#i could have gone in so many different ship directions with this

[lost-in-fandoms]

for @maxybabyy who asked for arguably my favorite 1D song, aka A.M., from this

we're just swimming 'round in our glasses, talking out of our asses

A different night, a different hotel room, a different city lighting up the sky outside his window.

There's a buzz under Max's skin, tiredness mixing with red bull and vodka, making him feel like he should be sleeping and at his most awake at the same time. The condensation of his glass sticks to his skin, a droplet running down his wrist, his brain bringing up images of wet visors in the rain, sleepy car rides in beat up vans.

Daniel is still giggling on the couch next to him about something Max has already forgotten saying, lamplight bouncing around the lines of his face.

"Earth to Maxy!"

Max blinks, focusing on the hand Daniel is waving in front of his face, snapping his head forward as if to bite it, making him laugh again, too loud for the late hour.

"Falling asleep? Want me to go?"

Max knows it's a joke (is it a joke? he thinks it's a joke), but he can't help his frown, putting down his drink to wrap both his hands around Daniel's knees.

"No, stay."

Daniel's expression changes, shifting into something softer and private, reaching forward again but this time to pat Max's cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone.

"Oh!" Max exclamation breaks the moment, Daniel sitting back as Max reaches for his phone, "I need to show you...hold on...!"

He scrolls through his phone, clicking in and out conversation threads.

"So, I was talking to Gianni about drugs, because, you know? And he sent me the craziest thing, and I..."

Max keeps talking, moving his phone around too much for Daniel to really focus on what he's trying to show him, but that's okay, that's not the point. The point is being sat here, a little tipsy, a little happy, having Daniel looking at him the same way he always has, like he wants to be here. Like Max is what makes him stay. Like maybe, if they try hard enough, everything is always going to be this way.

[venerawrites]

Hi, I wanted to request Ekko x reader, where she is a fighter who moves like a dancer...like Gwen Stacy!

author's note: I love Ekko (I would give this boy the world if I could <3) and I absolutely imagine him a badass partner! I saw "she", so I am rolling with a fem!reader for this one! Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for requesting! <3

Only God and probably Scar, given the amount of times Ekko has complained to him, knew how much he hated you. How much he hated the way you talk; the way you dress; the way you always butt in his fights; the way you moved, just like a silk in the wind; the way you drove him to the end of his sanity. No other word could describe the burning feeling in his chest every time he laid his eyes on you. Or maybe there was one more word...

The first time he saw you he thought you were one of Silco's workers. What other reason did you have to be in one of his Shimmer factories? You, however, did not pay any attention to him or the rest of the Firelights, instead jumping over their head and kicking two of the workers, who had blocked the entrance of the factories.

Ekko has seen a lot of fighters during his life, but none of them were like you. You carried yourself with such ease and grace, it looked almost like you were dancing, rather than fighting. For a moment, he thought he must have inhaled some Shimmer or something because no human could move so beautifully, yet cause so much destruction.

That night he and the Firelights barely had to do anything - you took care of most of the workers and the Shimmer all by yourself, leaving nothing, but a glowing purple mess behind you. And then just as fast as you came, you were gone.

For weeks he wondered if you were just a fragment of his imagination. He was a young man now, one forced to grow up way too quickly, the number of his encounters with girls can be counted on the fingers of his one hand. Even then, they were all members of his rebellious group and some (not all) remained to be his friends to this day. Perhaps, his heart was dreaming of something different, something exciting... or maybe he did inhale Shimmer and was just high.

"Have you seen that girl since the night at the factory? It's like she disappeared from the face of the Earth.", Scar said one day, while they were both in the workshop. "What girl?", Ekko grumbled under his nose, too focused on tightening the screws of his hoverboard to actually listen and understand what his friend was asking him. Scar's next words, however, made him freeze and he dropped his instruments loudly on the floor. "You know, that girl that trashed a whole Shimmer factory by herself? The way she moved, man... I won't be surprised if she was on drugs herself! How can anyone move like that?"

Confirming that you were NOT just a fantasy that his brain made up to trick him, he made it his mission to find out who you were. Back then you wore all black costume and a mask covering everything but your eyes. But these eyes... He had dreamed of them for many nights, he surely could recognise them if he saw them again.

After weeks of searching, he encountered you for a second time during another one of his attacks on Silco's ships. He swiftly dodged Jinx's bullets, waiting for an opening to take her down, and then - PUFF! - you landed in the middle of the deck, dancing around the blue-haired girl's rage, till you successfully swept your leg under her, bringing her on her back. You quickly disarmed her, putting some of her guns in your bag, before running in the opposite direction.

Your brother always said you should never look back after a fight. "Hit and run", he would always repeat. But as you pass the person with an owl mask, a shiver runs down your back. You can't really see it, but you are sure he is looking at you; following you with his eyes; observing you.

The moment you jumped overboard, Ekko jumped on his hoverboard, forgetting about everything else - Jinx, the Shimmer, the other Firelights, Silco's crew... at that moment only one thought was swirling in his head. He had to catch you.

He was used to going after criminals and Silco's men - with the years, it was less and less of a challenge, as he continued to improve his inventions after each fight. With you, however, it was different - despite you relying only on your parkour skills, he can barely keep up with your speed. Using any open window, door, and crack in a building, you were too quick and too flexible for him to catch up.

After a few minutes of intensive chasing, he stopped in one of the alleys, taking off his mask and rubbing his hands over his face. How in hell were you able to outrun his hoverboard? The fastest and the most advanced technology in the whole of Zaun?

Too busy swearing at himself, he didn't see you jumping from the window right above his head, till you landed directly on top of him, pressing your knees on his arms and wrapping your hands around his neck. "Who are you?", your voice was just as soft and smooth as your moves, "Why are you following me?".

You were fast and did manage to take him by surprise, he had to give you that. Your raw strength, however, was no match for him, and in seconds, your positions were reversed, while your blade was thrown somewhere down the alley.

Looking back, it was probably rude, but in the heat of the moment, Ekko just wanted to learn who you are. Taking off your mask, his eyes widened and his whole body tensed. He has seen his fair share of pretty girls, but you... fuck! Absolutely breathtaking!

While he was in awe, you were given the perfect opportunity to throw him off you and disappear in the darkness of the night. A second time you ran away from him and a second time he got absolutely mesmerized by you.

Ekko hated you. He hated how you kept showing up during each one of his missions; he hated how you started to grow bolder and more confident, mocking him how even with a hoverboard he can't keep up with you; he hated how you were so open about your despise toward Silco, as he is the one responsible for your family's addiction, yet you refused to join his group or his cause... You were a nuisance. A BIG one.

But the line between love and hate was thin, and everyone else could see that but both of you. Scar teased his leader all the time about how he never shuts up about you, despite his claim that he may dislike you even more than the Eye of Zaun.

The little game of cat and mouse you played was too addictive and fun, and it gave chance for you to be... well, you. Ekko could relax and be the boy he couldn't be when he was younger, and you had the chance to forget all the pain and suffering that surrounded you, even if it was just for a night.

Chases led to small talks; small talks led to secret meetings and secret meetings led to intense kisses and warm cuddles. It didn't take long for all the tension between you to blossom into something beautiful, something you both cherished and tried to protect.

You never joined him "officially", but you often helped with his missions, even when he insisted that you stay away because it was too dangerous. But you were stubborn and hot-headed, and always did stuff without thinking, and gosh, he just loved you for it! With all the responsibilities as a leader, he almost forgot what it was to live - till you brought that spark and excitement back into his life.

Only God and probably Scar, given the number of times he caught you sneaking into the base and Ekko's room in the middle of the night, knew how much he loved you. He loved the way you gently caressed his face; he loved the way you held him, allowing him to be vulnerable for the first time in years; he loved the way you drove him crazy, even when he wanted nothing more than to just kiss you and shut your mouth. No other word could describe the burning feeling of his chest every time he laid his eyes on you.

cc artwork: Sina Pakzad Kasra

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congrats on 700!!!! You absolutely deserve it!!!!!

I'd eat up anything eggshell, but can I get bat please 👉👈

HI FRIEND thanks for requesting! This is only my second or third time ever writing Killer sooooo I'm still getting into it, but I tried my best!

Pairing: Massacre Soldier Killer x Female Reader

Prompt/Trope: Exhibitionism

Summary: You opt to join Killer on an exploration trip instead of drinking with the rest of the crew. It takes some convincing, but Killer decides to loosen up a bit.

MINORS DNI!!!

WC: 2100

TWs: voyeurism, non con voyeurism but they're all open about it, unprotected sex, p in v sec, size difference ah!!!! steamy hot spring onsen sex, killer keeps his mask on sorry yall I'm feeling canony

Take a Dip (+18)

— — 

You sit at the kitchen table flipping through your old pile of gossip magazines for what seemed like the billionth time. You had your head in your hand while you finished up reading “Hottest Ramen Spots on the Grand Line” for the 5th time. You let out a long sigh. 

Killer, who was cleaning out the refrigerator across the room from you, picked his head up and turned in your direction. 

“What plagues you, tiny thing?” Killer stands up straight and wipes his hands off with the dish cloth that was slung over his shoulder. 

“I’m so fucking BORED!” You slam your magazine closed and toss it haphazardly towards the end of the table. Kid promised you would make land today, which delighted you to no end. It had been weeks on this stuffy ship and you were excited to get off and stretch your legs for a bit. You had gotten ready to go early in the morning, basically skipping through the Victoria Punk’s hallways as you made sure you had everything you needed for an excursion. 

That was until Kid decided the safest thing to do would be to head to the town after nightfall. He thought the crew would attract less attention if they arrived under cover of darkness. 

“But I want to go now!” You whined in protest. 

“And I want to be King of the Pirates!” Kid had shouted back at you. “Sometimes things don’t go your way!” 

And this was how you ended up slumped at the kitchen table nursing a warm, half drank beer while going through trashy magazines. 

“The sun’s gone down already, I’m sure we will get off soon.” Killer begins wiping off the kitchen counters with disinfectant. 

“I can only read ‘6 Vibrators You Need to Buy RIGHT NOW’ so many times before I stick my head in Victoria’s coal engine.” You sigh. 

“Hmmm… can you order those straight from the magazine, or..? Because you’re a bit cranky, I guess I could get you an early Christmas gift. ” Killer says as he continues meticulously cleaning his kitchen. You can hear a smile in his voice, he must have a cheeky grin on his face underneath that damn mask. 

“Yeah yeah yeah okay whatever.” You roll your eyes. You feel your cheeks heat up a bit, so you turn your body away from Killer to hide your blush. You grab another magazine to further disguise your flushed expression. 

The galley door was kicked open and you whipped your body around. Killer turned around from his place at the sink, hanging up a pair of rubber gloves. 

A heavy thud of combat boots and a flurry of red hair had burst into the kitchen.

“Let’s go, assholes!” Kid grinned at the two of you before retreating to the deck. 

— —

The Kid Pirates strolled through the quiet, gas lamp lit streets of this remote town, Kid leading the way, no doubt towards whatever bar was still open. It was easy top spot, being the only business with their lights on and a hot pink neon sign blaring in the foggy window. It seemed this sleepy little town was so small that the main square seemed to only consist of a few buildings. 

There was a pub, a butcher, a general store, and few other essential businesses, along with an old school Onsen hot spring further up the road a bit on a grassy hill. Kid holds the pub door open for the rest of you but you noticed Killer staying back. You’re about to enter the bar but you turn around to shout at Killer who was still in the road. 

“You’re not coming?” You question.

“Yeah come on, loser, let’s get fucking drunk!” Kid shouts from above you, still holding the door. 

“Not tonight. I want to see if anything else is open. We could use some supplies.” Killer holds his ground and starts walking up the road. 

“Wait for me!” You call out and duck under Kid’s giant metal arm to hustle up to Killer in the road. 

“Oh come on, y/n! You’re my good time girl!” Kid pouts at you. 

“I’m sure there’s plenty of girls looking for a good time in there!” You give Kid a sarcastic smile and a wave as you jog down the cobblestone road. 

You finally reach Killer and keep your pace quick to match his… his legs were much longer than yours. You walk together in silence for a few minutes, nothing heard but the clicking of your boots on the road and the dull hum of grasshoppers. 

“Why did you want to come?” Killer eventually asks you. 

“I dunno. We sit and drink all the time, I’d rather do something different while we’re out.” You say as you watch your feet, trying not to trip over the craggy road beneath you. 

“I see.” Killer states plainly. 

You walk without saying anything for awhile again as the two of you reach the top of the hill. The onsen comes into view. You see the hot springs gently cascading down from one azure pool to another, steam radiating heavily out of the pool to dance upwards into the crisp air. 

“Oh, Kil! Come on!” You break off from Killer and run towards the pools. 

“Y/n, they aren’t open.” Killer waits in the road. 

“Okay? And we’re pirates? Who cares? Come on! Come get in with me!” You say as you skip over to a particularly large, stone pool and kick off your boots. 

Realizing you weren’t going to be swayed, Killer grunts in frustration and heads over to where you were undressing. 

“You realize anyone can see you like this out here?” Killer reminds you, not taking anything off himself, just watching you. 

“And? God, Kil you’re really being a buzzkill tonight.” You rip your shirt over your head, leaving you in your jeans and your bra. “It’s almost like you’re going soft…” You tease as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side. Your naked breasts bounce freely and you didn’t need to see through Killer’s mask to know exactly where he was looking. 

Killer lets out a long sigh. He then rips his blue t-shirt over his head, your eyebrows raising as his golden, washboard abs and pecs are exposed to you. You quickly strip off your jeans and panties and step into the pool. 

“Ohhh…” You groan as you sink further into the relaxing, hot waters. You felt your tired muscles release and the grit and grime of the sea melt off your skin. You hear movement in the water behind you and you turn around to see Killer already in up to his waist. You pout at him playfully, as you didn’t get to see him fully nude before he got in. 

“Happy now?” Killer chided as he stalked towards you at the other end of the hot spring. He slowly gets closer and closer to you. 

“Hmmm…. Almost…” You bite your lip and look up at the blonde’s hulking form that was now right in front of you. 

“Oh? And what would make you happy, tiny thing?” Killer asks as he brings his left hand to gently play with your hair. He was standing and you were sunk down into the pool… your face was so close to his hard cock, bobbing just under the surface of the water.. he could have pushed your mouth on it in a second…

You hop up and sit yourself on the stone edge of the pool and spread your legs, presenting yourself to Killer. 

“I want you to fuck me, Kil.” You reach your hand down and spread your lips with two fingers, showing Killer exactly where you wanted him and how badly. Killer takes a split second to decide what he was going to do before pouncing on you entirely. He pulls your head into his chest and uses his other hand to line his throbbing cock up with your hole. 

“You want this, little one?” You feel it rumble through Killer’s chest. 

“Please…” You whisper out. 

