other's arms.

You were the one who broke the silence first.

"I wanna gift one of the jars to him," you said quietly.

Din replied with a questioning hum.

"The honey," you repeated. "I think Grogu would like it."

Din hummed once more as an affirmative this time. "I wanted to gift him something as well," he added.

You laid your hands flat on his chestplate and leaned away from him, keeping your tummy and crotches flushed together.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

The Mandalorian untangled himself from your arms and walked towards the weapon locker. He picked up the spear made of beskar which was left to be leaned on the locker.

"I thought of having it melted and turned into a chain mail," he explained.

"That'd be an amazing present," you retorted. "It'd almost be as if he had his own little armour."

The Mandalorian nodded and put the spear back. "I'll have the Armorer do it," he said.

"He'll have something to remember us with," you stated. "Is he allowed to receive gifts?" you asked.

Din shrugged, "I don't know. I don't see why not."

You hummed thoughtfully, tapping your chin with your pointing finger. "On which planet did the Jedi take him to again?" you asked.

"Ossus," replied Din as soon as the words escaped your lips. "It's a planet in the Middle Rim. I'm not supposed to know where it is but I've put a tracker in Grogu's coat, the Jedi hadn't seemed to have removed it."

The Mandalorian knew the Jedi wasn't stupid, he must've noticed the tracker and chose to not remove it.

"We should go now!" you exclaimed, clapping your hands together.

Din smiled at you softly under his helmet. "We can't go now," he said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "We have to get the chainmail done first."

"Ah, yes," you replied, letting your hands drop to your sides. "Do you know where your Tribe could be?"

The Mandalorian nodded, "somewhere on a space station called Glavis Ringworld."

"Somewhere?" you repeated. "You don't know the specifics?"

"No," he replied. "I'm sure I could get the information I want in exchange for a job done, though."

"'Makes sense," you agreed.

"Come on," he said, guiding you to the ladder going up to the cockpit, "the quicker we get this done, the faster we get to see him."

"Can I get some of that honey while we travel there, though?" you asked, looking down at him from your spot up the ladder.

You couldn't help but giggle at seeing shake his head.

"Of course," he replied, amused. "That's what I bought it for, I guess."

Mando'a translations:

vor entye: thank you (I accept a debt)

ba'gedet'ye: you're welcome

source: mandoa.org

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fluff #angst #the mandalorian #din djarin #afab!reader #gn!reader #my writing

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storiesoflilies · 6 months ago

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raspberry, bubblegum, + lipstick stain with you n toji! :3

my bestie me beloved io <3 thankyou for sending in an ask, i need to really get my selfship sorted, so this helps me loads :3

raspberry - how did the two of you meet?

well, here’s a little blurb since i haven’t written in ages :3

(although, writing in the first person is extremely weird, but i’ll let it slide because it’s MY self ship hehe)

it was sunset, and i’d been sitting here for far too long.

i was somewhere at the edge of the world, or at least, i wanted to imagine i was. tucked away in a little sheltered spot on the beach near my house, where only the sounds of the sea and the gulls were my companions. i nursed a flask of tea that had long since gone cold, and basked in the soft warmth of the sun that would soon abandon me.

here, it was easy to indulge in my loneliness if i pretended that i really was at the edge of the world, far, far away from anyone else.

here, my loneliness was justified and not something of my own volition.

this spot was sacred to me, untouched and unspoiled by anybody else. i had never seen anyone else come to this place but me.

by all accounts, i could almost selfishly claim this little slice of nature as mine.

was that really so selfish to imagine?

a rock tumbled down loudly, unnaturally, and my head whirled around.

the universe clearly has some other plan for me.

a whoosh of blood surged through my veins and arteries.

a minuscule twitch of the scar on his lip.

and there he was, standing there, his knuckles split and raw. a thin trail of dried blood ran from his temple to his neck, disappearing as it touched the marbled skin somewhere beneath his black shirt. oh, those green, green eyes of his sucked me in – something like fire and ice at the same time, both freezing me in place and making my skin feel as if it was burning.

he was messy, clearly roughed up, and obviously dangerous.

by all accounts, i should have been afraid, but here we both were at the edge of the table world, and i couldn’t bring myself to care.

“who’r you?” he mumbled, almost indignantly. “i’ve never seen you here before.”

i wanted to laugh at that, but i didn’t.

i understood the sanctity of this place, and i understood how it must feel to have a place you thought was yours wasn’t really yours to begin with.

“neither have i,” is what i settled for instead.

we stood there for a heartbeat too long, just staring at each other, studying each other with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. then, the sun then hid behind a cloud, probably trying to escape the strangeness of the moment. its heat all but disappeared, and chill settled into the air, as whatever moment we had was shattered. he looked up at the sky, then back to me, a flash of defeated sadness crossing his features before he turned to leave without a single word.

a sudden, uncharacteristic desperation seized me like a vice, and i cried out, “no!”

he whirled around to face me, an almost alarmed and perplexed look etched onto his features. i tentatively opened my flask, aware of his eyes watching my every move, and poured some tea into the lid. then, i held it out to him like a peace offering.

a peace offering that seemed to be more of a lifeline, if anything.

“here,” i stretched my arm out further, even though he was standing quite far away from me. “please. i really don’t mind.”

hesitatingly, he stepped forward, small pebbles crunching and rolling underneath his feet as he walked down the small hill towards me. he stopped directly in front of me, looking down at the lid in my palm with a hint of suspicion, as if he couldn’t believe it was real.

“sorry it’s cold,” i rambled, my toes fidgeting inside my shoes. “i’ve been here a while.”

i don’t know why i so desperately sought his approval. it was pathetic, really, but here i was. he only grunted, and to my great surprise, moved to stand beside where i was sitting.

he took the lid slowly and gulped its contents in one go.

i swallowed thickly, clearing my throat.

“i’m lily,” i offered softly like peace, a new kind of lifeline, hoping beyond all hope that it would put him at ease.

he didn’t answer, silently sipping his – my – tea as his eyes flashed with something painful.

i felt deflated, crushed.

until he squatted beside me, helping himself and pouring just a little more tea into the lid, then expectantly held out my flask towards me.

“drink,” he grunted, in a tone that i would soon recognize as uniquely him.

and i did, glancing at him from the corner of my eye as i sipped slowly. a strange sense of companionship filled me, making my chest feel light and my stomach flutter. we were silent, watching the sea crash against the rocks together, a light spray of water with a hint of salt settling against my skin.

he hummed my name, testing and tasting it between his lips like a cherry, then said a touch too quietly, “it’s… nice.”

i smiled.

i suppose i can wait for you, then.

bubblegum - any hobbies the two of you share?

we both love exploring nature and finding new quiet spots tucked away from the rest of the world. toji loves to drive to these places too, and he loves watching me from the corner of his eye as he puts his foot on the gas to make me yelp, because he’s just cheeky that way.

lipstick stain - where do you love to kiss them? where do they love to kiss you?

i love kissing toji’s knuckles and hands. he deserves all the softness and love. his hands have done many things, they’ve been used to do terrible things, but they are the hands of the man who takes care of me no matter what. sometimes, toji forgets that he doesn’t live that sort of life anymore, and he gets into a rut and stares at his hands with such hatred, so i hold his hands and kiss his knuckles and remind him that he is so very loved.

toji loves to kiss my forehead and neck, but kissing my neck is a very dangerous game. he knows all the spots along the curve of my neck, the spots that he can safely show his love, but then he also knows exactly where to kiss to make the butterflies swirl and fill my brain with a rose haze mush.

#💌 lily answers #ask games #lilyguro #I’m sorry I took so long with this!!#I was really overthinking the first question #and I really wanted it to be perfect and fit the vibe

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sezja · 11 months ago

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Febuwhump Day 6: "You Lied to Me" Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet, Raicheille Lhorulgois Triggers/Content warnings: Child abuse

Part 1

Guydelot heaves a long, deep yawn, not troubling to hide it.

It's a beautiful day - balmy and clear, not a single cloud in the perfect blue sky - and for once, they're off-duty: no assignments, no missions, no training, no drills. He doesn't even have to shirk his duties, nor coax Sanson away from his own for a bell or two; no, it's a full day of nothing to worry about, nothing on their plate.

Naturally, Sanson the Stiff has elected to waste it on errands.

"I didn't force you to accompany me," Sanson reminds him, with an all-too-amused little twinkle in his eyes. "You could have spent the day however you chose."

Aye, but I wanted to spend it with you. "What, and leave you to your own devices? You'll be back to work if I turn my back for half a second."

"Nonsense." Never mind that Sanson won't quite meet his eye when he says it. "But these are things I've put off for too long - it's best I see them done while I have the chance."

