#i do not want his take on politics race or morality EVER thank you very much?

[graciecatfamilyband]

.

[sweettodo]

we're your best friends.

jean kirstein x freader x eren jaeger.

includes : smut, threesome, swearing, innocent / naive y/n, taking virginity.

word count : 3,4k

a / n , thank you for 400 ( 450 as of 3 / 8 / 21 ) , i love you all <3 you're all so special to me and i’m grateful for you. i hope we can grow together as a big ole’ happy family !

"Do you guys ever stop?!" you bellow, your bedroom filled with the shouting amongst the two men in front of you, their rough voices which completely washed away any interjections you gave.

Sighing, you grab one of your notebooks from your desk, winding up your shoulder, and throwing it at Eren. The book slaps him in the face and he shouts, his hand rubbing his face.

"The fuck y/n!" He screeches, Jean, shutting up right after Eren, hair messy from tugging at it out of frustration. You wondered why a simple conversation about who would be the better gentleman; the better man. We had commenced in the formal meeting area- your room- hours ago, to study; hence the notebook used to bonk Eren's pitiful face, "you don't get it." He huffs.

"You two better stop acting childish before I kick you out." Walking between them and plopping down on your bed, pleased to see that the battle had now dwindled from your -very- empty threat. You couldn't kick them out even if you wanted to.

Everyone at school was very well acquainted with the fact that Jean and Eren both had a persistent problem of rivalry, they fought about everything; from who had the better penmanship, better wardrobes, better walk, to who was prettier.... yes, prettier.

Eren stubbornly sits on one corner of the bed, traversing his legs with his back pressed against the wall, Kerstein made himself relaxed in your desk chair, "as I was saying, before I was so impolitely interrupted-" you snort, glancing at the two men, "you both are gentleman, but it's more than just how you talk to a girl."

"Yeah don't be ridiculous, I'm good at more than you think y/n." Jean boasts, smirking and tauntingly glaring at Eren who returns the glare, hair seeping down his shoulders as he rolls his eyes at the cocky Kerstein.

"I'm a sex god, I can sex anyone up, anytime- anywhere." Jean lunging to his feet and stupidly rocking his hips side to side like the fuck-boy he knows he is, virtually wearing it like a badge. Eren and you snickered at him.

Jean grunts, finger in the air tauntingly, "alright! It's not that funny anymore! Quit laughing!" tears brimming your eyes, chest aching from laughing, the blonde now taking into account that you two were more laughing at him, rather than with him.

Defensively, he shouts, "Keep laughing, virgin." Jean grins, squatting back down in the chair dramatically.

"I can name plenty of girls who want to get with me." Eren retorts. Laying your back against the headboard, listening as Eren spews stories about the 'countless sexcapades' he has with girls every week and the 'countless' girls who plead to fuck him on the daily.

"So childish, especially for a couple of university students."

You're dismissed again, "Y/n, who do you think would be better in bed, be honest!" you evaluate the question as much as you could, not to mention how hard it was to even imagine.

Simply putting it, you were a prude.

They wait hastily for your reply, curious to what you had to say, the silence provoking them to shuffle in their seats.

"I think... hm, Jean." Eren groans out in defeat, Jean cackling and throwing his head back, Eren pouts and crosses his arms, huffing out.

"You know what, how the fuck would you know anyway, huh?" rolling your eyes, Jean who is taking his sweatshirt off and hanging it off your chair, heeding to Eren, who is still weeping, "Jean, that doesn't count, she's never gotten with either of us, to begin with, her judgment doesn't count." Declaring matter-of-factly, Jean rubs his chin with his thumb and index, looking into the distance like he was contemplating to speak.

You watched as Eren stands in annoyance, his arms still crossed, "I mean, we could show her, but-"

"-We should, then it'll be fair."

Left in utter shock, were they insinuating you do something so delusional and sinful with your two closest friends? wouldn't that ruin years of friendship? Have they no morals? And to think Eren would have a little more decency.

"No, no way, don't be ridiculous."

Jean sucks his teeth, leaning in his chair so his elbows sat on his knees, the energy in the room had drastically changed, they were now watching you, making your hands anxiously tremble, their eyes scanning yours, while you tried to look at anything but them, heart out of your chest and now in your throat, they sat so relaxed, so casual like the proposition of sex didn't even phase them.

"C'mon, I want you to tell us who's better, you're our best friend, you're the best one to determine who's best." Jean pouts, this was a very clear-detectable manipulation, and you were not inept.