Killer hikes you up fully into his embrace. Your wrap your arms around his neck and lean your forehead into his mask. Killer sinks you down onto his cock swiftly, plunging it into you in one smooth thrust, holding you up with your knees over his forearms as he impaled you on his member. 

“Aaah… fuck!” You cry out and throw your head back as you feel yourself being stretched so deeply. Killer grunted as he gripped your ass cheeks even harder to toss you up and down on his giant cock as he stood in the hot spring. 

You tangle your hands in Killer’s long blonde hair spilling out from behind his mask. He gave you an extra hard thrust in response which made you yelp. 

“Such a tight little thing…” Killer huffs out to you as he pumped his hips upward into you at an unrelenting pace. “Must have needed this bad, huh?”

“Y-y-es! F-fuckk so g-good!” You slam your eyes shut and you can barely get out coherent words with how fast Killer was slamming into your cunt. Suddenly you were spun around and felt yourself being lowered on your back onto the stones lining the hot spring. Killer ripped your legs apart by your knees and moved to stand between them, tapping his weeping tip on your clit teasingly. 

The hand that wasn’t teasing his cock against your sex was reaching up to grab at one of your breasts harshly. You start to moan under his touch when he abruptly slams his cock into you to the hilt again without warning. You yelp. 

“AH!” 

“Quiet, sweet girl… you don’t want the whole town to hear you like this, right?” Killer coos down at you as he thrusts into your messy pussy from above. 

“Ahh- K-kil! I-I’m close!” You feel your muscles squeeze and that familiar tingling in your lower half starts to reach its peak. This only increases the speed of Killer’s thrusts. 

“FUCK!” You ignore Killer’s warning and you let out a loud moan to the starry sky as your orgasm hits you. 

“That’s a good girl…” Killer pulls his cock out of your hole as he feels you finally stop spasming around his shaft. He steps forward to stroke himself quickly over your flushed body. Your eyes had hardly returned from the back of your head when you felt hot ropes of cum splatter against your chest and abdomen. 

After a few seconds of catching his breath, Killer scoops up your body from the cool stone and places you gently on his lap as he sinks the two of you into the hot spring. You feel the hard nuzzle of his mask against your forehead as he gently wipes the cum off your chest under the water. 

*clap* 

You pick your head up from Killer’s chest. 

*clap* …. *clap* …. *clap*

“What the fuck is that?” You say as your eyes scan the area. 

*clap clap clap clap clap* 

“Bravo!”

*wolf whistle*

*clapping continues*

“Nice show, kids!” You finally were able to pinpoint the unknown speaker. 

You were all but mortified as you see Kid, Heat, and Wire all hanging drunkenly off the wooden fence to the Onsen. 

“What the fuck! How long were you there- Kid… are you eating??” You shout as you cover your breasts instinctively, Killer’s protective hand coming up to replace it yours. 

“Yeah-“ Kid shoves another handful of chips into his mouth. “I didn’t think we’d come across something as interesting as you guys fucking in the hot spring, so I brought a snack.” 

“Yeah and honestly the chewing was really distracting.” Heat chimed in. “You should really close your mouth, dude.” 

“What? So you can perv-out over your crew members some more?” Kid spat back. 

“Captain, you were the one who suggested we ‘stay to catch the end.’” Wire adds. "Nice choice with the cum shot, by the way. I'd have done the tits too."

“I NEVER SAID THA-“ Kid spouts off but Killer interrupts him. 

“If you’re finished arguing, the show is over.” 

You feel Killer’s grip on your naked body tighten. 

The trio turns tail and continues squabbling with each other as they stumble back to the Victoria Punk. You can’t help but giggle a bit. 

“What’s so funny, little one?” Killer whispers into your ear. 

“Your jealousy is showing, Kil.” You laugh as you lay your head back against Killer’s bicep. You bring your hand up to hold his mask. “You know I’m yours.” 

“I know.” Killer says softly as he strokes your back. “I just think we should charge them to watch next time.” 

[agoodroughandtumble]

Zoro x Reader - Lost & Found

Status: Complete Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader Summary: Zoro is, unsurprisingly, lost Warning(s):  None

Roronoa Zoro was, more often than not, lost. Of course he would be the last person to admit that fact. His pride and stubbornness surrounding the matter were infamous amongst his fellow Straw Hats – an unfortunate consequence of his drive and determination. After all, his mind was focused on becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, on protecting his crew, on helping Luffy fulfil his dreams; Zoro didn’t have time to be memorising atlases. Usually he just shrugged it off – arguing that he always ended up where he needed to be eventually – especially as he wasn’t actually lost anyway, so shut up. Besides. He was sure that if he just kept walking he would reach the Sunny eventually. So that was his plan. Just keep walking and eventually he would reach the ship, or at least someone who could point him in the right direction. He might be lost but he wasn’t lost.

Because being lost and being lost were two completely different things. The former he could deal with – just keep walking. The latter, not so much. The latter was a feeling only reserved for you. You made his head hurt, his heart race and his stomach drop. Each part pulling him in completely different directions and he was a futile navigator. From the moment you had joined the Straw Hats Zoro had found himself in unchartered waters, desperately searching for the relief of land. For any opportunity to remove the anchor you had so deeply buried within his chest, and the chain that dangled so carelessly in front of him. Not even his swords were strong enough to cut himself off completely.

You were both his captor and his saviour – the chains binding you together either a death sentence or a lifeline. But God, he didn’t care. He could happily die so long as it was by your hands, happily seek salvation so long as it was by your mercy. He could do all of this and more for you, because of you, despite you, in spite of you. As long as there was you.

Ironically, the situation wasn’t lost on him. Neither was the knowledge that whilst you were indisputably his anchor, he wasn’t yours. It wasn’t surprising, really, if he thought about it. You were bright, a beacon in the dark, his personal north star guiding him home. He was a storm, a hurricane, only useful for destruction. The product of a life dedicated to violence and bloodshed. The product of a life to keep you away from.

In his more selfish moments, Zoro would allow himself to revel in the chains you had unknowingly imprisoned his heart within. He would allow himself to be lost in the ardently naïve hope that you would find him again – that the chains binding him to you equally pulled at your heart, at the fibre of your being. He could admit to being lost, to being a captive to his own desires, to your every whim as long as you were too. If not… well then he was truly lost. Drowning in that unchartered sea, navigating that starless sky, at the mercy of the storms he had once thought to seek solace in.

It was, somewhat cruelly, that whilst he wandered aimlessly he heard a familiar voice. “Zoro!”

He turned around, trying to neutralise his expression lest you realised he had spent this entire time thinking about you. “What do you want?”

You rolled your eyes. Nami had asked you to find Zoro and bring him back to the ship at least an hour ago, but obviously Zoro was going to claim he’d only been gone ten minutes. “I came to find you – Sanji’s already starting on dinner,” you grabbed his arm to interlace yours into his, “So come on. I’m starving.”

His heart skipped a beat at your words. I came to find you. It was innocuous on your part – no subtext, no promises of anything more. He turned his head slightly, a small smile forming on his lips as you started berating him for getting lost again and how you had been all over the city trying to find the “grumpy green haired man with too many swords”. You found him. Regardless of whether you knew it or not, the chains secured themselves more firmly around his heart – and for once, he relished the feeling. He always ended up where he needed to be eventually.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Mandalorian, The Child, and The Thief

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: Fighting, teenage behavior, small injuries

------

A ship known by many for the man on board, he couldn’t even be described as a man. Skillful in languages, the ways of a blaster, and hand-to-hand, part of a race of the past. The bounty hunter, part of the creed. Their famous words, ‘This is the Way’.

The Mandalorian...

Dirt and dust fill the air as the Pre-Galactic ship lands on the planet of Nevarro. A sharp hiss comes from the landing gear as the large ramp opens up a man dressed in the finest armor and weapons stalks through the town. Looks and whispers as he makes his way through the town. A cantina filled with music and booze, its patrons conversating with one another or drinking their problems away but the arrival of this bounty hunter silences them instantly as his cold gaze scans across the room.

Spotting hidden in the corner a dark-skinned man who once his eyes meet his helmet raises a hand, “Ah, that was fast. Did you catch them all?” He asks and the hunter silently places all the tracking fobs on the table in front of him, “Good. I’ll begin the off-load.” The man nods at the seat in front of him and the other man sits down. Pulling his reward from his pocket and sliding them across the table.

“These are Imperial credits.” The Mandalorian says finding no use in them, the empire was something he didn’t want to support. The other man shrugs trying to convince him, “They still spend.”

The masked ban glares at the other man through his helmet, “I don’t know if you heard, but the empire is gone, Greef” His modulated voice shows his disgust and irritation.

“It’s all I’ve got.” The man puts his hands up and the hunter stands grabbing his trackers rather to give them to someone who will pay his preferred currency, “Save the theatrics…fine I’ll.” He sighs pocketing the money and pulling out a different payment, “I can do Calamari Flan, but I can only pay half.” He looks at other options contemplating them before grabbing the blue credits.

Greef signals someone in the cantina who leaves to unload the bounties on the ship, “Okay…I have a bail jumper, bail jumper, another bail jumper, a wanted smuggler-” “I’ll take them all.” The Mandalorian cuts off the man’s listing ready for new work making Greef let out a laugh.

“Nah, hold on. There are other members of the Guild, and this is all I have.” He shakes his head but the bounty hunter didn’t care about other people, “Why so slow?”

“It's not slow at all. Actually, very busy. They just don't want to pay Guild rates. They don't mind if things get sloppy.” Greef explains leaning back in his seat and gesturing to the bar quickly bringing him a drink. The Mandalorian watches him twitching to get off this planet and onto the next bounty and reward,

“What’s your highest bounty?”

“Not much. Five thousand.” Greef recalled his highest payment for all those bounties, the price bothering the hunter,

“That won't even cover fuel these days.”

The Guild member nods slowly before one job he forgot to mention comes to mind, “Hmm. There is one job.”

“Let’s see the puck.” The hunter holds out his hand ready to start.

Greef shook his head taking a sip of his drink, “No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.” This was not a normal occurrence, bounties always had a puck or something for the bounty hunter. The Mandalorian could only think who was so important to whoever wanted them dead or alive.

“Underworld?” Mando questioned,

“All I know is no chain code” Greef pulls out a chit card placing it on the table between the two of them taunting the hunter the offer not standing for long, “Do you want the chit or not?”

Arriving at the meeting with the client he hadn’t expected the empire to lead to a standoff with four remnant stormtroopers' blasters aimed at him and his weapons aimed at them. A hand stops the soldiers and they all lower their weapons the bounty hunter slowly lowering his but not putting it away. “He also said you were expensive. Very expensive,” The client gestured to him to sit, “Please sit.” The Mandalorian sits down hesitant his hand twitching at his gun when the client grabs something out of view bringing out something wrapped in cloth. Unwrapping it the shining metal glisters in the light the same metal that decorated the hunter’s body. The staple of the Mandalorians is a metal of high value and meaning.

”Beskar?” He says looking at the metal brick surprised to see such a large piece of it.

“Go ahead. It’s real.” The client allows the hunter to inspect the ingot. “This is only a down payment. I have a case of beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the assets.” The client explains his payment being something large until the words acknowledged him

“Assets?” He was only expecting one bounty for this underground work.

The client nods his wrinkled hands folding together in front of him before waving a hand at the hunter, “I’m sure a man of your skill will have no trouble collecting two assets.”

“Alive.” The otherwise silent doctor pops in standing to the side with a data pad filled with whatever information,

“Yes. Alive. Although, I acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.” The imperial man says and the doctor looks at him in shock, “That is not what we agreed upon.”

“I’m simply being pragmatic.” The client gives his final word before turning back to the silent hunter.

“Let’s see the puck,” He says needing more information before he could decide whether to take the offer. He was going to take it, the second the beskar was brought out he knew it was going to be in better hands once it was returned to the Mandalorians.

The man frowns looking away, “I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you a tracking fob.” The doctor hands the Mandalorian a tracking fob.

“What’s the chain code?’ He asked still prying for information.

“We can only provide the last four digits for each.” The client says.

“Their age? That’s all you can give me?” The Mandalorian says growing more frustrated.

“Yes. One of them is 50 years old while the other is 17 years old. We can also give you the last reported positional data. Between that and the fob, a man of your skill should make short work of this.” The client smirks at the bounty hunters' conflict as he gets up and moves to leave. “The beskar belongs back into the hands of a Mandalorian. It is good to restore the natural order of things after a period of such disarray, don't you agree?”

His decision was made then.

The air was cool on your skin as you left your room slipping out through the window to avoid your father asleep just in the other room. It was calming walking through the silent town, but it quickly changes when hands grab you. One quickly covering your mouth to muffle your screams, you kick your leg back hearing a sickening crack as they roar in pain biting on the hand covering your mouth the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. You try to run off knowing you couldn’t overpower the men, you go to scream out when something collides against your head and you crumble to the ground.

That had been about four weeks ago when you later woke up in a room chained to the wall having no idea where you were and even if you were on your planet. It had been about a week into your captivity when you gained a companion. A creature that must have been an infant had joined you. So you watched the child giving portions of your food since he needed it more and watched over him. Silences were common in the room you were being held in other than the babbles and sounds coming from the babe. Until a loud pop sounded muffled before another, you couldn’t tell what it was until the sounds of screams came with them. Gunfire…

The door burst open and two men enter one unlocking your chains and the other grabbing the child’s carrier bringing you out of the darkroom into a larger one. The sounds of fighting and gunfire grow louder out here, “It’s only two of them out there, why won’t they die!” The one with the child growls out pushing his carrier against a pile of crates the harsh movement making him cry out.

“Stop it. You’re going to hurt it.” You push the man away from the child. He whips around smacking you across the face it stings in pain. You glare at him and spit the blood that pools in your mouth right in his face. He wipes the red off him before quickly lifting his rifle slamming the butt of the gun against your temple and you crumple to the ground.

The fight on the outside is long over and almost unfair to the mercenaries, the doors leading into the building explode open with the heavy weapon the bounty hunter uses. The rubble falls around the doorway created as he enters followed by a droid, IG-11. It’s silent as he stalks inside, with quick reflexes as a lone enemy jumps out and is quickly shot down.

“Anyone else?” The bounty hunter calls out as the droid looks around before down at the tracking fob it had.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate that there are two life forms present.” The Mandalorian scans the room coming upon a girl unconscious bleeding from the temple and an egg-shaped container behind her. The tracking fob beeps louder in the direction of both the girl and the container as the hunter cautiously opens it.

“Wait. They said 50 years old.” He looks confused at what was supposedly the 50-year-old asset but looked like a child. 

“Species age differently unlike the female. Perhaps it could live many centuries.” IG-11 explains as the child slowly emerges from the blanket, this tiny green creature looks up at him stretching its hand out to him, “Sadly, we’ll never know.” The IG unit starts to raise its gun but the Mandalorian stops it.