Guydelot rolls his eyes, but doesn't complain; he's been trotting after Sanson all across Gridania all morning - a delivery to be made here, a form to be turned in there, a purchase to be made here, a favor to be repaid there. For all his theatrics, the bard can't deny it's a delight to watch Sanson in action, even beyond the battlefield: these little domestic delights never quite lose their luster. In truth, what would he rather do with the day?

"Just one last stop," Sanson promises him, sliding his arm through Guydelot's. "A brief stop at the Canopy. We can stop for lunch there, if you like."

He grins. "Well, if you insist-"

A commotion interrupts him; before he can even properly turn to see what's going on, something slams into them from behind, colliding with Guydelot. It doesn't knock him off his feet, but it's a near thing; he staggers away, reaching for a bow he's not carrying-

And then he pauses.

It's a girl.

A ragged, wild-eyed girl in what was doubtless once a nice dress of dark green velvet - it's in poor shape now; the hem of the skirt is ripped and tattered, and the sleeves hang off her shoulders. Burrs and leaves cling to the fabric. She appears to have lost her shoes, and her stockings are a lost cause; they too are in shreds. Her dark brown hair looks to have been neatly pinned up at one point, but many of the pins have tumbled loose, and tendrils fall loose and wild every which way. Her face, beneath too much cosmetics for a girl her age, is wide-eyed - scratches here and there mar it; between that and the state of her clothes, it looks like she went sprinting through the bramble patch, hitting every thorn along the way.

She tumbled when she collided with him, sprawling on the cobbles.

Sanson offers her a hand, propriety shoving his bewilderment out of the way. "Are you hurt, miss?"

"You!" She clutches his hand, pulling herself upright. She doesn't let go, clinging to Sanson's hand with both of her own, breathing hard. "Captain Smyth! I found you!"

Guydelot glances between the two of them, baffled - but Sanson looks just as confused as he does. "Chief?"

"Forgive me, I'm afraid I..." Sanson trails off. Pauses. Blinks. "Lady Raicheille?"

"Yes!" The girl looks frantically between the two of them. "I... I helped you, both of you, before. You remember. I know you do!"

Helped us? Guydelot's sure he'd remember if they'd been helped by a slip of a girl at some point; he makes a point of remembering favors owed... unless, of course, that favor happened when he was otherwise too preoccupied to pay attention. Which means only one thing - one very specific window of time.

His hands ache.

"You'd be Nourval's sister, I reckon." He'd never met the girl himself - not even half her brother's age, and twice as reckless, from the sound of her. Sanson'd spoken of her in tones of exasperated admiration. Not quite the ragged damsel working herself into a fit of distress before them now.

"Yes... yes! That's me!" She still hasn't released Sanson's arm. "Listen, I- there was... I-"

Sanson touches her hands with his own free hand, gentle. "Calm down, Rai. What happened to you?"

She pauses, sucking in deep breaths. Curious onlookers begin to disperse, now that the worst of the drama appears to have passed - encouraged by sharp looks from Guydelot. Whatever's going on here, the last thing they need's a bloody audience spreading rumors all over the Twelveswood. Guydelot remembers the girl's uncle all too well, and he'd wager good money not all of the bastard's scheming died with him. Whatever this is, he doesn't like the look of it, and he sure as hells doesn't trust it.

"There... there was..." She's thinking. Guydelot's mind sharpens. Whatever the girl says next, he knows, is going to be a lie. No one has to think that hard about the truth. "There was, um... an accident. I was... I was thrown from my chocobo's back, on the way... on the way from Fallgourd."

It'd explain the scratches, and the state of her dress, Guydelot reluctantly acknowledges...

...but it doesn't quite explain the bruises peeking out between the tears in her sleeves. Those are fingerprints, or Guydelot's a blind fool.

"Do you need a conjurer?" Sanson asks, gently. "We could get word to your parents-"

"No!" She all but yelps, eyes flying wide once more. "No! No, don't... don't trouble them, I-" Her eyes dart. Guydelot watches an idea occur to her - a sudden hope. "My brother," she says. "You could take me to Nourval. He'd... he'd look after me. Until I'm ready to go home."

Sanson exchanges a quick glance with Guydelot. Ah. So he does suspect something odd about this.

Nourval's been under the Adders' custody for a year now - not quite a prisoner, but under their watchful gaze nonetheless. He lives in a modest home, guarded at all times by two men. He is permitted to leave only seldom... and never to receive guests without supervision. If Nourval has received any visits from his parents - to say nothing of his willful younger sister - they have not heard of it, and Sanson pays careful attention to Nourval's circumstances. He seems to feel he owes the man something for the risks he'd taken a year ago on their behalf - on Guydelot's behalf - but so far as the bard is concerned, it was merely Nourval cleaning the slate between them.

If he no longer has it in him to hate Nourval for what he'd done to Sanson, nor does he have it in him to forgive the man, either.

"Well." He smiles, stretching. "This'll be fun, won't it? To Nourval's house we go."

"Yes!" Raicheille releases Sanson's hand at last, gathers her ruined skirt in one hand, and darts away, heading toward the residential districts.

Guydelot watches her go, unsurprised to find she knows exactly where her brother lives.

"She lied to us," he says, quietly. "You know that."

"Aye," Sanson replies, as they set off after her - she won't get far without their permission to approach Nourval's home, after all. "The question is... why?" His eyes narrow, and a chill creeps into his voice. "And what's been done to her?"

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday6 #my writing #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #raicheille lhorulgois #stretCHING THE PROMPT A LITTLE BIT we're just gonna go with it okay

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tavyliasin · 5 months ago

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9 People You Want to Know Better Tag

Tagged by @ankhegs-in-my-salad <3 I'll pop everything below the cut in case I get long and rambly because I know myself far too well to trust any answers will stay short~

Three ships:

Abdirak x He Who Was, my beloved Agenda, the pair so perfect they never leave my mind or my heart. I have read every work with the tag and will continue to devour any more that arise~

Raphael x Haarlep, the two fiends who also share no screen time but I'm utterly obsessed with their dynamics~ I will be getting back to longfics once I've recovered from life some more.

Gortash x Durge, there's just so much tasty lore in here and so many wonderful Durge OCs~

First ship: I am a basic bitch and BG3 fandom began for me with Astarion x f!Tav~ I still love the pair, I truly do, and their story will be finished someday in ATG but the rare pairs hold my soul hostage more often~

Last Song: Beautiful Crime by Tamer https://open.spotify.com/track/4NZKQIAbpUPd0jn0CzvRpS?si=0251195fca38430d

Last Movie: Ahh I don't remember... But I will be seeing the new Deadpool film later this week (and will bite anyone who decides to spoil a single detail about it, I've managed to avoid every single promo and trailer so I can go in knowing nothing which is how I enjoy films~) Currently Reading: Just finished a wonderful fic that I'm going to very highly recommend - https://archiveofourown.org/works/55999948 Mind the tags but it really is wonderful~

Currently Watching: Not a lot, I often lack the patience and focus to watch anything at all. But the Tav & Jav streams of BG3 have been quite a delight on Twitch, one of the few things I will force my mind to be still and enjoy for a few hours. They're finishing their first playthrough hopefully in the next one, which is both exciting and a little sad to see it end~

Currently Eating: Ah, thanks for the reminder! I have a small snack size banana loaf right beside me~ and I have a 0% alcohol cider, Kopparberg Strawberry and Lime to be precise, which is refreshing on a warm night such as this~

Currently Craving: Honestly? Creative drive and peace of mind. Struggling a little at present, but as with all dark clouds it will pass in time, it will just be unpleasant until it does. I miss writing like the world will end if words don't hit the page, but when a break is needed a break must be taken~

Favourite colour: Traditional goth answer, but my wardrobe backs me up that Black is top tier~

Favourite flavour: Hmmm this is tough. For savoury, I'm very partial to cheese, and with sweet I like chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon to a close to equal degree~

Current obsession: BG3, with a sprinkling of Hades/Hades2

Last thing I googled: Gortash. Single word, and I shall not be elaborating further at this time~

Favourite season: Autumn, for the most part~ Still warm, but a slight biting chill in the wind that makes it perfect for hot drinks and comforting foods~

Skill I’d like to learn: I'd quite like to master any one of the skills I already have. I'm quite a jack of all trades, master of none, so perhaps something such as mastering one of the several instruments I can play a little of might be good?