"Are you trying to manipulate me, Kirstein?" he shakes his head, leisurely stretching back into the chair, "because if you are it won't work on me." Jean peeks over to Eren, looking to be affirmed.

Eren plays with the hem of his shirt, a smug look on his lips, looking down to attempt to hide it.

Both men have talked about getting you to become their little toy, countless times at dinner with all the other cadets to embarrass you- or during the summer when you wore shorts to practice with your gear, sparring with a tank top, they both imagined unholy things, things you would believe to be appalling. "How about- better kisser?" tilting your head, that wasn't so much worse.

"Yeah, we've nearly kissed before too," Jean interjects, he saw your eyebrows scrunch, looking mindless, eyes so naive, his head full of vile thoughts, ways he and Eren could corrupt you, tear you open, and leave you begging for more. But they clearly couldn't let you know what they talked about.

So innocent.

"Sharing drinks," nodding slowly, the boys internally prayed you would loosen up only just a little, just a foot in the door so they could kick the fucking door down and break you in- they both figured it was about time anyways; you were a college student and hadn't done anything?

But you had not even a clue, that dumb little head of yours, how could you not comprehend their tactics. This was their way to get your legs open? This was laughable to them; too easy.

Dragging your ass across the bed, not leaning on the wall anymore; you sat criss-cross in the middle of the mattress, center of their attention, "I guess you're right." Mind racing, Jean would never talk to you again if you had said no to at least kissing, and Eren would probably get upset with you, not eager in being your friend, most likely following in his friend's lead.

Jean rolls closer to the side of the bed in your chair, not even a foot away from you.

"I can go first, Eren?" Eren nods, he was beyond delighted, this was fucking crazy. Truth was, Eren, who was seldom nervous over this type of thing; yet he was envious that Jean could be so... persistent; wishing he could be the same. With Jean grabbing your chin, such a pretty face you had, especially when you were anxious.

Easy to mold, easy to manipulate you; to do whatever he wanted with a bat of his eyelashes and a polite smile.

And here he was- in the back of his head - telling himself that he needed to teach you not to be so susceptible from now on.

He squanders no time, capturing your lips with his own, moving in a swift and low action, you kiss him back. He was incredible, it was at the perfect pace, the residing taste of mint gum that filled your mouth.

No wonder the girls loved Jean so much.

His thumb caressing your cheek which sent little cringes of anxiety throughout your body- realizing you had to kiss Eren after this, this was going to make you so dirty, but how could you kiss Jean and leave your other friend out? How unreasonable that would be.

Eren's abrupt words make you jump, "alright horse face, stop hogging and share." Jean pulls back, lips light rosy pink, even a little swollen, he rolls backward in the chair, the other young man sits up in front of you while still comfortable on the bed.

Instead of Jean's approach, Eren tilts your head, kissing your jawline first, tensing up from the ticklish feeling, soft lips establishing morale towards your choice in agreeing to do what they asserted; it wasn't that terrible after all.

He kisses up to the corner of your mouth and then slowly kisses you on the lips, eyes fluttering closed, drunk off his smell, stomach doing backflips.

Gradually pulling back, he's smiling like a fool before scooching backward back to his spot.

"Who do you think was better?" Jean rushes, blushing and looking to your lap, thumbs playing with each other, subconsciously hoping they would do a little more.  You didn't know who was better, they both were so good, too good.

"I don't know, you both are really good,"

Jean was going mad, you tasted so fucking good, and he didn't know how much longer he could contain himself, trying to remain relaxed.

Eren's dick twitching in his pants when he heard you finally say his name instead of Kerstein's, he was ecstatic...

Jean stands and scoffs, "alright I'll give him that, but I'm good at everything else. Eren s' a fucking virgin boy." biting your tongue, you felt guilty, Jean was really good, telling yourself 'maybe I should stop being so uptight, they would never actually hurt me.' Eren sees you ponder, looking into space while you stewed on your sentiments, Jean with no awareness as he rambles on and on about how experienced he is.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, anxious, you needed to make the first move- you needed to make this right.

Slowly, making sure they're both watching, you begin to unbutton your blouse, bottom-up.

"What are you doing?"

"You two wanted to show me who was better?"

Jean's eyes bug out of his head, smile growing across his face, Eren stands, embarrassed from your suggestion, they were nearly jumping for joy, "but I don't know ho-"

Jean jerked your shoulders, "relax," He whispers, out comes a shaky breath when his hands waste no time to finish unbuttoning your top. "You trust us, you wanna' feel good, right?"