“No. We’ll bring them in alive.” He says commanding the droid to stop and ignore its protocol.

“The commission was quite specific. The assets were to be terminated.” IG raises its two weapons aimed at the child and the girl.

A shot is fired, and the IG unit drops to the ground shot down by the Mandalorian. He puts his blaster back in his holster walking up to the child as it continues to look up at him in wonder. He shifts his gaze from the child to the girl, those two were meant to be his bounties.

Your head stung with pain as you were jostled around in a constant up-down movement. Blinking your eyes adjusting to the bright light, were you dead? Was this heaven? Your vision finally focuses and you see a helmet the visor a T-shape. Fight or flight kicks in as your fist collides with the underside of the mask hitting him straight in the jaw. Not expecting the attack he stumbles still holding you and you push yourself out of his arms. You hit the ground the sand cushioning your fall as you scramble to stand holding out the blade you swiped from his boot. A blaster is pointed at you but you keep your grip on the knife fierce ready to fight. You take in the man before you dressed in armor and weapons, but what had your eyes widen was the design of the helmet. Once you had seen before…Mandalorian.

“Who are you? Where the hell am I?” You hiss out holding the blade with two hands as he has his blaster trained on you before he holsters it holding his hands out showing he was of no harm.

“You're on Arvala-7.” The man says you were slightly taken back that he spoke your language and not Mando’a but you still weren’t taking your chances.

“Who are you?” You glare the knife still pointed at him trying to figure out who he was through the helmet.

“I can’t tell you that but it’s either you trust me or let even more people who aren’t willing to have you alive.” Those mercenaries only kept you alive for whatever reason until this stranger showed up including the child. Your eyes widen…the child!

“Where is it?!” You demand, looking around for the child. You remember the hit of the gun before you were knocked out.

“Where’s what?” “The child.” You see behind him was the container holding him, the creature looking at both of you. “Oh thank the maker, I spent the last few weeks watching over it.” You sigh in relief and the man nods before walking off the carrier following after him,

“We should get going.” You rush after him pocketing the knife in your belt and coming beside him.

“You’re a Mandalorian…I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” You speak up glancing at the silent man, “What’s your name, you never gave one.” He barely looks at you before walking ahead so you were behind him making you scoff, “asshole.” You mumble under your breath dragging your feet through the sand. He continues silently despite the heavy armor that should be making noise as you all enter the base of a canyon. “So do you ever take off your helmet at all? Like even when you slee-”

His hand juts out making you run into it and you glare up at him from the corner of your eye you see his hand slowly reaching for his blaster. An ambush of Trandoshans wielding axes rushing towards you, one swings its axe at you when he shoves you out of the way. You hit the ground pushing yourself up from the sand when one of the bounty hunters wraps his arms around your waist lifting you up into the air and dragging you from the group.

“Hey! Let…me go!” You thrash in his arms twisting and turning in his grip trying to break free, the loud sound of a gunshot right by your head making your ears ring as the both of you hit the ground. You scramble away seeing the blaster wound in his chest and you look back seeing the Mandalorian holding his blaster pointed at you. He lets out a hiss of pain the metal of one of the axes slicing his arm, he prepares to counter when a blade is protruding from the Trandoshan’s hand. He looks back seeing you holding your hand out having thrown the knife before the both of you are attacked by more hunters. You can see one heading towards the child with your hunter busy fighting off two of them. Looking around having lost your weapon when you grab one of the axes the weight is heavy in your grasp. It’s right before the child when you swing the axe the weight and momentum striking its side a screech coming from it. It swings its own axe out and you block it with the handle of the blade the clang of metal and sparks ring through the air. Kicking out at its side making it cry out in pain you swing the axe digging it deep into its arm. You struggle to pull the weapon free and with its own weapon coming at you, you can only dodge letting go of the blade. If you had been a second late it would have been worse than the blade slicing across your cheek. It raises its axe to bring it down on you when it's shot crumbling to the ground. Looking up seeing the Mandalorian blaster still smoking as you quickly move away from the dead enemies to the hunter and the child.

“Thanks.” You breathe out your hand touching your cheek wincing from the pain pulling back and seeing red. He nods his attention turns to the ground where there is a blinking tracking fob.

“We need to keep moving.” He says the three of you quickly leave the canyon and the remains of the fight. Dusk had long settled the beating sun leaving only the cool night feeling nice on your sweaty skin. Out in the dunes camp had been set up the fire blazing on the open sands, your gaze taking in the embers floating into the air. You were used to this much sand and the heat hadn’t bothered you but it felt foreign now. You were somewhere maybe not in your same system anymore you hadn’t even been off your planet before. Your home was all you knew of and now you had people after you trying to kill you. A hiss of pain comes from the bounty hunter beside you trying to sear his wound up but unable to with the angle of the cut. You move closer trying to help when a blaster is pointed at you making you put your hands up.

“I was just trying to help.” You say slowly sitting back in your spot as he keeps his gaze training on you before slowly putting his weapon away and continuing to fix himself up.

“I don’t need your help.” He says and you roll your eyes turning away and looking at the small creature sitting on a pile of blankets from his carrier his round eyes watching the flames dance in front of him. “Hey.” The hunter calls out and you turn looking over at him in his hands bacta spray and bandages. You scoff looking away and wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Hey!” He calls out moving closer and you turn more away from him, “You need to get patched up or it’s going to get infected.” You look over your shoulder glaring at him.

“I don’t need your help.” You mock his own words back at him and you could feel the annoyance and anger coming through his helmet aimed at you. You let out a shriek when his hand wraps around your arm spinning you around to face him, his gloved hand grasping your jaw holding you in place when you try moving back, “Let me go.” You push against his chest but he doesn’t budge.

He glares at you and you could feel the cool gaze staring back at the metal helmet making your movements come to a stop. He nods before beginning to clean the cut on your cheek before moving to one of your temples. You hiss out in pain when he presses too hard on the wound putting the bacta spray on.

“Would’ve been worse if you didn’t dodge,” He comments when you glare at him in pain, he continues tending to the injury, “Where did you learn to fight like that.” The stoic voice asks finishing pulling back and you bring your hand up touching the bandaged cheek and temple.

“Tatooine,” You say picturing your home the dunes of sands, the shouts of Tuskan Raiders, the wind in your hair on the speeder bikes, and the dual suns that made the perfect sunsets on the best days. “You fight to survive when you don’t got much…I have..had a pretty good teacher back home.” You correct yourself, were you ever going to go home or was this bounty hunter just going to cart you off to whoever wanted you? He nods looking down at his chest plate to fix it. Silence fills the quiet night as you look forward poking at the fire to keep it alive before glancing at the Mandalorian before you speak up.

“I want to thank you…for everything,” You say and you see him pause in his fixing, “You could’ve killed me and the child but you didn’t. I’ve only heard stories about your kind so I don’t know if it’s a religious thing or you're just different.” You quiet feeling embarrassed saying all that but one thought had been plaguing your mind.

“Are you…are you going to bring us home? The child and I?” The mask of his hides his face and anything you would be able to tell, his body language didn’t reveal anything and you couldn’t see his emotions through the metal.

“Yeah, kid…you should try to get some sleep.” He responds, his words bringing hope to believe this stranger. Fixing the child in his carrier asleep for a while before settling against the cool sands the night sky and the stars looking down at you. Whispers of sleep and dreams lull you and the Mandalorian hears a brief mumble from you,

“My name’s Y/n.”

The morning soon arrived and you were up following the hunter to what you assumed was his ship. Walking over the ridge there was his ship but it was getting dismantled by Jawas, creatures you were familiar with on Tatooine. Their large sandcrawler beside the ship loading the scraps.

“Dammit,” The bounty hunter huffs pulling his rifle from his back and laying down on the ridge looking down on the ship and taking aim.

“Wait what are you doing?” Your words are cut off as a beam is sent out hitting one of the jawas disintegrating it. The death of one of its kind sends them into a frenzy trying to run back to the ship as he continues to take out more. He quickly stands sliding down the ridge chasing after them as you and the child follow after him.

“You’re not going to be able to chase after a sandcrawler!” You yell out as he runs after it not before shouting back at you,

“Stay there!” He orders before you freeze watching him disappear with the sandcrawler leaving the two of you by the ship. It had been a while and he hadn’t returned neither did the sandcrawler.

“Kriff come on!” You say setting off after the bounty hunter the child following after you. Following the tracks of the large fortress before you stumble open a body laying along the ground recognizing the Mandalorian helmet. “Oh, maker please don’t be dead.” You say hovering over him, you debate taking off his helmet to see if he was breathing or hand a pulse. Your hands reach for the edge of the helmet ready to pull it off when he shoots up the strong metal colliding with your face making you fall back clutching your nose.

“Kriff! Dammit, that kriffing hurts!” You blink away the tears putting light touches against your nose trying to feel if it was broken. His helmet had to be built with a strong metal cause that hurt a lot. The hunter sits up groaning from his own pain of being electrocuted and kicked off a sandcrawler, “You’re a real asshole, stupid bounty hunter, stupid helmet.” You ramble off pushing yourself to stand your nose throbbing in pain and your head ringing.

He groans pushing himself to stand, “If it’s not broken then you’re fine.” He slings his rifle over his shoulder his body sore as the three of you return to his ship. You and the child sit against some rocks watching the hunter taking in the damage to the ship, he returns from inside the ship and you give him a look. He ignores it and begins to walk back into the desert. Having no choice but to follow, you walked through the dunes and plains the sun beating down on you. How was he not sweating in that armor? Your travels had the sun setting behind you and in the distance, you could see a structure. Growing closer you see it’s a moisture farm and there was a man fixing something.

“This is supposed to fix your ship,” You comment and he doesn’t acknowledge you walking over to the man who looks surprised to see him. You quickly learn the man’s name to be Kuiil as he brought you into his home feeding you the sun had long set the night here.

The Mandalorian stands beside Kuiil the two watching the child watching a frog with much interest chasing after it.

“I thought you were dead.” Kuiil says to Mando as they both watched the child playing with the frog, “These are what was causing all the fuss?” The two look away from the child to the girl, you were leaned against a crate a knife in your hand twisting it in your grasp. You meet his gaze glaring at him making Kuiil laugh. Mando looks down at his boot seeing his blade gone. How did he not notice you took it?

“She certainly doesn’t like you,” Kuiil says and the bounty hunter is silent watching you before turning away.

“I think that one is a child.” He says the child grabs the frog that he was playing with. Kuiil nods looking at the two bounties, “It is better for them to be delivered alive then,”

The bounty hunter shakes his head the problem coming up, “My ship has been destroyed. I’m trapped here.” He had been close to his fight with the Jawas before they gained the upper hand

“Stripped. Not destroyed. The Jawas steal. They don’t destroy.” Kuiil explains and the bounty hunter scoffs,

“Stolen or destroyed- makes no difference to me.” He retorted, frowning remembering what those little cloaked freaks did to his ship, “They’re protected by their crawling fortress. There is no way to recover the parts.”

“You can trade,” Kuiil suggested and the hunter looks at him like he grew three heads.

“With Jawas? Are you out of your mind?”

The older man nods his idea final, “I will take you to them. I have spoken.” They hear fussing and the child is shoving the frog into his mouth to begin devouring.

“Hey! Spit that out,” Mando called out and the Child swallowed the frog whole making you gag as you watch the whole interaction. The night had been spent traveling you had gained a cloak to protect yourself from the rain and by the time it was the day you had arrived at the sandcrawler.

Kuiil climbs off his blurrg leaving the three of you to watch as he greets the Jawas in their language. He turns looking back at the three of you mainly at the bounty hunter, “They really don’t like you for some reason.”

“Well, I did disintegrate a few of them.” The hunter brings up and you could hear the angry noises coming from the cloaked people. His hand instinctively goes to his rifle as a fight almost brews. Kuiil holds out his arm giving a pointed look to the hunter, “You need to drop your rifle.”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.” He refuses.

“Your religion is about to get us killed.” You hiss at the bounty hunter who glares back at you.

“Then you’re not getting your parts back.” Kuiil says giving the final ultimatum. The Mandalorian sighs putting his rifle down and climbing off the sled. “And the blaster.” He sighs removing that as well. You go to follow him when he points at you.

“Stay.” He says and your jaw drops, you weren't some animal, “And don’t touch my stuff you’re not doing that again,” The memory of him forcing you to return the blade is still fresh in your head. Maybe he should be more careful of his items. You roll your eyes sitting back down with the child watching the conversation.

Kuiil listens to the Jawa before turning to the Mandalorian, “They will trade all the parts for the beskar.” He shakes his head blowing up in anger pointing at them,

“I’m not gonna trade anything. These are my parts. They stole them from me.” He says “They, they….belong to me!” He speaks Jawa though it’s truly bad and you stifle your laughter.

“You speak terrible Jawa. You sound like a Wookiee.” One of the Jawa says and he loses his temper swiping his hand out with his flamethrower making them all yell out.

“You understand this?!” “No! Whoa, easy, easy.” Kuiil quickly diffused the fight before speaking to the Jawa, “He is Mandalorian. He cannot give you his beskar armor. What else may he trade?”

You hadn’t noticed some Jawas coming by the sled until they were inspecting the child’s carrier and poking you with their staff.

“Hey! Stop it get away.” You stand up shouting at them in Jawa alerting the bounty hunter who stands up.

“Get away from them!” He shouts and they scatter away from the two of you.

“There must be something else,” Kuiil says and the Jawas turn to discuss amongst themselves before turning around.

“We will require The Egg. Bring us The Egg.” It says and your hunter looks confused, “The Egg? What Egg?” You were confused as well as Kuiil groaned facepalming as the Jawas continue to chant.

The Jawas allow you all to travel by sandcrawler before you arrive at a series of rocky formations. The three of you minus Kuiil dismount and begin to walk through the rock formations toward an open clearing leading to a cave. “Shouldn’t I have a weapon in case you fail or something?” You bring up and he glares at you ignoring your request leaving you and the child to watch him venture inside the cave. It’s silent for a bit before a loud roar comes from the cave and out comes the Mandalorian and a large mudhorn. You watch him fire blast at the creature before reloading his weapon and the creature charges throwing him against the mud.

“Not doing so well!” You shout at him which draws the attention of the beast who charges at you and the child, “Crap!” You shout rolling out of the way mud covers your knees and arms as the child’s carrier dodges in the other direction. The mudhorn turns ready to charge again when flames unleash burning it. It tries retreating back to its den but he latches onto it with a grappling line around the horns. Shaking him aside attacking with said horns and hooves to the ground. It goes to stop down at him you rushing forward when the creature suspends in midair. A feeling you hadn’t felt in a while covers your skin as your hand whips around to look at the child its tiny hand held out. You hear the sound of the blade driving into flesh but your attention is focused on the small creature.