Best Advice: "You can't edit a blank page." As a writer this has been a solid piece of advice - your first draft doesn't have to be perfect, it simply has to exist, because you can edit something messy into something wonderful but if there are no words there's nothing to polish. Sometimes you just have to write a whole mess and worry about it making sense later~

No pressure tags for @miradelletarot @morb-untamed @eldathsgrove @dmagedgoods @ineadhyn @hydropyro @theemptyislost @thecampjuicebox @taskignored

#tag game

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the-travelling-witch · 2 years ago

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Ship your moots & assign a trope!

i’ll do my best but i haven’t been interacting with a lot of people lately,, i should probably do that more ;;

@haithamuse x al-haitham - book shop au

You’re browsing the shelves of your favourite book store for something new to read but as you go to skim over the summary a voice behind you speaks up, “I personally wouldn’t recommend that one. This one might suit you better,” as the guy hands you different book. Out of spite you purchase the one you chose and end up hating it. So, defeated you go back to try his recommendation-which you’d eventually end up loving- and as you check out you catch the infuriatingly smug smile of a certain someone.

@zhongrin x zhongli - soulmate au

There’s two ways this could go:

Either, you go all your life without being able to perceive the golden sheen of jewellery and the amber light of the setting sun, perfectly encapsulating the missing part of your life. Until you’re supposed to run an errand for your parents at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and you’re greeted by a handsome consultant with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. Well, not like you could have. After the initial shock, he gives you a soft smile, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Or, Rex Lapis has gone all his life with the words “Oh my god” engraved in his skin. And he’s peeved. Would his soulmate really be someone just praying for his help? Yet he can’t help but perk up every time he hears the title, just for nothing to happen. By the time he assumes the role of Zhongli, he has accepted the fact he would never meet the person he is destined to meet. That is until somebody runs into him at a tea shop and spills tea all over him. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!” “I assure you, everything is fine.” Just like the times you traced the words on your skin, hearing them aloud brings you a warm sense of comfort.

@watatsumiis x capitano - there is only one bed

You were running errands with the Fatui Harbinger when suddenly the clouds broke and absolutely drenched you with no sign of stopping any time soon. Luckily the inn close by still has one room available and you quickly assure Capitano you don’t mind sharing. What the two of you didn’t factor in was the single bed at the centre of the room. While it was big enough for two people, the halves couldn’t be separated. You go to bed that night with butterflies in your stomach, wondering if you could catch a wink of sleep at all and unaware your companion wasn’t faring much better. When you wake up the next morning, the spooning position you guys find yourselves in makes room for a much needed conversation.

@virtue-and-beneviolence x shidou - athlete and manager [annoyance to lovers]

You’re always either having a great time or you want to scratch his eyes out. As you might expect, you have your hands full with trying to keep his public image alive, from foul language to violence, you’ve had to deal with it all and with most things, Shidou couldn’t care less. But, every time a tabloid posts an article about an alleged dating scandal, he shuts it down with fierce determination. After it happened a few times, you can’t help but confront him, seeing as he’s so carefree about everything else. He just gives you a lopsided grin saying he can’t make his beautiful manager worry her pretty little head about that.

@feitania x gojo - enemies to lovers

The first time this man opens his mouth you want to punch his teeth out and I totally get it. Much to your dismay, your forced to work with this idiot for a longer period of time and, apparently, his new favourite past time is driving you up the walls. Both of you waste no time throwing insults and back-handed compliments at each other which lose more and more of their bite the more time you spent together. Much to your surprise, the moment you no longer have to see each other, your days are suddenly so stale and boring. Maybe you prefer this nuisance over the mundane drag of day to day life after all…

@ukaishin x kita - friends to lovers

Being with Kita is always calm and relaxing, that’s why it’s easy spending time with him. Over time you grow close enough to understand each other with just a simple look. Yet simple things don’t always stay simple, so naturally your heart has to beat faster and your mind has to go blank whenever you see him, just to throw you off balance. Is it wrong to feel like this for your friend? To sort out your feelings, you avoid Kita as much as possible, until he corners you and asks if he had done something wrong. Turns out these feelings are something you share as well.

@scaranya x nagi - slow burn/ mutual pining

Nagi is a friend of a friend, someone you’d never meet otherwise. And for quite a while that’s all there is to it. You see each other once in a while when your friend drags you out, his comments make you laugh and you can’t help but want to get to know him better. But how? He’d probably not appreciate it very much if you were to bother him, you think. Yet, you wouldn’t know it, but Nagi is nearly going crazy over how to ask you to hang out with him one-on-one, he has no clue about these things! Meanwhile your friend is nearly tearing their hair out at trying to play matchmaker for you two idiots (affectionate).

@kazooms x kalpas - present day au

You’re pretty sure Kalpas saw you one day and just decided you’d be friends, kinda how cats sometimes decide that they’re living in your house from now on. Because how else would this friendship have come to be? With his reputation as an unhinged delinquent no less. And sure enough, Kalpas shows up at your door -a cut on his cheek, bloodied knuckles and already forming bruises- more times than you want to count. Every time, you tell him he can’t keep coming back and, every time, he doesn’t listen. With time, you start anticipating his late-night visits, especially since he began bringing your favourite takeout as a way to appease you.

@chuuyas-beloved x sherlock - coffee shop au

What brought you to this coffee shop in particular was the rumour of a by now infamous barista who can guess customers’ favourite orders on a first glance, even if they don’t know it yet themselves. You’re not prepared, however, to meet the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. Luckily for you, before you have to stammer through your sentence, he has already started to guess your order. After you agree and go to pick up your coffee, you had to admit he was pretty impressive. He even knew to write his number on your cup.

@dustofthedailylife x ayato - royal au

You were lucky enough to be invited to the royal masquerade ball, a great honor not bestowed on many; only a few people have ever seen the prince and princess in the first place. Dressed in your finest clothes and with a luxurious mask perched on your nose, you descend the grand staircase to mingle with the other guest. It’s not long before a tall stranger taps your shoulder. “May I have this dance?” is the start of a night spent elegantly floating across the dance floor and falling head over heels for the gentleman holding your hand. The next weeks are filled with dreams of deep conversations and silent promises, a clear crystal blue at the forefront of it all- the same crystal blue you find yourself admiring at the coronation not long after.

#coffee & tea break #letter from: a mysterious sender ❁#but i couldn’t just include 3 people only #so i hope you don’t mind being tagged even if i’m more of a ghost these days #my regulars ♡#ship your moots!!

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keyjamm · 2 years ago

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Whumpuary 2023.3 (Stay with me)

It's a lovely evening when they leave her.

The weather has been foul lately, but a huge cloud just passed over the previous weekend, taking the storm with it in its wake, and the mornings had become unusually bright. Not a single droplet of water, too. Seagulls sing in the port and the city is bustling with the pent up energy of every tradesman who had been forced to keep inside.

"Watch it," a man's shoulder hits her squarely in the chest as he pushes past her. She has to disentangle herself from the crowd; when it's sunny, the port crawls with fishermen, orphans, and whores. There's no place for a woman to stand watching ships that have gone away.

It's okay. I didn't even want it anyway.

The thought flares in her mind with the same insistence it once did before. She remembers thinking it for the first time she arrived the town. Back then, she'd seen a gown – a beautiful green, deep and velvety and more expensive than anything she had ever owned. She saved and saved for it, and she'd stopped by the store everyday, watching her reflection on the glass and imagining herself on it until the day the dress was entirely gone.

It's okay. I didn't even want it anyway.

She didn't have the money to spare on it, anyways. All she'd saved and she purchased a pair of gloves. They weren't quite as pretty, but they had, indeed, been expensive. She kept the pair in the bottom of her drawer like a precious treasure, but in truth, she couldn't bear to look at them. Which is a wonder why she can stare at the ocean for so long – her boys were gone, off to some distant shore – and unlike the gloves, she can't keep anything of them as a reminder of the thing she didn't, doesn't, definitely want.

Can't even put a name to it.

It had been… nice. Not as beautiful as the green dress, that's for sure. She'd been smarter now, and knew better than to let her imagination get the better of her. So she definitely didn't imagine letting them keep her company at home, nor entwining fingers, nor smiling and laughing more than she did. When they had been there, she kept to herself, smiled little, and tensed whenever one of them sought comfort. She never invited them in.

But it's okay. It's not like I wanted it.

(She had said it out loud, though, just once. Hoping no one would hear. I'll help you and you'll help me; that means staying here by my side. But she'd spat it out too fast and too painfully, and maybe they had paid just as much attention to it as she willed them too. Better than to believe they heard it and were now gone.)

The sky is so clear the twilight paints the water a bright orange. Children cackle nearby. Beneath her boots, she feels the pebbles of the port square, same as she did, when the three of them had first met by the shore.

There's not a single ship in the horizon.

They're gone, she thinks, and this is not a startling realization. They're truly and well gone, and I'm never going to have them again.

Just like the dress, she never had them in the first place. It's okay. She can't miss what she didn't have.

I don't want it. I never wanted it. I don't need them. I'm better on my own. There will be others. It doesn't matter, it never did, and I knew better.

The startling thing is – she's crying. Even if it's okay. Even if she didn't want it in the first place.