The room was silent besides the pounding of your heart; could it have been any louder?

Blouse wide open for both of them to see your chest. Eren, who sat inches from you tugged at the fabric on your right shoulder, "so pretty- look at these Eren," Jean's large hands cupping your tits, sitting pretty in your bra, your throat grows increasingly dry, the feeling in between your legs tingling, though, you had no idea how to interpret it.

Eren stands back up, standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend, his hand caressing down your back and gripping at the flesh of your skin.

Looking at them as they stare at your chest, their hands all over you. "Do you know how to do anything at all?" Eren asks, shaking his head, he looks at Jean and pulls his hand back, "Jean and I are gonna ake care of you."

"Yeah, okay." Jean pushing you on your back, legs barely open, unbuttoned your pants, tugging them off hungrily. Both looking at you with lust-filled eyes, they had never seen you like this; so bare. Your legs are propped up so Jean and Eren can both stand before them. Their hands trailing up your jittery thighs.

"I'll get you ready, yeah? I don't want to hurt you." Responding with a simple nod, Jean is crouching down so his head is leveled to your clothed cunt, Eren sits back on the bed and slides his hand under your back; with one hand, he's unclasping your bra and peeling it off your body, his soft hands massaging your tits, nipples sensitive when his thumbs spend extra time on them.

Nerves doubling over when Jean's hands now pulling down your matching panties, head snapping up, legs shutting to deter them, Eren pushing you back down. "Calm down, you'll be fine." He reassures.

Eren feeling the soft skin, under his hands, rolling your nipple in between his fingers, Jean dragging his large hands in between your thighs, "have you ever fingered yourself y/n? Made yourself cum?" beyond embarrassed, the way they were taking their time on you, slowly feeling you up, you were almost becoming frustrated. Shaking your head, Jean clicks his tongue, "this might feel weird, but you trust us, right?" An audible gasp is shot out of your mouth when his middle finger is raking up between your folds.

Hissing out as he adds another finger, both of them running up and down your slick pussy, pressing down on a bundle of nerves, "feels- weird!" the more he played around with your sensitive clit, the more your leg twitched, the ticking feeling filling up your stomach, core flexing as he repeated his offense, the same sensitive rubs as his two fingers curled and fucked into you.

"Jean-” He was going so slow, making sure he didn't stretch you out too much, he needed to save that for later.

"Here, come taste."

Eren's grabbing Jean's hand, your tongue lolling out, his coated fingers dragging down your tongue, lips wrapping around his digits, tasting the juices from your cunt.

"Tastes good, right?" fingers still deep in your mouth, you're nodding like a fool, Jean smiling at the sight of the reaction bestowed on your face, the taste of your cum tainting your tastebuds; "of course she likes it, look at her, she wants more."

Eren nods in return, he leans down over you, soft hair falling on your chest as he leaves wet little kisses down your chest, peppering you with his lips down to your belly button.

Watching Jean, who is getting on the bed beside you, his knees next to your head, Eren jumping into action to take his best friends place, his sweats falling low just blow his v- line, he pushes them down, craning your neck to look up at Jean who his also pulling down his pants.

Your throat squeezes shut, lifting your head, "I don't you think that I-" Jean's hand grabbing your hair to silence you, jerking your neck up.

"Don't worry, I told you we'll help you."

"Jean, chill out a little." Eren mumbles, your head getting dropped back onto the bed, eyes fixated on Eren's wide torso, the tent in his boxers which made your mouth water, "I'll go slow, okay?" Palming his cock through his boxers, he holds your legs from under your knees, his boxers just under his cock, sliding his hand down and removes the little bit of coverage he had left. Your eyes widening, he spits in his hand, stroking his throbbing tip a few times with his thumb before adjusting forward and rubbing his raw cock up against your slicked pussy.

The feeling of Eren's thick tip squeezing inside of you makes you cry out in pain, the stinging pain of Eren taking his time to slide into you, fitting into you as much as he can.

Jean pinning your arms up above your head, tears spilling from your eyes, "h-hurts!" you whine, Jean beside you pumping his cock in his fist.

"So fuckin' tight, no wonder it hurts so bad." His hands pinning your legs open and up, he pulls out.

Without warning, he picks up speed, your body curling up from the pressure.

“I forgot what virgin pussy feels like, so tight-” he mumbled, his eyes rolling to the back of his head from the way he could feel his heartbeat in his cock, he needed this so bad.