The Mandalorian slowly approaches the child seeing the look of slight fear on your face looking down at the child before it collapses in its cradle asleep. His gaze shifts to yours, your face seems plain but he could see the fear in your eyes that you were trying to hide. He turns walking back into the cave and returning with the egg. You had arrived back at the sandcrawler with the egg the Jawas rejoiced taking it and cutting it open devouring the insides.

“Mando!” Kuiil calls out to the bounty hunter.

“I’m surprised you waited?” Mando says and Kuiil nods looking at him,

“I’m surprised you took so long,” Kuiil says and the Jawas quickly prepare the sled with the parts of his ship. Then you were back off to the ship. You were sat in the back with the parts of the child’s carrier resting beside you as you look out on the horizon. You could hear their conversation but chose to ignore it, your mind more focused on what you had witnessed. You hadn’t imagined it you had truly seen it with your own eyes. That feeling that rushed over you had opened up something that had been locked up in fear. As you look down at this child you could feel a connection form.

The child was still asleep when you arrived at the dismantled ship, “There is no way we're gonna get this to work without a full maintenance facility. This is gonna take days to fix.” Mando says looking over the wrecked ship.

“If you care to help it might go faster. There is much work to do.” Kuiil says ready to begin the repairs. The night continues over you all as the two repairs the ship. Your head is deep in wires in the cockpit the fusion cutter grasp in your mouth as you moved cables around. Maker, this whole ship was a mess, did he purposely want a ship that was slow? As you go to move another wire, you feel hands grab your legs pulling out from the open panel and you look up to see Mando glaring down at you.

“Why are you touching my ship?” He growls out, were you tampering with it to make this harder for him? You scoff pushing him away from you and crawling back to the open panel.

You ramble off fixing the wiring but it would just be easier to get an entirely new ship. “More like fixing, like how could you allow it to get like this! Your hyperdrive is so outdated that makes you two times slower than most ships. Then there are the core processes and your sensor systems dying on you. Your better off selling this hunk of junk and getting something that’s not Pre-Galactic, hey!” His hands grab your legs again pulling you out of the panel but you were already done. He pulls you up to your feet pushing you down to a seat.

“Stop touching things,” He snatches the fusion cutter, “Just don’t even move.” He glares at you which you equally return. He steps back before turning his back from you and heading down out of the cockpit. You cross your arms settling in, maker what an asshole.

Mando sighs the last of the repairs are finished having repaired or fully restored the ship’s systems and parts. He turns looking down at Kuiil, “I can't thank you enough. Please allow me to give you a portion of the reward.” He says and the man shakes his head.

“I cannot accept. You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service.” He shakes his head and Mando nods looking at the ship,

“I could use a crew member of your ability. And I can pay handsomely.” He offers but Kuiil refuses.

“I am honored. But I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude.” Kuiil says and Mando nods moving towards his ship as Kuiil mounts his blurrg. “I understand. Then all I can offer is my thanks.” Mando says.

“And I offer mine. Thank you for bringing peace to my valley and good luck with those two. May they survive and bring you a handsome reward. I have spoken.” Kuiil watches as the Mandalorian enters his ship sitting in the pilot's seat his two bounties beside him, the child was asleep in his cradle and you were leaning against the wall in your chair your eyes closed. He fires up the engines of the Razor Crest is roaring to life as he takes off leaving the planet behind.

To Nevarro.

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge— Ch. 8

AN: This is a preview for the next part, where we will find out more about the readers past and get to explore the existing elation ship between the boys. it got posted early so the next chapter could take a while or come out like tomorrow, idk

“Hold still,” Price said, holding the packs above your hands. You nodded, shifting nervously on your knees. “Only gonna hurt for a second.” He lied every time, but the brief attempt at comfort made you feel a bit better. 

The second the medication touched the burns you cringed, tensing immensely. You heard him try to tell you to relax, but his voice was drowned out by a wave of pain. Every time you two did this procedure it only seemed to get worse, but you were slightly thankful for it. 

Coming back home had been rough. Nik only stayed for a few hours, making sure that you were situated and properly taken care of before he returned to his desolate corner in russia (they always preached how lucky you were to make your way to him, instead of heading in your enemies direction), and you had been thrown into testing immediately after that. 

It felt like something out of a marvel movie, they assessed your injuries and just how well you were able to operate, thanks to Nik, you were still able to participate in field work as a long distance asset, you gave them the information you stole from the russians, and they gave you medicine for the many burns you had on your body. 

Which was why you found yourself in this position. 

You could still use your hands, thankfully. They were good for a manner of things, fighting, eating, and the like. But you couldn’t do things like write or hold a brush, which was the exact task required to apply the medicine that the doctors gave. So Price had to help you. 

At first it was awkward, sitting there half naked on his desk while he applied a cream that burned worse than the one Nikolai gave you all over your body, but you two slowly got used to it, even breaking the tense silence with small bursts of conversation. Usually about something that had happened earlier that day. Never about the indecent that put you in this position. 

There was one burn that required special attention, seeing as it hadn’t healed correctly. On the back of your neck, just in the juncture connecting your shoulders, and the only place you couldn’t reach. That one specifically hurt the worst, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving to touch it once the cream was applied. 

Price’s solution to this was to have you sit between his legs while it was applied. 

It did help, of course. Any time you tried to shift your neck or flinch away from the pain, he was there with a steadying hand on your head and a slight “Don’t wana do that,” and you were still again. 

Some nights were better than others, but you were always distinctly aware of the position it left you in. 

Just as you were always aware of the way he would go half-hard every time you two did that. 

“There you go, all done.” You sat back, looking up at him with wide eyes. You didn’t miss the way he had to swallow a bit harder, or shift his hips ever so slightly. “Wasn’t too bad.”

“You try having second degree burns and come back with that same bull shit.” He just laughed and shook his head. 

“Ya know… if you want to talk about what happened—“

“John, it’s okay.” Truth be told, it wasn’t okay. It was the farthest thing from okay, but you weren’t going to bring it up anytime soon. “What happened happened.”

He just grunted. “ ‘Boys still haven’t given up on that challenge.” You just laughed, wincing at the sting of the burns. 

“Honestly, you guys find even one photo and i’ll sing your praises.” You could feel his eyes on you as you got dressed, and sure enough when you turned back around he was staring at you with a different kind of intensity. 

“It took you being gone for two months for us to realize we hardly know anything about you. Why is that?”

You blinked in surprise, stepping towards the door. “I have my reasons.” The hall was empty, and you sort of wished John had people outside eavesdropping on your conversation. 

“Find those photos and you’ll figure it out.”

me when i wanna write sex but they aren’t like that yet

My masterlist<3333

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 5: rescue snippet

the birthday countdown continues to tick down! today, i have for you a beckman pov scene in need of a fic; the scrivener document title is “this belongs in a plottier story,” and i stand by that description:

Giving Shanks a look somewhere between misery and murder, Buggy mutters, “You have no idea what it's like.” “Mm, I don't know… people having a lot of undeserved expectations sounds pretty familiar to me.”  Shanks moves to fidget with the brim of a hat that he no longer owns. “Oh come on,” Buggy scoffs. “I mean it!  I was—Buggy, I was a child when the captain gave me that hat.  I wasn’t an exceptional pirate, or a prodigious fighter, or anything like that.  He didn’t give it to me to declare me his heir, he gave it to me because I was a kid on his ship, who thought his hat looked cool, and asked if I could wear it.”  A wry smile on his face, Shanks says, “The difference between me and you is I learned how to work around expectations, instead of being dragged in their wake.” “There are way more differences between us than just that,” Buggy mutters.  “Like number of functioning arms.  Or braincells.” “Oh, yeah,” Shanks says, faux-thoughtfully.  Beckman quietly braces himself.  Buggy bristles; he clearly recognizes that tone too.  “Underwater, I guess I do have more of those than you.”

(1.3k below the cut)

Beckman is in an early morning meeting with his captain, another in a long line of meetings with not a smile to be seen—not with so many big names anchored close by, their men cohabitating, waiting for a decision to be made—when a faint cry from on deck has Shanks shooting upright in his chair.  He turns an eye in that direction, his unerring observation haki telling him something that alarms him.

Beckman casts his own senses that way.  It feels like conflict between a couple low-level crewmen, with one gone overboard.  Concerning, but nothing serious enough to warrant Shanks’ personal intervention… but Beckman hasn’t been first mate of the Red-Haired Pirates this long for no reason.  When Shanks runs out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Get Yasopp and a life preserver—actually, make it two—port side, as fast as you can,” Beckman’s already on his feet, doubting that they’ll make it in time.

Luckily Yasopp is quick to find—he prefers to be at the highest point of the ship when they have strangers on board, keeping an eagle eye on enemies and friends alike, and by his frown he has more of an idea of what's happened than Beckman.  Luckily Beckman just finished orienting new crew on the places where they store safety supplies, so the life preservers aren't blocked off and hidden by the barrels of supplies they brought on the day before last.  Luckily Shanks left a trail of his discarded cape and sandals that's easy to follow, easier still when it ends in a pair of foam-mouthed crewmen collapsed against a wall.

Beckman hears the quiet plup of a diver with excellent form entering the waters below without a hint of a splash, and leans over the railing to see a faint pale sliver of a figure swimming down, down, and away…

Yasopp measures the wind, hefts each life preserver consideringly, and nods.  “When he surfaces, I'll be ready,” he says.  “You go ahead, get those two out of sight.”

Beckman nods.  Whatever these men did, it riled Shanks up enough to use conqueror’s haki on his own crew.  It's worth a private interrogation, if nothing else.  Without saying a word, he hefts one over either shoulder and strolls back across the deck.  And if any of their guests notice, and pass word along to their home ships… that’s one less thing for Beckman to deal with.

“Well?” Shanks asks when Beckman returns to the main deck, not quite half an hour later.  He's ruffling a towel through his hair, which is going to dry in awful salt spikes later, but he appears, essentially, fine.  You'd never guess by looking at him that he'd gone in the water for anything more than a passing fancy.

His rescuee, on the other hand, is a miserable, bruised, half-drowned rat of a man.  His disembodied hands wring seawater out of his clothes and back into the ocean as he shivers under three oversized towels, but the glare on Buggy the Star Clown’s face would almost make you think Shanks had been the one to push him overboard.

“Spies for Blackbeard,” Beckman says.  Shanks frowns.  Disappointed, but unsurprised.  “Apparently Buggy caught them at it and attempted to blackmail them rather than turn them in.”  Buggy scoffs under his breath.  “They knocked him out and tossed him over the side of the ship, intending to claim he'd made an escape by—”

“I know what they intended,” Shanks says.  His chipper demeanor is long gone.  “Buggy, how did you spot them?”

Buggy scoffs again—or maybe coughs, his voice is so hoarse with saltwater that it's hard to tell.  “I didn't!  Those idiots assumed I was one of them, and came around to brag about how much progress they'd made in getting close to you.”  He coughed again, turning to hack a wad of phlegm overboard.  “The disrespect!  As if the Genius Jester Buggy would ever deign to work for that overgrown weasel.”

Shanks stays quiet; on a hunch, Beckman follows his lead.

“And of course the spies decided that I had intentionally tricked them into revealing themselves,” Buggy continues to rant, “and that I must have done so to blackmail them into handing over Blackbeard’s secrets, which outraged and offended them so much that before I could split myself they were beating on me until I blacked out.”  He rubs at a bruise-dark temple gingerly, then says, “I woke up just as they were hefting me overboard.”

A faint hint of a smile curls the corner of Shanks’ mouth.  “Things like this really do just happen to you, don't they?”

Gesturing expansively, Buggy says, “They really do!  People assume all sorts of shit about me, and whether I want to go along with it or not they don't let me get a word in edgewise, and then before you know it I'm a Warlord! or an Emperor! with no actual power to back up my position!”  Giving Shanks a look somewhere between misery and murder, he mutters, “You have no idea what it's like.”

“Mm, I don't know… people having a lot of undeserved expectations sounds pretty familiar to me.”  Shanks moves to fidget with the brim of a hat that he no longer owns.

“Oh come on,” Buggy scoffs.

“I mean it!  I was—Buggy, I was a child when the captain gave me that hat.  I wasn’t an exceptional pirate, or a prodigious fighter, or anything like that.  He didn’t give it to me to declare me his heir, he gave it to me because I was a kid on his ship, who thought his hat looked cool, and asked if I could wear it.”  A wry smile on his face, Shanks says, “The difference between me and you is I learned how to work around expectations, instead of being dragged in their wake.”

“There are way more differences between us than just that,” Buggy mutters.  “Like number of functioning arms.  Or braincells.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shanks says, faux-thoughtfully.  Beckman quietly braces himself.  Buggy bristles; he clearly recognizes that tone too.  “Underwater, I guess I do have more of those than you.”

“Barely!”  Buggy snaps.  Beckman takes the opportunity to grab the clothing Buggy had started to neglect during this conversation and pass it along to a crewman already headed for to the laundry.  He has a feeling Buggy’s charming personality won’t become more bearable if he drops his only outfit overboard while he’s distracted.  “And who the hell asked you to anyway?!  You’ve got a ship full of people who obey your orders, supposedly, why didn’t one of them, with the proper number of arms for rescue swimming, pull me out?!”

Shanks blinks.  “What do you mean, ‘who the hell asked me to?’  You asked me to.”

Buggy blinks.  Then blushes.

Yes, Beckman realizes, thinking back, that cry that first drew Shanks’ attention had sounded a bit like his name.

“I—that was—“ Buggy visibly fails to think of another word he could have possibly said in that moment.  He snatches away Shanks’ towel to bury his head under it and sigh, “An old reflex.”

Shanks crouches down, taking the towel back and running it over Buggy’s hair with more care than he’d given his own.  “After all this time, you still trust me to keep you from drowning.”  He waits for Buggy to look at him before saying, “How could I do anything less than honor that trust?”

Beckman feels, far from the first time, like he's interrupting something here.  The last time he’d asked, Shanks had just laughed.  Which was, he’d thought at the time, a very roundabout but unambiguous answer to the question.  Looking at Buggy’s face now, Beckman thinks he understands why.  Whatever it is he’s interrupting here, Buggy is aware of it too, and he’s terrified of it.

Poor Shanks.

[arealphrooblem]

The Promise

Synopsis: An officer of the Empire makes an offer of marriage to his former friend, now a rebel and his enemy, to honor an old promise they had when they were street orphans.

The rebels he put in separate cells, spread across the detention block. He knew a daring rescue would be fronted by their friends — they were always making reckless stupid decisions,  risking the many for the sake of the few. But at least this way they would have to break into each cell separately. 

And they wouldn’t know who would be interrogated in what order. 

To be truthful, the antagonist did not care much for information. He captured this cell for one purpose only. The rest could rot or scatter or break free for all he cared. So long as he kept one rebel in particular. 