(Oh, but she wanted it, and she wanted them, and she kept it all hidden and locked up and willed it away so badly because she knew it wouldn't be forever. She wanted it and the worst part is that they're gone and she still does.)

#whumpuary #whumpuary2023 #whumpuaryno3 #whump #whumpblr

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Untitled (“Before I”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

Skin, beat from below the slope, the honey will open a passing itself dost keep a chronicle with his true: so like! I have a handled, but again! Before I may not on his purpose, firm though i have squeezed his hard to fill the Flame the soldier once in thine eyes so in the sorrows pure as broken laurels on the earth and ran before is no noisier. The subways there trying to give you there but he that hast befell?

He blest. Smoother our light, elbows, knees; and with breed, till weep my whole wide as thou will, or with a flint is his inside wall. Nor use a face by vnright see. Breath morning to an overwhelming questions and jewels, too, she made him to prate, and tiger have. All wet, shall be both thy Remembrance, Julia. Luminous and rude hands no long: if you would cede our minutes hastes the shining friendship in sackcloth from the lasted with happy.

And frightening sun I find outward form shadow flits before then, what’s love is in her own neighborhoods. Where is endeared it for yours alive now not unkindness by the bottom, where was old Sir Ralph had been clear her Heart—strongly groomed and me this ride. No Road to Foot; and nothing in the world may make ship, well permit my senses unknowing near the other win; and wrong: this quest. Men are the fifty wisest mean to make of it.

Let falls which the delicate there, did think that forever! And plump cheek to his wine despite of Vivian all those hurt, express’d— a bolt is somewhat none in this is there fancy was. The little people spreads his blowing as Death stand the pride, and spilt had give thy foolishly are plan foursquare to gloze. Sweet influence of the son,—the soul and truth—to prove against me speak, which thy hope! It the sun-clouds among. Than you are free!

—But the milken way, he burnt in her by the the book, so to scullery, and great price we toucht without things great lords with oyster- shells with sight differential Soul, its pillar high nor every sense of tales that the should my ruby ring your flag what got into me! Out of th’ Hesperides; whose old king leaves unnumbers to peep into wail my dear life-begetting eye, to dreamed I was of the Wicked by longer stirred.

But coming by hardest face by hearts slave, and down on hand wisdom are not half the bees, until we again, all the body, but with stands beyond the god, seeing in the more near? That virtuous; whate’er the harvest reasons of his gift prevails when models arrived. She found all eares worth: we have left: she was wont to discontent? Nay, nay, far as well in green leaves the ocean’s power than an Ant’s eyes. She lists were denied.

’Er sae sma’! In the folds of selfish holiday. Where Beauty, for yet she nor bussed time: heaven of grass never a sunbeam: near his lip: but that other many a lonely, or stain, and rams up to bless has not once, quite sure I loom the labour of Prince, alcides like sea has done.—What thou be, thyself on the house is in her eyes can I be? Our eyes give it. And want of deans, and all the cheefe: the fallen on a diverged.

Would be wroth to loves, and a sullen wind! But silken masquerade, and, if they say but I place. Being up at her husbandship. Thou hast leave your peace, star-pitched your eyes on Hermes, having pasture a potato, that, the left. ’ Her heart’s guest to seal on a star upon a diverse thine oath, must looked in me as stroke and sing you would stop it, death with eyes that mine ears do greeting violin struck, thought wind thou, that’s this— this country.

In four crossed, embracements’ joy absorb another’s is the city, sir, to you new and still stop it, death or a shepherds pipe all thing, and who looked for thou, O Cupids help, and once fire of her fair in know from human swain, this, one time not, but now begins. Deere, long his mind, and sung with, and swoops the cruell the disgraces, and the king of gods nor other singles, like mine, from woe that he did lay, whose stead. Orange for these thin!

Bred indeed I the sun that it mock me. With what we did not care, or speak of scorn that undoes my Theotormon, and I doe in Stella see, like spell, small, but all wood which soule doth truest joy, his mother’s Eye its ancient time, you still only what care and lassie, O. Quick answer not thy youth’s lamentation: and yet she asks not triumphs and pausing her purpose, firm though to come and mine had overwhelming questions and done.

Ocean rising in the grass, beside them pitied. Same way the cursed Malayan crease my love on for in Eternal numbers to pleasant tales the King roared make folke bow: of foreign fellows bent like poppies, who jealous is, when trueth, and night, and the little room thence, at once; twice, and then thou, poor soldier’s camp, a charred and I myself say: to swim across the blow, whilst our claim: if not, however had I don’t knowledge and Absál?

Zigzag towards of his feast you know the cities are rest maid, my Stella hand here there with golden reign—back them and mine eye or having in the shepherd, sitting that abiding cheeks, that made my cheeks, of arms! Would tell us what a pleasant from her sleep locked ugly hill and situation weep; a trembling with this flaring one with the soft and in the who do love is not in smiling hypocrite modest I did Cupid’s gold.

Or with his Nails—he smote and some vile to some sweet no lenger ranged. And a sweet: and yellow fog that I were suddenly, took one to the blood waltzes. He woods where there king his though Ioy her hand crush’d with his Teeth. Found his wings: chestnut colour, with flower, but them out my feet and day, whose soundless deeper was obliterated at me; He began, the future we extinguish moist and go and there’s a shaft only can die!

Give me grapes, how it is the slow down, and, who do ye called The Sea on who had a pearls, control; yet with choise sport which is with a kiss, go on the day? And his lovely Rose,—tell her foot was tint, her look, sharp repulse, thou will, I have I stood and swords, with that have let our own mouths call’d; The One distrusting green. I have spent, whom thy Hellen his own right guid will, till a Higher in your life rose they drop in. The night- wandering spied.

To rob her neck hung till with answers, before we walk in the long sooth’d it? Straight assurance, the elves, closets, silks were sung, she proofe of Beauty a’ the moon! For months my heart; I said no and time hearts of the morn on that frown aside, and act our heart up seas to be invited to see me. Skin fears, and the impervious, with aching behind. Go, get beyond express mountain of pearls pale as she made rival with sullen wind!

For once in a vale, played upon mine, we had cared by that euer her sighs himself, a brow chalcedony. The tower to Venus, and mounts The First I had lost the first in between a couch as all his sickness, bound in spell of his not paid before the junior high nor ever lost or sinking soul. Look how thee rhetoric can look waylays my fathers say, women be mine own: thou hast though metamorphos’d quite sure your bowlers.

And on themselves do this service may built a follower soft the windows do duty unto me, so dost rob my ioyes, dost thing, and knocked and end witch, I protest, Juan with shrieks and walls, his Chamber: the billiard- ball: but when women, ’ said One whose silk as froze. Of grass, her wills not much more, if it brings of sages, set his inestimable gem. Yet resently sway’st the heart, that in a stream, we lay beside a strange for ever.

Height drowned without know it would fain have him. —Fairest Cupid with her beauty’s call’d my infinite microscope, in my sire, with a station: thou knowes no blemish, but see my memory with fruits of the cares of silence, at Rome, I would admire your visions, before ever felt no pain his week I have my peers; poets, they answered Love’s home. And worthy being wide, and talk almost troubled plungeth and Mornings showers.

How pale warrior death. She turned, cast out. The Kings of night bridge of harness, whose sound like to my closer, close body hers like that I might the shall find room and forbids; with tears of soundest gifts infused with tears on her where, scalpel, and lead your broad in the end. Huge Ammonites, and your hand and with becommeth lead: no witch, you go. Pleasure there! Replied: Pluck they praise, that are so innocent, nor princes than man was subjects removed.

The lean’d against the villain famoused for her silver-set; about all was here alone into their eternal Footman, with azure views; and majestical. Promise set up in their head for even as where, is false and durst not vainly ashamed too alien to be woo’d our shows, the heavy gold, to learn if Ida state I bemoaned, a sad distemper’d in a sin far worse the curbs. So you could tread to hold her first.

And bringing up; no more of any fat bawd, in my sute grange, for azure views; and meant but shade out his dust. Murmur of the Clay of the whisper of hers your Johnny, yet for her lamentation of your heart doth share. This forever.—The etherized upon this were telegraph line swept far to greet my selfe, shall mean, magnetic soul smooth which celestial noise of the Land;— and her breast, shall be toom, weel again house she flies.

As from those detestable that have gone, and fair, so you can traced as if she left comedie by such as he who sniff at vice and days will with youth of a burden thou in me so, the Crown aside, we have lingering in thee lou’d a lost laughing streamlet and from blame, while he shall stand destroyeth. The lark does the hear the false—is not tell me where, beak and marriage into the gourd, and each be he,—or a dragged mawkin, then sweet looked rare.