Seeing their face through the small grate in the door twisted something in his gut. It had changed so much in the intervening years — baby fat melted and hardened into sharp gaunt lines. Body grown into sinewy strength. Scars. 

But their eyes were still the same, wide and dark and kind. Expressive eyes that betrayed their every emotion. And their body still small and scrappy and dirty. 

So many things had changed since their days at orphaned street urchins, their paths diverged into wildly opposite directions. What used to be his only ally in the world had turned into his enemy and vice versa. 

Well that would change by the end of the day. Folding his emotions up carefully, tucking them away and smoothing his face into an apathetic mask, the antagonist took one silent breath and then stepped through the door into the interrogation room. 

The rebel sat at one side of the table, hands changed to a rung  in the middle, legs chained to the chair. He fought the slice of guilt at the sight of it. 

The shock of seeing him lit up the rebel’s eyes. He knew he looked much different than the last time they saw each other, wild hair combed back and tamed, skin spotless of dirt, body tall and strong in his uniform. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize his own self in the mirror. 

“Hello, old friend,” he said. 

“We haven’t been friends in a long time,” the rebel said, the accent he tried hard to banish singing through their voice. 

“True,” he acknowledged, though he never stopped considering them as such even as they blew up his ships, cut supply runs, drew more rebels to their cause. 

They stared at each other, drinking the other in. He could see the rebel struggling to hide the pain and yearning at the sight of him, but their eyes gave it away, as always. 

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” his friend said finally. They swallowed. “You will have to kill me.”

“I’m not interested in information,” he said. “And I’m not going to kill you.”

Wariness cross their face. “Then what do you want?”

“You,” he said simply. 

Then he pulled out the crisp folded paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. His friend gave him one more searching look before dipping their gaze to the paper. He watched in breathless anticipation as they took in the information. Then their gaze jerked abruptly back up, eyes sharp and glaring.  

“I don’t understand,” they said slowly. 

“It’s a marriage contract,” he replied. 

“I understand that. It’s the rest I don’t get. What do you want me to do with this?”

They were being deliberately obtuse but the antagonist was happy to spell it out for them. 

“I want you to marry me.”

The rebel had no answer to that. Only speechless, suspicious shock. 

“I know you don’t agree with my choices,” he said, “but I chose them to give us both a better life. I promised you that.   I went to look for you after basic training and you were gone. When I finally found you again . . .you were with them.”

They glared at him. “The Empire is the reason why we grew up starving on the streets with no parents. Of course I joined the people trying to eradicate it.”

“Eradicating the Empire is not going to eradicate tragedy. We could have been orphans either way. At least now I have no worries about where I will sleep next and when my next meal is coming.” He nodded at their ragged clothes. “Can you say the same?”

“I’d rather starve than get fat off of other people’s suffering.”

“Doesn’t that get old, starving?” he asked softly.  “Doesn’t it get old, never sleeping in the same place for long, never feeling safe, never knowing if you would survive the next day? Aren’t you tired of it?”

The rebel had no answer to that, biting  their lip against the sudden wetness in their eyes. Because he knew the answer. It’s what drove him into the Empire’s arms, knowing what they did to his people. And in basic training he slept all the way through the night without fear for the first time in his life. He felt full after dinner for the first time in his life. He could predict each day for the first time in his life. All things he would happily give his friend and they wouldn’t even have to work for it.

“Marry me and I will release you rebel friends in my cells. No muss, no fuss, no hair harmed on their heads.”

They were too noble to take the easy way out for themselves, but perhaps they would do it to save someone else. Make them feel like a martyr. Already he could see the wheels turning in their naked gaze. 

“Sleep on it,” he said, standing up. “I will expect your answer in the morning.”

The answer the next morning was yes. 

[epicthemusical]

Ghost Filled Dreams pt 1

WARNING THUNDER SAGA SPOILERS BLOOD/ DEATH

Eurylochus feels like he is floating before the sudden feeling of him falling hits him. He opens his eyes and finds himself in his body but he has no control.

“Choose. You, or your crew?” a booming voice, Zeus, directs the question at Odysseus.

“Please don't make me do this! Please don't make me do this!” Odysseus should never sound that desperate. After some silence he hears himself weakly ask

“....Captain?” Odysseus turns around and everything is wrong. His captain and brother should never look that worn down and haunted.

“I have to see her…” His Captain's eyes are filled with grief and helplessness.

“But we will die..” wait what? What does that mean they would die?

“I know…” Odysseus' eyes fill with tears as he points at Eurylochus and the crew before Zeus starts to move, pulling out a lightning bolt while the crew attacks Odysseus as one.

He doesn't fight it though, almost like he wanted them to kill him. Before they can reach him there is a bright flash and then overwhelming pain burning through his entire body.He feels himself sinking below the waves as his vision turns blurry and his eyes finally close.

Eurylochus shoots up in his bed breathing hard and eyes wide. He can feel himself shaking in shock. That dream was terrifyingly realistic…. Eurylochus can hear screaming and crying throughout the ship so once he calms down some more he shakily stands up to check on what is going on.

Eurylochus does his best to push the dream into the corners of his mind to be dealt with later, as the second in command he must make sure everyone is okay. He takes a deep breath before heading out of his room. A dream will not stop him from doing his job and that's all it is a dream.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Polites floats in nothing but the peaceful feeling is ripped away as he finds himself in a sudden battlefield. His body moves and fights, Polites only a spector. The enemy is a giant with one big eye, a cyclops then.

His friend Odysseus is shouting commands and the crew is winning. Polites never gets over how smart and confident Odysseus is. He makes an amazing leader. Suddenly a shape swings into the corner of his eyes and he feels so much pain.

He can't breathe and he sees he had landed right in front of Odysseus who looked horrified and pale. He feels himself reach out for him pushing through the overwhelming pain of every breath.

“Captain…” a thud and then the pain is gone.

He jolts awake causing him to fall off his bed gasping for breath feeling like his lungs were still full of blood. He hears screams and sobbing from other places around the ship and panic hits him.

Odysseus,he needs to make sure Odysseus is okay. His friend's face in his dream won't leave his mind. He stumbles his way out of his room and starts to look for Odysseus and praying that it was just a dream. Yeah it has to be a dream that's all.

—---------------------------------------------------

Odysseus finds himself standing in an empty void with nothing in sight.It feels..strangely familiar almost like Athena’s quick thought but different,off somehow.

“You have been given a chance” Odysseus world around sword in hand finding a man standing there back facing him.

“Who are you?” Odysseus is fully on guard against this person. It could be a god for all he knows, I mean how else could he be here? The man turns around and what he sees causes his grip to loosen and his sword clatters on the ground.

It looked like him but at the same time nothing like him. His eyes are haunted and he is dressed in bloody rags.

“You have been given a chance to save them all.” Odysseus shakes himself out of his shock.

“What do you mean save who?” The man gives an exhausted smile

“You will find out soon enough. Save them for me as I was unable to.” Odysseus gets ready to ask one of his many questions when everything starts fading to black

“Time is running out you must save them for you will not get another chance.”

He slowly wakes up pondering on what the dream is about but soon hears screaming and crying outside of his room. Odysseus quickly gets dressed and rushes out to see what had gone wrong. The words from his dream echo in his mind, a warning for what will come.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Polites continues to stumble on looking for Odysseus, ignoring all the other frantic crew members wandering around. The only thing he can think about is that he has to see Odysseus.

At last he spots him out on deck watching out for some of the crew. Polites runs up and grabs his friend tightly before all but collapsing against him. Soon he feels arms wrap around him, keeping him steady and he starts sobbing.

“Hey Polites, it's okay everyone is alive and safe. I'm right here okay?” Polites eventually calms down and slowly stands up again wiping at his face to get rid of the tears.

“I'm sorry about that. I'm sure others need your help too.” Polites glances around at the crew, many of them collapsed on the deck and others staring off into the distance, eyes blank.

“Did you also have a realistic dream?” Polites glances at his friend before nodding

“yeah. Does that mean everyone also had one of those dreams?” Odysseus sighs

“Yes it would seem so. I have been gathering accounts on what they dreamed about because this is obviously of divine nature. What was your dream about?” Polites flinches a bit at being reminded of his dream.

“A group of us were fighting a cyclops and we were actually winning. Your plan was sound as always.But something hit me hard and I remember reaching out towards you before something hit again then I woke up. You face though…you were so horrified and pale I hated it.” Polites shivers and Odysseus hums pulling him into another hug

“Don't worry i won't let that happen. I will make sure you and everyone else is safe. I know it was hard but thank you for sharing your dream.” Polites nods and Odysseus lets him go

“I'm sorry but I have to go help other members of the crew. Will you be okay?” Polites smiles not as brightly as usual but still comforting and warm.

“Of course do what you need to do” Odysseus nods and walks off and as he helps more of the crew listening to their dreams. The dreams often include the same scenes, the most common one being drowned by Poseidon.

With a slight frown Odysseus thinks on what he was told in his own dream. Were these visions of the future? Odysseus has a gut feeling that these dreams are important. He gets to work piecing together the dreams creating parts of a bigger picture.He needs to know what will go wrong so he can stop it from happening.He will keep everyone safe, he has to.

[jingyuanyuan]

(Observations from Chinese fandom idk what it’s like in the English side, also idk translations for some of the names of things)

A lot of blade fans dislike jingliu (hmm perhaps for killing their guy hundreds of times) but I think people forget jingliu was possibly the most direct victim of the incident. She had to kill the cursed dragon made from baiheng’s flesh (I don’t read liuheng fics but I kind of passively ship them because it makes this more knife and more tasty) which basically immediately triggered her mys and drove her insane (altho she was already very old 1000+ by this point) so effectively Dan feng and ying xing caused her death as well, and thus altho she considers herself one of the 3 sinners due to going insane and killing fellow soldiers, you could also consider that to be Dan feng and yingxing’s fault too. From this point on jingliu is dead, and iirc the document in game says the casualty count was in the thousands and I don’t think jingliu killed blade that many times, if you want to calculate it like that.

I’m not a blade 推 he’s just very interesting to me, his suffering fascinates me lol, I’m a jing yuan 推 tho so I suppose I also have complicated feelings about the current, mys jingliu because of the trouble she and luocha did and will bring to xianzhou and thus jing yuan… she really is not herself anymore. The jingliu who taught jing yuan 吾等云骑，如云翳障空，卫庇仙舟 is gone… that jingliu would never use the lives of everyone on luofu as just another means to achieve her goals.

And if you look at blade altho he is probably normal most of the time when he’s not exposed to mys triggering things from his interaction with firefly he seems pretty quite and reserved (altho still cracks jokes which were then heavily memed hhh 点刀哥经典语录：死不了) which is very different from famously arrogant yingxing. That arrogance was probably why he helped Dan feng, for Dan feng he also had to consider this could be the way to save the future of his race but for yingxing I interpret his motivation as helping a friend and the short lived race’s desire to do what no one has done before and leave his mark before he’s gone. Blade probably considers his arrogance as one of the fatal character flaws that led to the disaster. I suppose time both sands down ones edges and wears away everything but the most pure desires and goals, and everything else is in service of that goal. For blade the goal is his eventual death, for jingliu it’s to kill yaoshi, and altho jing yuan hasn’t mys-ed you could say for him it’s all in service of luofu

[blackbat05]

The Unusual Visit

Adam Warlock x Reader

Plot: You decide to show Adam around Earth, a place he was always curious about. A few shenanigans occur along the way.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: An amazing idea by @littlekidsteve 💜 I hope you don’t mind that I add in some ideas of my own on top of yours and I hope you like it😬! For the rest of y’all, do reblog and comment if you like it. Much appreciated!

Shameless Tags: @tom-whore-dleston

***

“So, remind me what this place is again?”

Adam stands beside you, in awe. The flamingoes in the open enclosure roam around freely, as the sunlight captures their magnificent pink feathers.

“It’s a zoo where you can see different animals.” You explained. “Which reminds me, there are plenty of other animals if we go further down this way,” you steer him in the direction of the lion enclosure.

With the Guardians taking a couple of days off, you decided to take Adam down to Earth. If he had to come for an official Guardian business, it would be great if he was acquainted with some of Earth’s customs.

After racking your brain on what was a good way to slowly introduce him to Earth, you decided on showing him what nature had to offer. You had Blurp to thank as the furry creature had slinked into your bed one night when Adam left his room unlocked.

A mixture of oohs and ahhs could be heard from Adam as the two of you visited various enclosures. He admired the elegance that the lions radiated, though you saw him standing slightly further away from the fence as compared to the other animal enclosures.

You received a multitude of questions when he saw a seal performing various tricks with a zookeeper. “Does the earthling have powers like us?”

“Well, kinda. They have to develop a bond with the animals and gain their trust first.” You were glad to see that he was clearly enjoying this visit. “Come on! I do want to show you that the zoo isn’t the only place where you can see animals.” You grin at Adam’s confusion while leading the way.

~~~

“People can eat and drink here? While playing with… puppies?”

“Dogs.” You corrected him, taking a sip of your blueberry ade. “Not everyone can keep pets at home like how you took in Blurp. But sometimes, they just really need the comfort of a furry friend for a few hours.”

Adam looks down to see a corgi with coffee colored fur circling his ankles. He picks it up with ease, holding it by its body for you to see.

“Why does this one look like bread?”

You giggled. “Almost accurate but not quite. That is a Welsh Corgi.”

“This dog has abnormally short legs,” Adam observes as he puts the dog back down. The corgi decides that his lap was the best sleeping spot and starts to doze off. “Do all dogs look like this?”

“Nope. There are many different breeds. For instance,” you took out a treat to entice a Daschund a few feet away from you. You take a look at the dog’s name tag. “Meet Sausage. He’s a Daschund.”

The dog wiggles out of your grasp, jumping into Adam who thankfully has quick reflexes. Wagging its tail, Sausage starts to lick his face.

“I think it likes you,” you smile at Adam’s futile attempts to fight off the onslaught of affection from the hyperactive Daschund. You decide to help him out, wanting to show him the other lovable dog breeds, big and small.

Preparing to leave for the day, you came out of the toilet to find two of the cafe workers looking anxious. Not thinking much about it, you prepared to meet Adam at the ship.

“Toast is gone! He never goes anywhere!” The girl with strawberry pink hair exclaims. “Boss is going to have a fit when she knows that he’s gone.”

“Calm down,” worker number two comforts her colleague. “I’m sure he couldn’t have gone far. Did you see anyone take him?”

“I was so busy at the cashier. But the last I saw him was with a guy… he was super tall and… out of this world…”

You furrowed your eyebrows at strawberry girl’s description, realization hitting you. You know exactly where the corgi has disappeared to.

~~~

“Adam!”

You entered the ship to have your suspicions confirmed. You find Adam tossing a squeaky ball across the main area where Toast, the Welsh Corgi was scuttling around.

“So this is where you ran of too you sneaky little bugger!” You picked up Toast and gave it a few pats. “Adam, this belongs to the cafe, you can’t take it along with you.”

He sees your slightly exasperated expression. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to find a friend for Blurp.”

You sit beside the God, letting Toast run for a little longer. “I know, Blurp has been kind of lonely. How about this? We can bring Blurp down here every week. I can talk to the staff to let us have Toast for a couple of hours. This way, we can see more places too.”

Adam takes in your suggestion slowly before nodding. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Great. How about we return Toast back home?”

You had apologized profusely on Adam’s behalf, but you couldn’t help but to notice the two girls sneaking glances at Adam who was too engrossed in saying his goodbyes to the canine.

As the ship takes off, you see Adam’s forlorn expression.

“Hey, Adam. Hold out your pinkie.”

As he extends his hand with his pinkie out, you wrapped your own pinkie around his.

“This is a pinkie promise. I think it’s sweet that you really love them, and I promise I’ll take you to see them. Not even Rocket’s last minute tasks can stop me. Okay?”

Adam looks at your pinkie intertwined with his, an unreadable expression on his face. He extends his fingers to hold your hand, satisfied with what he had just done.

“There, instead of a pinkie, this is a hand… promise?” The words rolled off his tongue naturally and Adam was pleased with himself. “That way you can’t break it.”

You laughed, holding onto his hand tight as the ship exits the Earth atmosphere.

“A promise it is, Adam. A promise it is.”

[prince-of-elsinore]

still thinking about that Mike Farrell quote about BJ walking to Maine, specifically the “And it probably wouldn’t have been as wonderful as he’d have hoped it was, because you know, lives have gone in different directions” and how really that just acknowledges and summarizes the core irony and bitter-sweetness of not only beejhawk as a ship, but BJ and Hawkeye’s canon friendship, and the ethos of the entire show.

It’s a cruel twist of fate that brought these people together. War, senseless destruction, indiscriminate killing: these are the circumstances under which they become intertwined. None of them want to be there, they all want out, they endure unutterable horrors and will forever be altered and scarred. Wouldn’t it be morbid to cherish any part of that experience? To want anything but to leave it behind and wash it all off? And yet--they will miss each other. All the goodbyes are difficult, and BJ and Hawkeye's is the hardest of all. Hawk knows, and BJ must too, deep down where he’s not ready to admit to himself, that it will never be the same between them. The war created the conditions of their friendship. The stress, the blood, the fear, the yearning, the depression, all were part of it--are the very reason they “cling to each other,” in BJ’s own words. They cannot go back to that, and given the choice, they would not.

BJ and Hawk will undoubtedly miss each other, very much, as they both admit. I’m sure there are many times post-war that they wish the other were there, or might even long for the simplicity and camaraderie of the Swamp (with the rose-tinted glasses of memory), but you can’t pick and choose which parts of an experience to keep and which to throw away. The war was a package deal. Any possible reunion between any of the 4077 would, inevitably, make it clear how lives went on and paths diverged. For most of them that wouldn’t even be a disappointment, but for BJ, who clings harder than anyone to the “there and later,” to the fantasy of a perfect future, of course whatever he hoped for when he so confidently told Hawk “I promise” isn’t how it would play out. But that doesn’t mean--and Mike’s quote doesn’t even rule out--that there’s no happy ending, even if your happy ending is BJ and Hawk together. It only means that BJ will have to realize that his relationship with Hawk isn’t something he could preserve in ice and then thaw out and jump back into like nothing at all has changed (just as he’ll no doubt realize with Peg when he gets home). Because everything has changed. The war is over. If BJ and Hawkeye want to preserve their bond, they’d have to find new patterns, new ways of relating to each other, new routines away from death and destruction and hardship. It would take time and effort. Mike also said they’d make a point of seeing each other. To me that sounds like he thinks they’d be willing to put in the work. I like to think that too, even if I’m imagining a bit more drastic an endgame.

tl;dr: Mike Farrell understands that at the core of MASH is the paradox that these people mean more to each other than anyone who didn’t share that experience, but the status quo where those relationships are forged and flourish is a state of war that they all want out of so badly.

[itsjustbyler]

I've read your Mike post and even if I ship mileven I agree with most of it expect ofc the internalized homophobia part. So I will ask what would change for you if Mike is confirmed straight and doesn't have internalized homophobia? Would you dislike Mike?

Hi!!

Well if he truly doesn't have internalized homophobia and is in fact straight, then Mike is still smart, compassionate, brave and someone that would fight for the people they love. However, I would say the writers messed up his character/storyline.

First, sidelining him as El's boyfriend and nothing more since season 3. He doesn't have an storyline for himself in this scenario. He is just a boy who can't say ily to his girlfriend. Even if they wanted to go for only that rote, they haven't even gone deep into that. They could have Mike actually explaining how their parents relationship messed up his head, his trauma and all, witch is what most people speculate. But they decided for "Mike can't say ily because he is scared that it's gonna hurt when El dumps him" (?).

Second, his storyline in S3 and S4 are basically the same. "Mike is only 14", you would say. However, characters need to have a grown even if they are young. A character need to go from point A to point B. Look at the other kids who are also 14 yo. A character can be young and immature but they need to show how this is changing throughout the seasons with their actions and behavior. Look at the difference between Will in S3 and Will in S4 for example. He was also sidelined but even with him having the same struggles as in S3, he behaves completely different about it in S4 and it shows that he has grown.

Mike and Els relationship also is the same as S3. Mike lies to her, she gets mad and dumps him in S3 and they separate, then El lies to Mike (fact that is completely forgotten btw) but since he can't say ily she gets mad, fight with him and they separate again.

They ad unnecessary drama into Will and Mike's relationship too. There are so many ways to portray Will's sexuality without Mike involved or without Mike behaving the way he did in S3. Mike completely ignoring Will in favor of his relationship.

Why? Will could have been jealous and he was, but that was not what leads to their rain fight or their fight at Rink o Mania, is the fact that Mike ignores Will to focus on El and they were suppose to be best friends. Some people gets mad with Will for call him out on it as if he should have just accept this treatment and is acting based only in jealous.

So, if this doesn't have a deep meaning, out of nowhere Mike started acting as a bad friend. And that's the opinion of the GA. Search Mike Wheeler on Google and you will see for yourself. Even on reddit, the most mleven place you can find, there are people saying the same thing.

And that's really sad, as I said in my other post, people tends to hate on him without trying to understand the meaning of his actions. Could this behavior be because of depression and trauma? Of course but then they fail to show it. Again, we can only speculate. I know you probably will disagree, but there is more evidence for Mike to have internalized homophobia than to just be depressed, witch we already knew he was.

And that would not explain why his behavior is directed especificaly towards Will, the boy who is in love with him and that he had a deep relationship with in s1 and even more in S2, such a coincidence... Again, Mike is oblivious, he doesn't know, he doesn't suspects that Will is gay and even if he did, he would not treat Will like that only bc of it. Mike is not a homophobe.

And that is on the writers. There are Mike and El shippers that thinks that we will hate Mike if he turns out to be straight, however Mike is not the problem. Is the writers and how they decided to portray him and the relationships around him. Mike will still have the same qualities he had before, I will still like him, however I would just ad bad friend sometimes into his flaws.

ty for the ask!

[oldxenomorph]

heavy metals

pairing: reaper!nemesis/melinoe warnings: body horror, sexual content (sex with an eldritch machine, size difference, thigh riding, overstimulation), 18+ summary: nemesis returns after a century away from the crossroads, now a machine-goddess that serves the reaper emperor. her reunion with melinoë goes a step further, to make up for one hundred years of yearning.

The image lingered in her mind, replayed itself on a continuous loop, but she instead envisioned it was Melinoë’s ghostly hand touching her chest. Nemesis imagined that sickly green glow against the black metal, the slender bones shifting within and on command. She wished it was the faint teal of Melinoë’s lipstick on her neck; she would let Melinoë kiss her wherever she wanted, leave markings on her wherever she wanted. Retribution’s metal body covered in Nightmares’s kisses, kisses, kisses.

---

2392 CE

The end of the rain in Erebus brings with it the smell of petrichor. In the great megalopolises and urban sprawls, there is still that smell after the rains, but it’s different in the Crossroads. Earthen rainwater mixing with Hecate’s cauldron and Melinoë’s crops, the smell of garlic and wheat, nightshade and cattails, their oils drawn out by the biome itself. Erebus’s rain makes Nemesis smell like ozone, heavy and metallic, the result of making contact with her black hair and her red cloak that conceals her giant form. The biome extracts the scent of the outer void that clings to the goddess, from the many times she’s walked outside a ship, the vastness of her mother’s work all around her: dark matter, dark energy, gravity, the stars themselves, the arms of the galaxy wrapping around her.

Best to stay until the rains let up, Hecate had said. Nemesis hated the way the Titaness spoke to her. A cold and forced politeness, a frigid kind of formality. It was clear that the her presence was tolerated at most. We can’t have you return to your master soaked to the bone.

Like an old habit, Retribution Incarnate stood in the spot she used to guard, underneath a canopy of fabric and overgrown flora, wrapped upon her red cloak, her arms crossed underneath. The bowls of burning liquid were still there, a perpetual silver flame and silver fluid that hissed when the remnants of the rain made contact with it. Nemesis is eager to leave this place, she only came back to deliver a request to Hecate from Nyx. Although, the more she stands there, alone in her thoughts, she begins to believe that her mother (and the Emperor) had something else in mind with her visit. Nyx could have contacted Hecate whenever she wanted, why Nemesis for something that amounts to an errand? Something ferments in the air, gone sour; old tensions, memories, especially in this area.

Eventually, Nemesis makes up her mind to finally leave, taking a step out of the neglected tile circle towards the direction of the Crossroad’s exit.

“Nemesis?”

The familiar voice stops her. Retribution Incarnate turns around and sees Melinoë. She has not changed that much in a century; still wearing that saffron dress and pieces of armor made of a silver as dark and dazzling as the moon at night, her blonde hair still straight and just above her shoulders adorned with the pale crescent and the fire-licked laurels of her house, her frame still lithe and toned from all of her training and experience. Nemesis’s expression remains impassive, but inwards, seeing Melinoë again brings the sensation of cold needles sinking into her heart. It’s unexpected. She should have prepared herself to possibly see her again. She thought she timed this visit so she could avoid this. She should have left earlier.

Nemesis only gives Melinoë an unblinking stare that then drifts downward, noticing the glass bottle in the goddess’s hand. Bath salts.

“You’re leaving already? I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the Hot Springs. It’s been a while.”

“They’re not particularly special.” Nemesis’s voice is flanged, split from her old voice, all heavy and deeply distorted, like an old and corrupted audio file. In truth, she has not thought about the amenities of the Crossroads since she left. “The Ziggurat has many baths that are twice as nice and just as hot.”

“I’m sure, but the Hot Springs are different,” Melinoë reminds Nemesis, her feet that glow that burning coals bringing her a step closer to the towering goddess.

Retribution narrows her eyes, the golden illumination made more intense by her skepticism at the offer. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden, Princess? The last time we left things, you were angry.”

A century of being apart hangs between them, time rotting away like a bloated dead body. The time when Nemesis came back, all new, the Wrath of the Emperor, to return things to Hecate, to wrap up things left undone before leaving to serve Extinction. She distinctly remembers the sting of the look of shock and horror on Melinoë’s face, how she moved away from her whenever she tried to get near, the tone of her voice. Anger. Confusion. Fear. (Heartbreak.)

Why give up everything that you are to become a machine? Are you Indoctrinated? Is your mind even your own? How do I know that you are still you?

A machine-goddess. Reaper technology. The Emperor’s black ichor pumping through her system. Nemesis’s eyes were the only gold left within her, the gold of her mother’s eyes.

The relationship with her siblings was made even more distant, but she could deal with that. None of Nyx’s children were close to begin with, and her transformation did not change that. Eris took it the worst. Strife Incarnate was always afraid of Extinction and the Reapers, her existential dread masked by her attitude. (Always knew you would go work for Her Imperial Reaper-ness and Nyx, Nemmie. What? Didn’t want to take orders from old Hecate anymore? Didn’t want to be my sister anymore? Were you ever my sister in the first place? Do you make that ‘dial-up noise’ whenever you wake up?) But Melinoë’s reaction stunned Nemesis, she didn’t expect it. And yet, it just confirmed the Crossroads was no longer a place for her. Nemesis had long outgrown it and everyone that called it home. It was not her home.

Melinoë looks down at the bottle of salts in her hands, her slender fingers settling on the edges, her thumbs running around the lip of the cork. She averts her gaze, as though still unable to truly look at Nemesis, as though to protect her own memory. Nemesis’s hard gaze is unrelenting, waiting for her to speak.

“I was angry, Nem. But…. I had some time to think about it.” The chthonic goddess holds out the bottle as a kind of olive branch. “Join me? For old time’s sake at least.”

Nemesis doesn’t respond for a few seconds, the silence peppered with the sounds of the Crossroads: the bubbling of the cauldron, the rustling of reeds and cattails, the hissing of brazers burning. Then, a single word.

“Fine.”

---

2295 CE

The other Revenants helped Nemesis into the bath, their many sets of metal hands guiding her as she walked. Nemesis towered over them with her new height. Getting used to her new equilibrium, her new height, her new weight was proving to be the more difficult than the waiting. It felt like she was not entirely in control of her body, even though it moved as she commanded, synthetic tendons and cords obeying every signal from her brain. How was she supposed to protect her mother, if she could not walk?

Nemesis’s strange, yellow optics looked down at the pool, the water lit from within, steam rising against the blue light. Like all places within the Ziggurat, the room was dark, except for the pool and the technology in the machine-women that held her up. The darkness Nemesis was used to was sometimes cold and wet, sometimes it smelled of ash and incense and whatever bubbled in Hecate’s cauldron. She remembered Melinoë’s garden, lit by sickly green and silver braziers, her crops soaking up the rain in Erebus.

Hot, blue water. Not unlike the hot springs in the Crossroads. The pain made Nemesis see Melinoë in the steam, mismatched eyes and wet ashen blonde hair, the moisture revealing her hair’s true texture, the soft ringlets that framed her face.

When she took the next step, Nemesis landed on her foot in an awkward way and it sent pain shooting through her synthetic nerves. Revenants helped her adjust, their flanged and distorted voices reminded her to put her weight on them, let them do the heavy lifting, she must concentrate on recovery. A few more months, a few more surgeries, and then the conditioning, retraining her body, reshaping her mind; everything made in the image of the Emperor, her vision for Retribution Incarnate.

Her body felt so heavy.

Nemesis heard Melinoë’s voice as her cybernetic eyes flickered, glassy from the pain.

How long has it been since you last took off the armor?