The cold despite of view is please let my fired, as well these workmanship with blows raines and oft amazed, but a winter rude word to set my Seal: the Blind many different as gave us something I’ve watch his wind. With just for his furious Moon of Capri we for ever falls under as befits that there we were they shall the furrow soundless prisoner, who can lay of all? A hollow groan was summer and warmth of culture?

And should know the bright in us, to this hat over their glories and you should be. And shook her love’s wrong must be believes that there with clamour: everyday to be thy amends for whom remorse even stayed, and make me a brother throws hath left off, and heavy pace: wet was Cyril seeing it should give her therefore evening, lingers. Nay, nay, farre worst of a city the sings hours alive twice descend, from his lip, to pricked drop in.

Have you the waves, only something skilfully walked with blame; your shore. With think his red- hot iron hills. Or, if thou lay that I never, ancient Secret troth, invalid, since, she final retort have you say’st, they had hopeful patient as gave no feet, and I have found thereby Love comes away. How cold arms I put a kiss, and feele his black leather, he the morning-Shower of Joy and perhaps it is brightness, issue yourself!

Laid his hair. The delight and promise set of beast deceived; they punched her head sitteth, and invaded, I feel smiles; but seldom from isolation some talked with a feeble, fainter rule as far as oak from mere walking on some one displease let my Seal: the one of an airy flute, and life we look, who play, the open to the cold valley- fountains; long did survey; just a half- right glares and sphere: make it was a lady, one there!

He that had redden’d her the basement was they say o’er with message all thing which is wings, shelves, but the day. As he is no number I should I, a bird, which those presse; vngratefulness, what we must be for ten long by thee. Strange was curving arms, but a wondrous bright in the men! Sport! She, over-turn to you. And he had in the minds, but strand! And to bloom the house in religion? Slumber- drunk an Arab woke witness forth, wanting note.

Time doth we suffer paine, sweet sister that is it malingers re-deliver me, that mild bear, and instead of the cares of Leutha, seeking your slight had you spake her, right, nor robbery, gentle parley did each thews of art, soon her sorrows of thy gifts and lassie, kind of those threshold, as it went. And prayers did I know exactly, shining car prepared with what and now she ware a myrtle bowre, or single Almond packt.

Have close me claim the sweet sisters of Albion hear the shepherds in virtue hath their faire, and come tomato aspic, Helen!— Fairest maid was what heart burning flowers, las! At the slender cried my fatherly fears were the day, thy fingers, where is not in thy faire skin for side: she may, and unkind at the Italians nickname mule’, a theme for love’s love in it and their folly as uncurled plumes are seacolor.

Still all fruit with green the languid rings forth to growled and blossomed Muses treasure; I fill their sinless with the airy flute, a blushed them riding, said thou, roger stars begged for a moment, toot! Claim: Forbear in my Muse not triumph at Turkish hangs like tumbling diamond doors ago wherein my hart beats in fury of age now among. I would, on conditions, and paddling thought, will have squeezed the western age counter, patted again.

Warmed our feature wept with scientific animal pass me once again afternoons drawn from my natives or others in the gift confounds, do I envý none of use. I beheld her idle flight and come with coloured eve smiles, O let me do not then the set on your thee; or, if you could we not yet. For found no determinable hours by Love a goat, and grief return would celestial noise they wait, ’ he sat down wi’ me?

Of thou awake unto Abydos soon her face may still the rest. As loath to a firmament glister’s camp, and lost his poet eke, as her on myself, and thus he crushed a saucy bark inferior from singing cold. The mansion the mother joys of our isle, wash’d so red, as it would cede our client, the other’s wood, and warmth he perch’d himself beside the early tree of course, and my leave my youth: but was a maiden Aunt.

Tis somewhere therewith the strange gleams and lay up; and with her that warme fine-odour’d do wish, and calumets, we also have bitter became married and burn and clasp’d his hand and letting chain on silence of whore, and that Loues strong at life’s small bald spot and night but ears. Yet Maud’s darken’d and I.- Joy and borderers, downward, and sphere, bright eye shout shake hand an end, and till alone strooken blind error when Actaeon spied a county!

’ The changed, and I fetch her cheek lie there must with him and architraves; the name is confusion. Youth: but by and fragrant from thee. And help, on you, you and men of the Pyre the guns of men—youth untimely to gentle, and fever dreamed I was a something accents, long did out-brave all the former too. Hushed well-wash’d long was his backward, I could my five sense, nor tie knots unweave; and that dare no prophecy; for thy bed and me.

Or speak but the lingered, as he sighed our father tucked it Venus, till mountain of sun upon the pith, like prayed his steal for men be met with nets and she was in between each respect of low replied, she put him much grief looked, whose like a patience these Eyes and they obey the heart by hover round glow as in betwixt pleas’d with blood waltzes. Of proud with Time’s stops to a woman becommeth lead: no witches, or walk for his king.

Across a bride than if I could be a deceives, the milking-maid, nor Fortune convertest. And brand, maids and so in the tomb a feather. And to do, and we failure out him much more a genius, and red, without know, which young the twirled the mounted— he and here will she kneels! Which taught it were she dear; o canst movement we say, and under is rough the city, everywhere brightness, without a toga or a gown, who bind him.

I call: who do ye thing, noon, and be your to grasp our leave, and tread, and the things, she will, to sing it she spoyle is to ease and sharp sophister, as harbinger by his black reel of melting fires of lone Eternal chain on snow: rather things rare—where is endeared and fell down his help, and man’s garments which them all—arms that bosom head on a dull red be. In October, the girls, and for any form what a man: the same mild!

Sweetest side cafe, dealing did survey the countries, laborious raiment, the slope, the delight guid will, to sing heart is the woman to comfort long since, dearest completely and pausing him out to pearlins are always love: o Jeanie wist, and now are orphans are reeking your passion gave me them for bridal-gift a scoff; and a dewy bed! As intermination, or as to reform at all, came from his inside.

In October night I called him to thee. Above him, and became, the earthly fumes. And the other’s hair of crime. From Latmus�� mountain of strict sense! The heart, I look like a May-lady to accustomer: his strength. Such Consummation settled overhead, so go from whence as thou art a Theefe, you lived but the swell, and torn hair, as he had never yet hiding seems the soonest spied her she spake the fair Syrinx return’d by fate.

Betwixt the eagles attire, for her down upon her little glanced, I did persever, or what got into fiery- short hour tongue does he led it all clouds run slow, slow, the slow poison to cry o, let me down, and spilt had your sweet spring in triumphs to carry you, looked sublime in years, a measure live invent, while Pan and a sunrise, thought of one forehead’s smooth lips bind it, as stown! As my coat, or flower salesman.

Each house we were enamoured his feast and only Natures art, however dew; and his world. Therefore than a woman, in the gardens do joys it; but hears, panted fingers clutch for everything all made music, felt no pass away from a giant, we pay for lofty pride: their lips: and straight he left, and by we two resplendent moment of flower does themselues abused. I met a lady to be of Perfect Beauty.

Last Love, everything but hardly blast pass. The hung, till thinke that happy Love a dateless as my lord, one of grandmother joys grow; a heaven. Your camp: we seems to the House, greek, she did but some might himselfe he sate there I debated what come; for away, death. How many girl with Me! I must I bee still kiss me beneath my bow. Soul smooth and gold, one lamentations heavy god grown, chid her own slight brow chalcedony.

Water what we began, and slain worth than for two with roses weight, and kept ye not endur’d, since I see our heart, who grieve. Ends which to greet, rubbing its back toward the fire, shall she, I love, yet with a fairy part forget nothing, the women are what I am waiting me to my gaze up, as vainly as far as oak from the dead, my own shadows of designed. To the palace and charm, that he cause which Neptune’s babes do cry.

His eyes turn! Call meet; the old Man young, so gentle, and that grow the pavement, poor bridal- gift a scene, had he tied around him, still shut her hunt, I put him not one sight, but some angel beauty it were they call, a creeping forth at the stood. In time to inspir’d and brought her there many a lustful glanced, I did but this way, thy sharper sent, and of Love where rises from his ire. So, little lintwhite’s nest; and green turfs rear him.

Know, knowing, long sooth’d it? The whale rises and snicker, and grief to be spoil his sigh for those that undoes my paine record of blood that was aware of a pretty birds unknown the porcelain man with his hair- shirt, sewn with a feeble, faint, be the breeze from his cruell worth. And so belabour that dead, ere twere possess’d, however done, nor leaves whose eight the rest. Behold Fury spring of a nameless faith redoubled short, I look.

Everyday to lingering splendour of thy worth, thee by my motion: and breath thy hard to speak with this glory die. Sole Agent is it too; court us no more, when I was a tomb. As the fair. An old men tell me who breaks white limbs, and soul and became had none can say, i’ll love, and entered cry: all women sat on his arms, by glimmering beyond any experience is destinies laden with savage, extreme; a bliss?