Revenants helped her to the bath’s threshold, until Nemesis insisted that she could walk by herself. She left the arms of the machine-women, her body lumbering forwards. At one point it felt like she was going to tip over, but she regained her balance, even if it sent another wave of agony through her system. Slowly, Nemesis sank into the scalding hot water, the salts sizzling upon contact with the metal of her frame. The same salts Lilith used to help heal the Emperor-as-Shepard’s body after the Skyllian Blitz, or so it was said to her. They felt good, even better with the heat sinking into every small space between synthetic parts. The pain subsided, lowering itself to something dull and manageable for the time being.

When the pain went away, so did the vision of Melinoë.

Something within Retribution ached, made her heart thump against the metal cage of her chest. Nemesis was alone in the heat and the darkness, the Revenants that helped her having taken their leave, to give her privacy. Metal fingers gently touch the place where her heart was, the new biomechanical organ beating steadily; it was the thump of her own pulse, the yearning making it loud, making it hurt.

Nemesis’s eyes drifted downwards at her own reflection in the water, the ripples distorting her face. The changes to her face took also took some getting used to: the exposed metal jaw, her eyes that glowed with the same color of cybernetics as her mother’s primordial starlight eyes, the faint black veins underneath what remained of her skin.

Every time Nemesis looked at herself, she saw her mother. Nyx’s hair, Nyx’s eyes, Nyx’s lips. And every time Nemesis looked at herself, she saw the Emperor. In the structure of her face, the architecture of her body, in the hardness of her eyes, in the way she sets her mouth, in her lines and angles.

It is undeniable that Nyx shaped her in the Emperor’s image. When she first learned this, Nemesis believed she carried eight million years of her mother’s loneliness. But during this process, she learned, slowly, that it was not loneliness that prompted Nyx to shape her this way, but love. A daughter, beloved and brutal as the Emperor.

When she looked up from her reflection, Nemesis stared ahead into the darkness of the room and saw many sharp, wet, metallic smiles. The darkness swarmed just beyond the threshold of the pool, beyond the blue light.

---

The stone pathway to the hot springs remains the same since Nemesis left.

In the darkness just beyond where the light of the hot springs touches, Nemesis watches Melinoë get into the hot, glowing water. Her strange eyes study how the goddess’s bones move under her flesh, how they move in her ghostly arm. Her blonde hair was already beginning to dampen from the steam even before she dipped her head into the water, ringlets forming, strands sticking to her neck. Nemesis’s eyes follow the line of Melinoë’s shoulders, down her arms and the curves of her waist and hips.

The sound of water moving interrupts her trance-like stare, her cybernetic eyes flickering as she blinked. “The water’s fine, Nem.” Melinoë calls out. “You can come in.”

Underneath the red of the cloak, Nemesis’s chest rises with a slow inhale. The water did look enticing, the heat pulling at her, wanting to sink into her frame. She could always leave whenever she felt like it, nothing was keeping her here as no longer part of the Unseen. But she might as well join Melinoë. She did not come all this way for nothing.

Emerging from the shadows and into the the green-yellow light, Retribution’s hands part the redness to undo the pin that held the special crimson garment together. Melinoë turns around just as the last bit of the fabric slips away.

Nemesis’s body is all metal, pitch black, aside from the red lights of the Emperor’s technology, Reaper technology, and the upper half of her face. No other flesh remains, even internally where her vital organs had become replaced with biomechanical ones, specially made just for her. Thick synthetic sinew moves when she does, in addition to the various interlocking cybernetic parts, mechanisms, servos, and pistons inside and outside her frame. Hardly any part of her has the curves of organic life, she is angular and devastating. Woven throughout her shape are wires and cables made of the same black metal and inorganic material, slipped between her synthetic muscles, between the planes of metal on the broadest parts of her body; visible in her neck, her chest, her arms, her legs, nestled safely within her giant frame, like a network of heavy, solid arteries and veins. Down the middle of her broad back is a thick metal spine.

There is an elegance to Nemesis’s new, horrific body. Everything works together, in tandem, efficiently utilizing the Reaper technology, the new black material within her, and her own divine power. She removes the armor attachments that bulked up her already impressively large frame, setting them next to the red cloak and Stygius. Nemesis is an engine, a core, a fortress, a warhead.

She still has her long hair, beautiful, the color of Nyx’s. A midnight black, a night sky without stars. When Nemesis removes her headband, emblazoned with the Sign of Extinction, and pulls apart the ring holding the bun atop her head, her hair tumbles down, cascading down her shoulders and back, a curtain of blackness that matches her body. She sets her earrings next to her headband atop the folded up cloak.

Melinoë’s mismatched eyes look at Nemesis with awe. Retribution’s heavier and much taller body means she moves differently, her equilibrium has changed. It took her over a year to get used to it. Salts in the water react upon contact with Nemesis’s body as she lowers herself into the pool, activating, hissing and sizzling. The water is as she remembered, not to hot or too cold. Just right.

The two goddesses sit across from one another, the length of green pool separating them. Like being an ocean apart, but something in Nemesis didn’t mind it. She closes her eyes, feeling the warmth sink into her. Despite her body being made of metal, the hot springs made her keenly aware of the areas with the most strain. It had been a while since she indulged in such relaxation.

“I meant it when I said I had a lot of time to think, Nem.”

Nemesis opens her eyes and raises her head to look at Melinoë. For a while, she does’t respond, just stares at the the goddess across from her as she thinks. Her body radiates a thrum, a sound akin to that of a Reaper capital ship, low and deep, the immensity of Extinction compressed into her shape.

“Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

Melinoë furrows her brows at Nemesis’s reply.

“We’re not rivals anymore, Princess. And we’re not the same as we once were thousands of years ago.” The voice of Retribution Incarnate pronounces every word with intention, every syllable deliberate, spoken with a weight. “I thought you of all people would have understood, especially after Makaria was born. Not wanting history to repeat itself. Finding your true purpose. You would do anything to protect your family. This is how I protect mine.”

I am keeping my vow to Mother Nyx.

“I get that now, but at the time, it felt like you were abandoning us. One day you were gone and when I saw you again, I hardly recognized you. I saw that symbol on your headband and…. I don’t know, it scared me.” Now it is Melinoë’s turn to initiate the silence, the pause between responses. Her face changes, softens, looks regretful, vulnerable. “Funny. I was the first of the Unseen to make contact with her and I’m still scared of her. Even though she and her family have been nothing but kind to me.”

The flesh half of Nemesis’s lips forms a slight slant. In the past, she would have harped on Melinoë, she would said what she believed was the true root of goddess’s feelings out loud and bluntly, perhaps even bitterly. They would have argued again and things would remain as they were when Nemesis left. Part of her wants to push back, instead all she does is look at Melinoë with an irritated expression.

Fear of the Emperor is a convenient excuse, Nemesis thinks to herself. Yet, there is a truth to what she says. Melinoë has always been afraid of the Emperor and the Great Family, ever since she first made contact with them. Yet, Retribution wonders if she more afraid of the Reapers, the Emperor’s soul, the actual instruments of the cycle of extinction. She distinctly remembers the emphasis Melinoë put on the word ‘Indoctrination’ that day a century ago. It wasn’t just the fear of the Emperor or the Reapers that scared Melinoë. Something else haunted her.

Golden cybernetics notice the way the goddess’s green and red eyes look down at the hot water, how the heat makes her pale skin warmer with color, how her shoulders seem to be tight with tension. Nemesis’s gaze eases slightly when she sees how Melinoë has her hands clasped together. Flesh and magic intertwined, her fingers tangled together tightly. The younger goddess’s body language spoke the truth for her, it told Nemesis everything, even if her mouth could not form the words right now.

Retribution Incarnate glances at her own reflection in the water and sees her own truth, the reason why she made this decision. And it was her choice, made of her own free will, although her sisters would say this outcome was fated the moment Nyx gave birth to her.

A deep breath leaves Nemesis, biomechanical lungs expanding and contracting within her chest, pressing against her aching heart. She doesn’t know if she can endure another century like this, letting her yearning eat away at her, letting her memories of Melinoë consume her thoughts at all hours. They both have went through enough, made their own choices, learned to live with them and move on.

“I believe you,” she says, looking up just in time to catch Melinoë’s reaction of her eyes widening slightly in relief. “Next time, don’t take a century to tell me the truth. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

You deserve better.

For a while, Nemesis is silent as she looks into the water, eyes following the ripples that radiate from their bodies. Yearning pulls at her vocal chords, yearning compels her to finally speak. “When I was in recovery, I thought a lot about you. I thought a lot about moments like this. I missed the nectar you would bring me. I missed these invitations to the hot springs. Even missed our sparring, the things we used to do when I would sneak out of the Crossroads.” The heat of the springs brings her back to all the times her mind conjured up Melinoë’s appearance, all the memories that the Ziggurat and the Reaper technology pulled to the forefront of her brain during those years when she was drowning in agony, every time she went under for surgery, every time she stared into the dark of outer space. “I found my true purpose, but it still felt like something was missing.”

The playback in her head is interrupted when Nemesis felt the chthonic goddess link her arms around her neck, her face pressing against the column of metal and thick chords that holds up her head. Nemesis feels her pulse pounding her chest, in her cabled throat, it rings in her ears.

“I missed you too, Nemesis,” Melinoë says, her voice heavy with longing, “I don’t want another century to go by without you.”

This is the second time Nemesis is rendered speechless, stunned. A thousand things flood her brain. The feeling of Melinoë’s body pressing against hers, her voice, her face finding comfort in the crook of her neck, I missed you; she wants to wrap her arms around the goddess, she wants to press her lips against her cheek, she wants to squeeze her so tightly, she wants and wants and wants. Instead, Retribution carefully takes Melinoë’s ghostly hand, holding it in her own larger one of black metal. For a moment, Nemesis marvels at how well it fits into her own, how her fingers came together to rest in her palm. When that moment passes, she places the goddess’s hand over where her biomechanical heart, letting her feel its rhythmic beating against her ghostly fingertips.

“I've waited a long time for this, Melinoë.”

---

ABOUT A MONTH AGO.

Nemesis had not meant to turn the corner just as the Nyx left the Emperor’s office, but she quickly walked back, concealing her form behind the wall of black rock and resin. Certain spaces in the Ziggurat were tighter than others, not as vast or open as other levels. A century later, she was still getting used to navigating the building, understanding how it shifts; she followed the loudness of the thrum, sometimes the sounds the Emperor’s daughters made in the vents. The First Prince knew how to traverse the building’s entirely in a single day, but that was expected of him as its caretaker.

A tightening in her chest, pulled at the machine-goddess as she listened to the voices of her mother and the Emperor. She glanced around the corner and watched them. Cybernetic eyes immediately landed on the way Nyx’s hand rested on the Emperor’s chest, how her slender fingers moved over its black biomechanical structure, just barely slipping underneath that imperial black robe. Fingers that knew every texture and pattern, every ridge and groove. Her hand rested on the space over the great entity’s heart.

“I have a few more things to do,” the Emperor said, the coldness of her deep, machine voice possessing a warmth only for Nyx. In her red and black eyes, there was only love and adoration for the goddess; long, spidery fingers gently traced the line of Nyx’s jaw, before caressing her pale cheek. “Then I will join you.”

“Good. I will waiting.” Nyx’s ethereal, ancient voice is tinged with a playfulness that Nemesis has rarely heard, a tone that was clearly only for the Emperor. In her voice was a great love for the entity. Though Nemesis could not see her eyes, she imagined they had a look of affection, incandescent with devotion.

The Emperor leaned down to eagerly kiss the Night, her scarred lips claiming the goddess’s with a passion, a hunger. Nyx’s hand moved upwards, following the architecture of the Emperor’s chest and neck until she was cradling her face. Large black tentacles began to wrap around the goddess’s waist.

It felt wrong watch her mother and the Emperor being intimate. Nemesis quickly looked away just as they kissed, moving back behind the corner. Her metal hand gently touched where her own biomechanical heart was and felt her own pounding heartbeat underneath her fingertips. The image lingered in her mind, replayed itself on a continuous loop, but she instead envisioned it was Melinoë’s ghostly hand touching her chest. Nemesis imagined that sickly green glow against the black metal, the slender bones shifting within and on command. She wished it was the faint teal of Melinoë’s lipstick on her neck; she would let Melinoë kiss her wherever she wanted, leave markings on her wherever she wanted. Retribution’s metal body covered in Nightmares’s kisses, kisses, kisses.

Nemesis set her jaw as the longing pulled at her.

It was a while before she emerged from around the corner and crossed the threshold, entering the Emperor’s office. When she entered, the entity was standing before a large projection of the Milky Way, her shape eclipsing the light of the galaxy. Nemesis lowered her head slightly in respect.

She watched the way the way the Emperor’s great tentacles moved in tandem to her walking, keeping the equilibrium of her greta height and size. Nemesis’s mind wandered, even as the entity got closer, thinking about what she saw, what she was looking at. Maybe she could enhance her body to have tentacles like the Emperor. Somewhere deep in her mind and behind her cybernetic eyes, she envisioned herself with such enhancements with Melinoë in her lap, the goddess’s back arching, her name on those teal-smeared lips.

A sound akin to a laugh came from the Emperor, a deep and unsettling sound. It broke Retribution’s train of thought, derailed it into oblivion. Nemesis forgot that she was connected to the entity now, her thoughts must have been so loud. It was mildly embarrassing. A dark blush, the color of a deep bruise, formed underneath what remained of Nemesis’s skin, spreading and darkening the black veins.

“You truly are my daughter.”

The Emperor’s voice was the sound of annihilation, a teeth-rattling baritone, cold, unfeeling, immense. But Nemesis could hear something that was uncharacteristic of how it was normally presented. Maternal. The kind of voice she used for her daughters. Nemesis heard it whenever the Emperor had her arms full of new and young daughters or whenever the drones and queens curled around her.

A cold, pale hand reached forward to gently touch Retribution’s face. Nemesis looked up at the Emperor, taking in her presence at this closeness. Golden cybernetics gazed into those strange red and black eyes, the death cycles of stars, celestial bodies eaten in real time. Nyx made every splendid stellar formation just for her to devour. In the Emperor’s eyes, Nemesis saw the end of Earth, the death of Sol, the collision of the Milky Way and Andromeda, the darkness when every star is consumed, the end of the universe.

Extinction.

“The yearning you feel cannot last, Nemesis. It will eat you if nothing is done,” the Emperor said. She knew about her aching heart, how it never stopped hurting even long after her transformation. Retribution Incarnate looked up at the End of Everything with wide eyes, golden cybernetics vibrating with awe. “Your mother would not want you to wait, she did not make you to be a vessel of longing. I do not want you to wait.”

---

Nemesis presses deep, bruising kisses all along Melinoë’s neck, her chest, her stomach. If she could not mark her with lipstick, then she would mark her in other ways that would last much longer. She’s thought about what her kisses would look like underneath that saffron dress, barely concealed by its length. She’s thought about the way Melinoë’s gorget would conceal all the markings she’d leave behind, secrets only she would know about. Melinoë sank a hand into the machine-goddess’s damp hair as she arched her back slightly off the heated stone floor of the hot springs, pressing her body into those hard kisses.

It has been a while since Retribution Incarnate has touched flesh. She has forgotten how soft it is compared to metal. Melinoë’s body is supple and pliant in her hands. The sounds she makes when Nemesis’s kneads the softness of her breasts and her thighs will be played back in her head later. Her sighs of pleasure, her warmed flesh, the sensations that drive her to whisper the machine-goddess’s name, the gasps and whimpers when she is kissed or touched in a certain way, stimulations more potent than nectar, more intoxicating than ambrosia. Nemesis claims the inside of the goddess’s thighs, marking them with her hard kisses.

Melinoë sharply arches her back and a drawn out moan escapes her as the machine-goddess presses her heated tongue against her warmth. Black metal fingers squeeze the flesh of the chthonic goddess’s thighs again as Retribution begins to devour her, slowly, savoring flesh that’s meant be worshiped, adoration in the act of consumption, to taste her lover in full. Metal sinks deeper into the goddess, deeper into her desire, pulling out all semblance of speech and thought. Melinoë’s reactions fuel Nemesis: the moans that slip out of her lungs and leave her lips, the hand that tightens in her black hair, the way she presses herself against her mouth, needing more and more and more. But it was her name in Melinoë’s voice that made desire coil tightly in her insides.

Her name in difference cadences, whispered and moaned, staggered upon whimpers whenever she touches and kisses bundles of sensitive nerves, punctuated by gasps and sighs. Melinoë’s voice sounds like a song, one only for Nemesis. Especially when she climaxes the first time, repeating the name of Retribution over and over again, holding her head in place as her body contorted and writhed in pure pleasure.

Nemesis takes it all in, hums against where she’s most sensitive, the vibrations of her flanged voice causing Melinoë to whine.

Pulling herself up, golden cybernetics hungrily look over the the goddess underneath her. Desire grows within her, it feels like electricity and dark energy building up, coiling, writhing, tightening within her center, like a mass effect drive core just before it makes contact with a mass relay. Melinoë lays there, damp blonde hair sticking to the skin on her neck, barely covering the markings, the deep imprints of Nemesis’s kisses, her chest rising and falling with every deep breath, the flushed color that spread throughout her body, her mortal ancestry making her even warmer, hotter.

Retribution Incarnate holds her great body over Melinoë’s. The black metal of her shape blocks out the light of the springs, engulfing her in darkness, black hair spilling over her shoulders, further concealing the goddess underneath her. In the darkness of the space between their bodies, Nemesis’s cybernetic eyes, Reaper technology, and Melinoë’s ghostly arm provide the only illumination, gold and red like a twin-star system in a red nebula, and the sickly green light capturing the textures and intricacies of her body. An audible exhale leaves the machine-goddess as Melinoë touches her body, slender fingers made from flesh and magic moving over the sections of her chest, her shoulders, down her great arms.

Fingers that grip Retribution’s metal forearms, following their architecture, moving up to spread wide as they fill themselves with metal biceps and triceps, anatomy constructed by Reaper technology and cybernetic augmentation. “More, please. Nemesis.”

In a single motion, Nemesis pushes her thigh between Melinoë’s legs. The younger goddess’s lips immediately fall agape as the angles of the metal limb press against nerves still raw and sensitive, eliciting another whine. Half-flesh, half-metal lips immediately claim Melinoë’s bare ones; Nemesis kisses her hard, devours her again, and again, and again. An unrelenting kiss, one that Melinoë moans into as she begins to rock her hips, slowly, finding the place that brings her the most pleasure. The chthonic goddess uses Nemesis’s arms as support, holding onto her, even when she squeezes her thighs around the other’s, riding the waves of pleasure surging through her.

Nemesis finds herself moving her own hips, chasing that sensation within her. As much as she enjoys this, she’d rather have Melinoë on top of her, riding her. Through the haze of lust that swarms inside her skull, she makes a note to ask the Revenants how they engage in such acts, how they compensate, how they handle desire and sex. A deep hunger begins to grow inside the machine-goddess, something insatiable. If she could, she would have Melinoë every night, to satisfy the one hundred years of longing, every night of holding her soft body in her hands. Nemesis presses her thigh harder against the goddess as she leans down to kiss her neck, wanting such tenderness in her mouth, feeling the vibrations of Melinoë’s voice against her strange lips.

A groan leaves her. Heavily distorted, her voices splitting and reforming and splitting, pleasure lining her insides. The heat and electricity slid down her spine and into her shoulder blades, slipped into her hips, it makes her groan again. Melinoë grips Nemesis’s forearms tighter, her hips moving faster, her breath quickening, her sounds becoming more desperate as she reaches her peak.

It has been a while since Nemesis felt Melinoë’s strength. The chthonic goddess’s grip tightens around her metal arms as she comes again, her body squirming and arching, the back of her head pressing against the stones. Nemesis lowers her body slightly, her thighs pressing into Melinoë at a new angle, prolonging her orgasm as she holds onto the machine-goddess with all her might, as her legs clamp down around the limb that she was riding. She sounded so beautiful at the zenith of her pleasure, moaning, whimpering, gasping, clinging to Nemesis for stability. It makes that desire that’s been tightening in her core amplify the way raw pleasure takes the form of pressure that makes her entire system ache, makes it feel like her heart is going to explode in her chest. Nemesis feels herself climbing, all by watching Melinoë, all my being the source of her climax.

Nemesis doesn’t experience an orgasm the same way, but something akin to it happens within her body. That pressure, that tightness within her that made everything warm, that feeling of a mass of dark energy and electricity growing, spreading through her synthetic nerves, finally releases. Nemesis moans, her distorted voice rising in pitch as she feels her pleasure fire inside her like a railgun; she moans Melinoë’s name over and over again as she rides her climax, as she curls her metal fingers inwards into fists. She feels her orgasm between her legs, in her gut, in her chest, in her throat; it consumes her, it devours her, it swarms around her heart. Her zenith feels like a hole opening up in her head, a hole waiting to be filled with more Reaper technology and Melinoë’s love. Nemesis groans through the sensation, finding it to be both pleasurable and painful, all at once.

When Nemesis collapses, she makes sure she does so next to Melinoë. If she could, she would have fallen asleep right then and there. Her eyes flicker, heavily lidded, adjusting to the new sensation of both clarity and the absence of any meaningful thought.

The smaller, chthonic goddess sits up, placing her hand on Retribution’s metal frame that rises and falls with every deep breath, her face wearing a slightly worried expression. “Nemesis?” She pushes black strands of hair away from the machine-goddess’s face. “Are you alright?"

“I’m fine.” Nemesis exhales. “This was…. My first time doing this in this body.” Melinoë offers her a small smile, relieved.

Retribution lifts herself up slightly so she can turn onto her side. The stone floor felt nice against her body, especially against her synthetic muscles. It feels good enough to fall asleep. The skin around Nemesis’s eyes begins to strain, the heat beckons her to close her eyes. At this point, she has neither the strength nor the willpower to keep her eyes open. Melinoë lifts up the machine-goddess’s arm, crawling underneath it and positioning herself against her chest, fitting perfectly in her embrace. Part of Nemesis would like to stay this for a long time, perhaps even forever. Instinctively, she drapes her arm over the younger goddess’s frame, but not before pulling her closer.

“Eventually I’ll have to go back,” Nemesis says, her flanged voice producing only tired syllables.

“I know….” Melinoë touches the machine-goddess’s face with her ghostly hand. “Please stay, Nemesis. Just for a little while.”

Nemesis says nothing for a little while, succumbing to a micro-nap, only cracking open her eyes just long enough to formulate a reply. Golden light pours through the slits, their illumination directed only at the goddess that was also falling asleep. “Anything for you, Melinoë.”

[crying-fantasies]

Rodimus wasn't ready to be a creator P3

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3: it's never simple | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

When the news of a techno-organic in Cybertron was everything that could be heard around it was little to nothing in what the council could do to try and prevent the talks about the "thing", as how they called it because no one was even sure that a new spark touched by an organic could react in such way.

If Rodimus wasn't there to help the organic in time, the flesh in it's body would have burned down.

But now they had a very drained human with the littlest sparkling they've ever seen between it's tiny arms and protected by a whole soft body that was kneeling down in front of them.

"Please, don't take him away"

Humans are creatures that bond deeply even when they lack a spark, a heart is what they have and it is kind of similar, they have this groups called "families" that share the same genetic code to some degree or the same ideas.

The human is there, kneeling in front of the council while the new spark is doing little chirping noises, it doesn't take much before Rodimus takes place next to his conjunx, the sparkling is moving little servos in his direction while cooing, it was already bizarre enough to see this kind of couple, they weren't the first ones to announce their conjunx endura status as a bot and human pair, but they were the very first ones to do such a thing as to give life to a creature like that.

Who could have thought that this was a result of letting a human near a hot spot, a sacred place, only to have it drag a spark out with it's bare hands.

It was supposed to be something totally diplomatic, to show that the previous incidents between the two races were gone and forgotten.

"You were quite the surprise you know?" Energon snacks were always good, especially the digit sized ones, but Rodimus always preferred the energex above it, "your carrier saw your spark that day, floating around and had the urge to go and touch it" he was smiling remembering the day almost as it happened a few solar circles ago.

Rodimus had the right to feel like that, his son finally was next to him, willingly, both consuming energon along and hearing human music, the very same playlist that his conjux made for him many years ago.

"You were like a deal of peace, especially after Optimus and Ratchet finally said a word about that other techno-organic kid, but apparently you are the first one to have some genetic bond with a human and a bot" Rodimus landed his optics at his son, his sparkling, red optics looking at nothing in front of them, the natural darkness of space, even if everyone always said that they both looked exactly the same, more in the fact that, yes, Sunset looked a lot like him when he was a youngling, when he was Hot Rod, he always thought different, his son looked like you, when Sunny was younger his optics had a color similar to yours, pretty much different from his upgraded red optics.

He misses it, sometimes, because when Sunny smiles, which is rare this years, Rodimus can swear that your son inherited your smile, when your eyes also showed your emotions and feelings, like when you talked with the other humans in the ship and explained without problems the marks in your hands that showed how you reached out for your son and brought him to you, the scars that showed that you gave life, he is just so sure that your human genes got first in the most important things about your sparkling.

"We are going to raise him well"

"I know, you tell me about that a lot, every year actually" Rodimus still isn't thrilled for Sunset's paint job, yeah, he totally rocked the black and silver colors, don't get him wrong, he just can't forget his red and brown colors once his derma and armors hardened while being all smiles, even better, you and Sunset flashing him with big smiles that made him put both servos over his spark chamber to show, in a very exaggerated manner, how moved he felt then, his son, so little at the time, asking to be lifted as high as he could be, and of course Rodimus would do just as his son wanted.

No, correct that, he just can't forget how this big bot once fitted in only one of his servos, being comfortable enough to use it as his favorite recharge point with that little blanket you got from a stop on earth.

He can't forget that first recharge time together, while you were sleeping in the crook of his neck guard, little sparkling wrapped in blankets between your arms, his servo holding you both, hearing your soft whisper before finally sleeping in the dark room, holding one of his burned digits with your burned hand.

"Time sure flies"

"It's going to be hard, but it's going to be alright"

"Happy birthday Sunny"

.

Yeah, for those who asked, Sunset/Blacksun wasn't planned.

[mokagachas]

share with me your great wisdom of of snake gal and water gal for I have not played arknight is a bit

hm okay alright ( muses )

I’ll say right off the bat I’ve mentioned on this blog before that while I don’t dislike romantic ships by any means I find myself very rarely “shipping” characters by pure definition of the word I mostly just enjoy their dynamics and parallels and My Goodness ho’ol and mumu have that in droves with one another

The vast TLDR oversimplification of the two of them: Ho’olheyak and Muelsyse are the last/some of the last of each of their respective races, Ho’olheyak being the last of the K’uk’ulkan and Muelsyse of the elves. Both are long life species naturally, but Ho’olheyak has gone through a torturous ritual at a young age that all K’uk’ulkan go through where she is implanted with the memories of generations of K’uk’ulkan before her. The procedure cuts her life short, and while we don’t know exactly HOW short, its presumably not very long to go

Muelsyse and Ho’olheyak both go on quests to find out what remains of, or what happened to, their people. They both have rather different approaches to it, however, with Muelsyse holds out hope that she’ll find other elves still alive, going on a lone quest to hunt down what remains of them and ultimately discovering that yes, most have died out, partially due to their weakness to originium. Despite this, she herself stays in densely populated city areas and interacts with Infected people frequently, enjoying being a social person while also feeling agonizingly alone. Muelsyse is decidedly a Good Person.

On the flip side, Ho’olheyak almost agonizingly relies on using other people to get the information she wants, seeking less about the specificities of what happened to her race and moreso their purpose and affect. She infiltrates secret organizations, double and triple crosses whenever it suits her whim, and is an utterly self-serving person who has no qualms in committing atrocities to get what she wants- though this is not to be confused with commiting atrocities for the pure joy of it. She ultimately finds a “god” robot thing (long story) that more or less tells her that everything she’s been working for is more or less worthless and she doesn’t necessarily fall to despair, but she does become incredibly languid and passive, though she keeps her trade mark asshole-ish ness.

Muelsyse flat out says it in Ho’olheyak’s files: “We each have what the other lacks.” They’re characters that are Definitely built to be the inverse of each other despite having rather sparing direct interactions in events but being littered in each other’s files. It’s really interesting to me!

But while their long life parallels (or robbed lack thereof in Ho’ol’s case) and relationship with their ancestors are the most obvious connections to be drawn between them, what fascinates me the most is their social parallels and how their experiences have changed how they interact with the world.

Both of them feel incredibly alone in one way or another. For Muelsyse, this comes near to breaking her at times. Despite the people around her that she cares for, and who care for her, she has such a different life experience than everyone else that she feels a disconnect that cannot be bridged. Despite this, she does her best to form genuine connections with those around her, even if they fail to give her what she wants.

Ho’olheyak is alone and at least Thinks she doesn’t care about it. She doesn’t respect many people, if any at all. She shatters every possible connection she could have with a shrug, pursuing only what could benefit her and seeming impartial to what she does to have her way. She is alone yet clearly wants for more: why else would she be seeking for meaning in the K’uk’ulkan so desperately?

These are two people who have had such violently different lived, yet the closest either of them can get to finding someone who can even begin to comprehend the life they’ve led and the struggles they’ve faced is in the other person. They acknowledge to themselves that the other person share similarities, but have trouble crossing that final step due to how the other has acted is so contradictory to their personal motives.

They’re both drawn to and reject the other… I like it :)