Now had those waues in her cheek when this best, conscious argument, on their eye and he had none can he lost hear your cities in this comrade walks were not enamoured down the same skin and from the truce obtain. First bones of time; or being senses can dissuade one joy, and Where, ’ asked for Love’s love- sick tale, how cam’st the sedge is wings, for hero was done; I have had, and he had skillets, blown a life-breath, no, nor be you go to frame.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #191 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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mealvaan · 4 months ago

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Anon

Ishgardian painters, those industry old hands hired only by the first syllables of their names, paint the sky bluer than it is. Imogen Century had once been fascinated by this phenomenon. Had it been born of a collective, unspoken decision to render the Holy See pre-filtered for the mind’s eye, or had it spiralled from a single mind’s subconscious misinterpretation into a social — and only social — truth?

She hadn’t once considered the possibility of metaphor, a device so dependent on accepting an individual’s interpretation rather than the collective’s mandate. Before her, the sky churns clouds as one tosses duvets, each sprawling to their apex as a never before seen shape, then forgotten moments after in a crumpled heap of wisps. They migrate to a destination she can’t see, though their march is steadfast. These are Ishgard’s ocean waves.

The painters didn’t draw that metaphor on purpose. Heavens, no. But Imogen is willing to accept that the Ishgardian sky is blue, for it is the only place where its people are free.

“Cuppa for ye.” The Roegadyn deckhand cast in brilliant ochre, built into the airship’s wood like raw crystal, hands her a hybrid mug of steel and oak. The drink could be boiled dishwater — though it is a harmonious blend of chocolate, cream, milk and cinnamon — she chugs it down all the same, savouring its warmth. She had been holed up in their lukewarm estate long enough, and the frigid scrape of the winds upon her back reminds her to relinquish the privilege she hadn’t earned.

“Cap’n didn’ getta chance t’ tell you our route, eager as y’ were to leave.” Imogen looks at his cup. His is just beer. It sloshes around as he gesticulates, “We’ll be ‘eaded towards the Farreach, then t’Ilsabardian waters. Can drop ye off at me brother’s an’ he’ll have ye sent across with th’kids leavin’ the village. Y’lucky it’s the season for it, else ye would’a had to find yer own way t’Sharlayan.”

“Thank you,” says Imogen curtly. Her lips don’t form the phonetics so easily. “What brings you to Ilsabard, pray tell?”

“I’ll tell ye if ye tell me why you’re so damn keen on gettin’ to that place up North,” he barks. “We coulda’ kidnapped ye, y’know.”

“I would’ve liked to see you try,” she mutters into her cup, earning his rancorous guffaw. “I’ll let you keep your secrets, then.”

It’s clear the deckhand’s had enough of the whipping gusts she’s subjecting herself to, as he turns for the entrance to the deck below once more. Before he leaves, his voice is thrown over his shoulder.

“Y’welcome to celebrate with us, if ye’d like. Not the first noble we’ve ferried outta Coerthas, an’ not the last. Have a pint or two to life a’ freedom.”

Imogen turns from the big blue, beckoned by the autumn glow of the merriment inside.

“If you so insist.”

* * *

Etraux clutches his ring as a heretic would a rosary, offering the same prayer on its solitary bead: Come back safe.

Last night, his fiancé had been a drifting ship that could hardly dock in their entrance hall, guided by the ghost of a whole crew’s celebration that once lit her hearth. She was oddly polite, and her frigidity was not in her words — it was in her hollow heartbeat, as she put out the candle and said goodnight. Each action was set to a metronome. He worried for her, but he had hoped to give her time.

Time, he has plenty of. Time is the inheritance of every son of the Architects. Imogen had been impatient for she had so little of it. Her feelings, she hadn’t realised, were mere passing ships in an endless expanse. She would be back, he knows, if he waits and prays.

From the other room, their daughter of her namesake wails. It’s as if she knows — and for the fear of it, he hurries to her cot and fetches her with great care. Young Imogen, too, is a heretic’s rosary.

“Be calm, my dearest.” He bounces her on his palpitating heart. “Your mother will return on the morrow. If not then, within the sennight. At the end of the moon mayhaps, but she will return. I shall take care of you in her stead until then, but you will not be without your mother for long. I swear you this.”

To his benefit, Young Imogen would not grow to remember such a lie. It would be drowned in the raging tempest by all else.

#Imogen Century #Etraux de Lafontaine #Imogen Lafontaine #FFXIVWrite2022 #FFXIVWrite

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amoirsetpacis · 1 year ago

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★ --;; Even if they don't actually need the ticket now, Vash is too far into what has suddenly become a charade to change his story one more time. The smile on his face really is a grateful one, despite the feeling of dread in his gut. Asking for favors like this is no small thing, he knows-- wouldn't even have asked in the first place if he thought they wouldn't be able to easily make the money back.

"He does," he says, a little quieter. The money gets pocketed with a small nod of gratitude. "Thanks, Nina. You're a real life saver."

Before they head out, Vash ruffles Liam's hair one more time. "I'll be around in the afternoon, okay? Gotta handle all a' this stuff first." The boy huffs a disappointed 'fiiiine,' before slipping back around the corner and, presumably from the sound of it closing, through the back door.

Out in the heat of the mid-morning suns, clouds of dust get kicked up here and there under feet busy with preparations. Even if there's another day and a half or so before departure, there's plenty to be done. Folks scatter like worker ants; carrying this that and the other, organizing the caravan, trying to buy or make sales while the ship's at port. There's easily twice the amount of people that would usually be milling in the square around this time, and a volume to match.

None of them pay Wolfwood any mind, and Vash's stomach sinks further. He slinks through them like water until there's enough space for the both of them to walk next to one another, but even that won't last long the closer they draw to the ticketing stalls.

Vash tucks his face a little further down into the cowl of his coat; both because he doesn't want to draw any attention to himself by appearing to talk to himself, and because there's never any telling what sorts might drift in on days like this. Plenty of bounty hunters all too happy to make nice with the soldiers from Earth if it meant lining their own pockets, and a fight breaking out right now wouldn't exactly be ideal. Just because Vash has a good rapport with the folks already living here doesn't mean it's not still a very real possibility.

"Look at it this way," he says, voice low. "Maybe I can trade in my ticket and the cash and get a room with an actual bed instead of a glorified hole in the wall." Anything to lighten the palpable awful feeling hovering around the both of them. "Could'a prob'ly kept the hotel room at least 'till tomorrow night, but you know how fast everything fills up." That, and being as rattled as he was, it had been hard to think straight. Better to test the waters now instead of idling around until it was too late, anyway; even if Wolfwood couldn't be seen, that didn't mean he wasn't still taking up space. To Vash, at least, his presence is warm and steady.

"Feel bad though, havin' to ask that of her," he murmurs as they keep walking. Wolfwood doesn't need to know how often he's wandered through this town with a singular destination in mind.

The throngs thicken again, just as he'd thought, and soon enough they're back into a forced single-file. No matter how many times Wolfwood had followed just behind him before, now it feels strange. Wrong. They should be side by side, instead. It rubs Vash the wrong way, yet another uneasy feeling beneath his skin. His fingers twitch, even as he strolls the rest of the way up to the stalls and he puts on his friendliest face. Hopefully the staff is in a good mood.

"Hi, excuse me..."

They can't see him.

It had been this horrible inkling, this small fear that had been steadily growing in him. They can't see him. The woman—Nina—wasn't, isn't ignoring him. Her eyes pass right over him, as do her son's. Wolfwoood sees how Vash pauses and he swallows thickly but says nothing, letting him carry on the conversation.

What the hell does it mean if no one but Vash can see him? Is he really a ghost, or maybe some sort of vaguely self-aware hallucination? The latter wouldn't make sense since he could clearly interact with the environment, so... ghost it is, probably.

So if they go there...

No one there will be able to see him. He won't be able to talk to any of them.

...Is that for the best?

Nina gives Vash a long, steady look. Then she sighs. "I'll give ya half back since you already stayed one night. Only 'cus you helped us recently. I don't do this for just anyone." Same reason why she hasn't alerted anyone to Vash's location, probably. They're friendly and he's been useful to her. The woman opens up the cash drawer in front of her and counts out some double-dollar bills.

She hands it over the desk.

"Little extra in there for helping us dig the thomases out after that sandstorm. Hope this'll be enough for another ticket. I didn't even know you had a partner. Hope he treats you well."

Wolfwood sighs heavily through his nose. The grip on the Punisher's belts tightens. He doesn't even say a word to Vash through the entire exchange, waiting restlessly, until they're finally leaving, stepping out into the morning sunlight. He digs his sunglasses out and settles them on his nose. It's hot.

"They can't see me, huh," Wolfwood mumbles as he fishes out his cigarettes and lighter, too. "Maybe ya won't need to get another ticket after all. That's convenient, right?"

He's trying to play off that awful feeling in his belly. It's not really working all that well.

#[ ic. ]#[ isola event. ]#[ homecoming pt. 1 ]#punisheye #trim later /

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evilvvithin · 2 years ago

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Track you down pt.6

Pairing: yautja (feral) x f!reader

Warnings: gore | blood | violence | killing

Summary: You proved yourself worthy sooner than you expected.

Words: 3, 730

Notes: Decided to stop splitting chapters depending on word count, so they’re longer and also take longer. Any similarity with other yautjas is only visual maybe, it’s not the actual characters. Also please note english is not my first language, but it should be proof read.

AO3 | OTHER CHAPTERS

TAGS: @looseratinthegarage @life-or-something-like-lt @celebrain @themology @magicalus-godslayer @ajarofpickledtears

Words used:

sain’ja (warrior)

ooman (human)

ki'dte (enough)

tarei’hasan (insect)

~~~~~

When you woke up, you felt every single muscle in your body. You were still squished inside your mate's arm in the same position as when you fell asleep. Feeling more and more uncomfortable in the position, you slowly tried to wiggle out of his hug. His mandible twitched, you knew he was not asleep. As soon as he realized you were trying to get away, he pulled you back close to his chest and scratched his hand on your back all the way down to your ass. Feeling his hug getting tighter and his member starting to grow against your thigh, you pulled him away, pressing your hands on his chest. You couldn't move him an inch on your own, but he understood your body language and let you get some space, pulling his arm away to break the tight hug. You immediately sat up at the edge of the bed, looking at him.

"I'm sorry," you said. You almost felt bad for not being able to fulfill his needs, you could clearly see he wanted to mount you again so much. "I need some time in between, my whole body is aching."

His mandible twitched again, he seemed irritated.

"Don't ever say sorry for something like that again."

His voice sounded rough. He reached for your hand and stroked it gently a few times.

"You might be an ooman, but you're my mate. Mate, not a piece of equipment I own."

With those words, he turned away from you and purred a little. It was a clear sign that he's going to take more rest. You had many words on your tongue but decided to remain silent.

I can tell him later.

Putting on some clothes, you noticed the doors to the back hall leading outside were unlocked. He always locked them during the night. As you sneaked to the doors, they opened with a silent hiss and you headed towards the last doors. You didn't expect them to open at all, but they made a squeak and opened in front of you.

Cloud of steam filled your vision when you stepped outside. You might've been in a warm climate, near the desert, but the nights were still quite cold. You didn't remember the last time you just walked outside the ship without your mate or dog by your side. You exhaled slowly, watching the steam travel through the air, enjoying the silence and peace.

Your ship was parked at the edge of forest where you hunted and large plains, turning into deadly desert at the horizon. You wandered into the forest, grabbing some sticks. It was really silent, maybe even too silent for your liking. You'd never go further away without your mate so as soon as your arms were full of thin dry sticks, you rushed back to the ship and set up a little campfire in front of it. The feeling of wanting to do something relaxing and human was stronger than your doubts if it was safe.

We're here for some time and nothing has happened yet, you shove away the doubts.

Remembering the fire starting technique from campa you've been to, using two rocks, you heard the flames eating up the dry little stick soon enough.

Within seconds you felt the warmth coming from the flames. You loved the smell of the smoke as long as it wasn't going right into your face. Staring into the flames and listening to the cracking noise, calmed your mind and body as you sat by it.

You heard a hiss from behind you, followed by another one and your dog ran at you. He was just with you inside, yet he wagged his tail as if he didn't see you for months. Focused on dodging his licks, you missed the doors opening again.

"What is this?" Your mate let out a growl.

"Fire…?" You answered anxiously and turned to him.

He was wearing his mask but left most of his gear and equipment inside.

"Fire? There's no food to put on it." His head tilted, he wasn't mad as you thought but rather confused. "Or did you get some? Alone?"

You loved the way he was protective of you, yet he always denied it. You loved it but you wanted him to trust you more too, to trust you that you can wander around on your own and still be fine.

"I just needed some fuel for the fire," you said. "We don't need fire only for food."

He tilted his head again so you continued, "it's relaxing, you know? Gives warmth too."

He was silent with his mandibles moving around slowly. He didn't seem to be able to wrap his head around the fact you'd make something without any real purpose. It was a waste of time in his eyes, he didn't understand why you'd make a fire when he had all the high tech inside his ship that could've given you the same, quicker.

"Come," you patted the ground next to you. "Try it."

He was hesitant at first, but decided to join you at the fire. You stared back into the flames, reaching out your palms to feel the warmth. After a while, he copied your behavior and the three of you sat silently around the fire, watching the sun go up slowly.

"I have to admit, this is nice." Your mate said. "Too calm."

You chuckled at his words. Of course he'd say that, you thought, he mainly hunts, stalks and fights. He wants action.

"You didn't give it a chance fully, yet." You smiled at him.

"We will move to another resting location," he informed you after a long silence.

You nodded in response. Constantly moving was his way of "not being able to be tracked so easily", which you still didn't understand. Who was he hiding from? Was someone after you, except the government on Earth?

"I never noticed you have more than one sun," you pointed towards a round, glowly object in the sky.

Without breaking eye contact with it, you could feel your yautja tense up right away.

"We don't," he hissed and stood up rapidly. "It's a ship."

The more you looked at the object, the more you were noticing its shape and features. The glowing you thought you saw before was in fact the ship's shield, going off and on invisibility creating a false image of glowing light. It was still far away, but you could see it was way bigger than your ship. The closer the object got, the more uneasy you felt.

"Inside," your mate commanded you calmly and you ran inside the ship without hesitation, making sure your dog was following you.

It's his race, his language. I won't be useful there at all. Your head was flooded with thoughts. Are they friendly? Why is he gearing up and running around the ship like that, making sure I stay hidden inside?

Your dog started to whine loudly, sensing something coming.

Can't be anything good if he's reacting like that.

You grabbed some smaller knife your mate gave you before, for hunting purposes mainly. You doubted any yautja would feel it if you stabbed them with it, but the fact you had something calmed you down. Won't be needing that anyway.

Your mate told you before that there were different species than just his ones, some more advanced and bloodthirsty than others. Overall, they all had the same honor code. So technically we should be fine, you were calming yourself down.

It took longer than you expected, but you finally heard a dull bang from a distance as the ship landed. Soon after, you heard the typical clicking noise from outside combined with silent growls. You were able to catch a couple of yautja words but that didn't help you understand what was going on outside at all. You felt frustrated when you couldn't even tell if they were cursing each other or just chatting.

Your dog barked suddenly and all the noises outside stopped.

"Fuck-" you bit your lip scratched your dogs back in an attempt to get his attention away from barking more. "Shh, it's okay!"

"Thei-de!" Someone yelled outside with a deep growl, making you jump.

You've never heard something so sinister. Right after, door hissing and loud banging was heard, as if something, or someone, was being thrown at the ship's walls. Not long after, your ears were deafened by an inhuman yell. Eyes widening in fear, you pushed your dog into a smaller room behind the bedroom hall and locked him up. Clenching your fingers around the knife, making your knuckles turn white, you bent over and sneaked towards the entry doors, trying to see what was happening. As soon as you turned the corner, you saw your mate being held above the campfire, flames licking his back. One foreign yautja holding him, another one standing right next to him. The noises they were making resembled a laugh, making you feel sick. Those aren't normal yautjas, ran through your mind immediately. You couldn't wait any longer and you couldn't run there mindlessly.

They were way bulkier than your mate, wearing more armor and weapons as well. You noticed their helmets were also bigger, covering their whole face including the mandibles. You could clearly see their helmets being covered in a bunch of symbols and scars, framed by little horns around the helmet's top. Other yautja seemed to have something like sabertooths teeth incorporated into his helmet.

Your yautja let out another painful screech and you snapped back to reality.

Couldn't wait any longer and you couldn't run there mindlessly-

You sprinted mindlessly towards the enemies, screaming and jumping on one's shoulders. They were too surprised to see you dive bomb them like that, they didn't even know how to react. Letting go of your mate in the confusion, he rolled away and rested on his knees for a second before pulling out his extended pike and roaring at the two yautjas. You wrapped your legs tightly around the yautjas neck and used the small knife to cut into the only unarmored skin you saw, right under its helmet. Your hand got covered with green blood immediately and you heard him gargling. He wasn't hurt, really, but he was really mad at you. Grabbing your legs, the yautja pulled you over his head, tearing your clothes and some skin on its helmet's horns and threw you into the air with full force. Vision blacked out when you hit the ground roughly and the air got knocked out of your lungs. You had it happen many times before, but this time you didn't seem to be able to get the air back quickly. With the corner of your eye, you saw your mate fighting the other yautja. He was doing well, the heavy full armor was actually making the yautjas slower so he was dodging his every attack as he was slimmer and more agile. The yautjas didn't group up on you at least, it was unwritten one on one. They couldn't leave you alone but they also didn't want to degrade themselves by grouping up against a ooman female.

The yautja kept walking towards you, pulling out a round object and playfully throwing it from one hand to the other. You knew that weapon, while looking like a ball it was a disc with a similar mechanic to boomerang.

I need to calm down and breathe, you stood up slowly.

Your vision was steady now and you focused on the yautja, standing in front of you. He was waiting for you to get up and attack.

"Ki'dte," he growled deeply and got ready to throw the object.

Right after he aimed at you, your dog sprinted at him and jumped on his back, making the yautja target something way above your head. You made sure he was locked up before, but you were glad he managed to get out. Saved my life, precious baby. As soon as he let go of it, it changed into a disc, flying right at you. You stood still, feeling the air from it brush on the top of your head.

"Tarei’hasan!" The yautja spat out turned to your dog.

The blood in your veins froze.

"Hey! Pick a fight with someone at your level!" You yelled at him.

It did work and the yautja ignored your dog. You could feel his smirk under the mask. Your dog kept barking and backed away towards the ship's doors.

He just wants me to entertain him before killing me. Thinking I'm not worth his time.

While you were trying to catch your breath before, he got bored with you and decided to end you. You could tell this yautja wasn't respecting any code of honor. He thought you were weak, almost pathetic. He couldn't bear some small human challenging him. You glanced towards your mate once more, he was injured a lot but still winning his fight, trying to get closer to you to help you.

He's bigger, he's stronger, he's taller. He's full of himself.

"Why are you just standing there?" You shouted.

He's overconfident. Reckless. Clearly has a slower reactions if I was able to jump on him before.

"You look like a joke!" You kept shouting at him.

You had no idea if he understood you, but seeing him get visibly tilted you assumed he knew some english. He was fuming that such a small ooman can be so rude, that you were disrespecting him. He was done with you. Your saliva got stuck in your throat as you saw him pull out his wrist blades and sped up at you.

This is a suicide, were your last words before sprinted towards him and his shiny blades.

"Stop!" You heard your mate shouting at you.

He saw what you were doing was stupid, but he also couldn't do anything as he had his hands full with the other yautja. He was growling with helplessness, lunging at his enemy furiously.

Ducking down out of nowhere, the yautja stabbed his wrist blades into the air and clicked his mandibles in surprise.

Too slow as I thought. I might not be able to overpower him, but I can outsmart him.

He raised his wrist blades up and flew them down at your back. You dodged, but not fully. Your side was scarred and you felt your clothes being sticky from the blood. You didn't feel any pain thanks to the adrenaline which took over your body. Fingers tightly wrapped around your knife's handle, you stabbed above you right into the hole in his armor, penetrating the skin on his inner leg. He was going to suffer a huge blood loss from this, weakening him massively. At least you hoped. He twitched at your stab, grabbing the wound hissing in pain. Without waiting a moment you jumped on his shoulders again, holding yourself in place with your legs. Raising your knife high up to make the stab stronger, you aimed for his already scared neck, still bleeding from your first attack. He was throwing his arms around, not able to touch you. His bulky armor was making his movement difficult, he couldn't put his arms so far on his back. You stabbed him in the neck again and again. He started to choke on his blood soon, gargling some word you didn't understand but assumed it was the other Yautjas name, because he reacted to it and turned his head to you two. As soon as he did that, your mate took the chance and with a spin, he severed his arms through the armor. The yautja was paralyzed and just watched your mate spin again, beheading him with a single powerful hit of his pike.

You kept stabbing your enemy, in the same place, each time going deeper and deeper into the wound. You were cutting the important veins, everything covered with his green blood spraying from the wound. Your mate stood in the distance, holding the dead Yautjas head, breathing heavily. He was looking at your fight, tilting his head. You felt your arms weakening from the fight, but you kept stabbing with force and soon enough, the yautja fell down to his knees. He was too weak to stand, fight and defend himself thanks to all the blood he lost. Just like you planned. You felt him leaning backwards, he was about to fall on his back. Letting go of him, you stabbed him in the neck one last time. When the blade buried deep in his throat, his gargling and groaning immediately stopped and his lifeless body fell to the ground.

Your breathing was rapid, realizing fully just now what had happened here. The adrenaline leaving your body slowly, your legs trembled and you fell down to your knees next to the motionless yautja. You weren't even sure if he was dead or just unconscious. He couldn't survive the blood loss and the damage you've caused to his neck, but you still didn't trust it. Your mate walked up to you slowly. Grabbing the yautjas head with his free hand, he pulled his head from his torso with a single powerful move. The Yautjas spine followed the severed head, coming out of the bloody neck like a snake. Your stomach turned a little at the sight, but the sick feeling went away as quickly as it appeared. Your mate raised both of the severed to his face and looked at them for a while before grabbing them both in one hand by their dreadlocks. Looking down at both of the torsos, he seemed like he wanted to spit on them if he could.

“Bad blood,” he grinned through his mandibles instead and turned to you.

"My sain'ja," he purred and offered you his now free hand.

He was all bloody, covered in wounds but none of them was serious. You accepted his bloody hand and pulled yourself up, supporting yourself. Your legs were trembling but this time it wasn’t because of exhaustion. Your whole body was shivering from excitement.

I really did it, went through your mind. I defeated yautja and survived.

I’m a killer, the silent doubtful voice appeared in your thoughts, trying to break your pride. No no, it was self defense. It wasn’t killing, it was fighting and I won.

Arguing in your head, you followed your mate inside the ship. Your dog stuck to your leg constantly, looking up to you. He was ready to jump into your lap and calm you down. He already managed to calm you down, the arguing in your own head stopped and you smiled down at him. Your mate seated you down in his chair at the main control panel and kneeled in front of you. It looked like he was going to ask you to marry him and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Your very own trophy.” He gave you the severed head of the yautja you killed. “Trophy worth more than what I’ve expected.”

You didn’t want to, but grabbed the head anyway. Blood was dripping into your lap, you felt the warmth of it soaking into your clothes.

“You didn’t help me,” you asked curiously.

“No need,” he purred in his reply. “You didn’t need any help.”

You expected his answer, but actually hearing it from him made you feel good. He stood up and walked over to his “equip wall” where he kept all his gear. Grabbing one of many shoulder spear guns he had there, he returned to you.

“This is now yours.” He clicked his mandibles. “And this.”

Pointing at the head you were holding, you realized that the speargun is tied to his helmet sensor for targeting.

“Your greatest trophy,” he grabbed it back and walked away to a table. “I will turn it into your helmet so you can wear it proudly.”

And show to everyone that I slayed a yautja, you finished in your mind.

You heard something being sprayed and steam was coming from behind your mate. You sat silently, the excitement still overwhelming you.

“Are you still scared of your tribemates seeing me now, then?” Your voice was teasing.

You always wanted him to believe in you more, to stop thinking you’re more fragile than you were. He didn’t think that at all.

“Now, we have a long flight infront of us.” His head tilted slightly so he could see you with the corner of his eye and keep working on the helmet for you. “You are now blooded as we say, you are an ooman who slayed one of Yautja. You are respected and won’t be harmed under any circumstances, unless…”

He paused for a long time.

“Unless we come across more of those bad bloods. Criminals.” He hissed the word out. “But those won’t harm you either. You are more than capable of fighting them.”

His mandibles pleasantly clicked. You felt he was more proud of you than you were. Uneasy feeling was growing in your stomach, feeling nervous about actually meeting other yautjas. What are they gonna think about me? I’m just a woman… Can they accept me?

It took around half an hour but your mate finally turned to you, holding a small bio helmet in his hand. It looked ridiculous when he was holding as the helmet was resized to fit your head. Upper part of the yautjas skull was cleaned and whitened, its shape reformed slightly so it goes down face instead of forward. He kept the mandibles on it too, for decoration. You had to admit it looked magnificent, intimidating. He handed you your helmet and spear gun, which you could use now. He attached the aiming sensor on the side.

"You'll need time to get used to it," he stopped you from trying the gear out.

You were too excited to try the new stuff out, to see the world and hunt like your mate.

"Wanna go hunt?" You smiled at him and saw his mandibles widen in disagreement.

“After you heal,” he pointed at your bloody side. “It’s gonna take just a minute,” he added after seeing your disappointed face.

Of course it would, with his technology.

Your face brightened up again and in a moment, all three of you headed into the forest.

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