The pressure soon becomes desirable, wanting to feel it everything he thrusts into you, your complaints soon turn to moans, looking at jean through your eyelashes while he's fixated on the way your boobs bounce while Eren dives deeper into you.

"Don't forget to help Jean out, remember?"

You're situating yourself up on your elbows, turning your body so your head is between Jean's thighs, he's pushing your hair back and holding it in a loose but sufficient grip, "let me guide you."

His thumb swipes down your bottom lip, opening your jaw, tongue sliding past your lips to wrap around his cock like it's instinct.

"Good, just like that," he groans, his hand on the back of your head guiding you further down the base of his cock, Eren fucking you slowly, savoring the feeling of your walls clench around him, sucking him in, he could stay like this forever.

Your neck uncomfortably stretched to pleasure Jean made it all the more painful when he started pushing down the back of your throat; harder to catch your breath, harder to swallow the saliva that was seeping up the back of your throat, trying not to cough around his length.

"Been waitin’ too long for this,” Eren grunts, the lewd noises of his hits snapping against yours on one end while your nose is barely brushing against Jean’s hair around his stomach.

Jean slowly pulls out of your throat, drool following, giving you the chance to speak, “Eren, h-hot!” you cried, your stomach twisting, pussy squelching around his wide cock, head dizzy as you begin to feel like your floating.

Jean sees your body shake from beside him, while he pumps his cock in his free hand, his other hand is kneading your tit in his hand. “Oi, I think she's gonna cum- c’mon it's gonna feel so good, you're so close, pretty girl.” Eren drilling into you with your legs pinned open, moaning and gasping for air as you feel your hole spasm, body tingling as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“C- I'm cumming!” your hand on Eren’s pec, pushing against him to ease the pressure of his cock buried fully inside of you, “f-fuck! Fuck, Eren!” his body sticky on top of yours, thighs uncomfortably stuck to his waist.

“God, can stay like this all day.” You panted like a dog, blinking the blurred vision out of your eyes from the blinding orgasm.

Jean’s getting off the bed, slapping your thigh to sign for Eren to get off of you, “I hope you can take it, pretty girl.” The brunette pulling up his boxers and sitting on the bed where Jean was just seated.

A panting mess, Jeans tearing you from your spot and pushing you on your hands and knees, Jean presses against the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch, abused pussy mere inches away from another cock.

Eren picks your head up by your hair, an evil smile growing on his face as he sees your face twist with pleasure, Jean pushing into your cunt, a mixture of his best friends’ cum already leaking out of your cunt, “gonna fill you some more, just stay still for me, okay?”

He holds your hips in place, the further his cock sunk into you, the more it hurt, the more he stretched you out, the more you were split open by the intimidating of him.

“If you keep squeezin’ me like that, ” he spits, unable to finish his sentence.

He thrusts into you from behind, held grounded in place as Jean ruts into your pussy mercilessly, Eren watching you cry and beg for stupid little nothings.

Cream covering his cock, feeling your walls tighten around him, he snakes his hand over your thigh, and to your clit, rubbing lose and light circles around the bud, your legs quivering, back jolting up from the overstimulation, “hm, what did I say about stating still?” ripping away from your clit, you whine and your back is pushed back down.

Jean mere inches away from climax, hips sputtering against your backside as you feel your juices drip down your thigh, sticking to his stomach.

Your head drops into the mattress.

“Pretty girl, we're far from done with you,” Eren’s purring into your ear, “dont give up now, we haven't gotten to the best part.”

The pad of Jean’s thumb is pressing against the rim of your tight, pretty virgin ass, “you can trust us, we haven't hurt you yet, have we?”

Nodding, this was only the beginning of a very- very long night. One of many, actually.

[thefanbasewhore]

Accidentally Bare - Preference #2

Summary: A preference/snippet of pedro characters accidently seeing the reader in their underwear. Honestly, ignore the title I suck at them lmao. I also have no idea why I kept mentioning showers. 

Warnings/Content: A little suggestive, dirty thoughts. 18+ please. 

Paring: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, and Frankie Morales/Female reader

I am also taking requests for head cannons and more preferences at this moment if anyone has any ideas!

Din Djarin

Nothing could stop the deep chill that created goosebumps that made your body shiver despite the thick wool of Din’s cape that was pulled tight around your chest. The walk back to the crest was freezing, clothes heavy and weighing you down with every squish your boots made underneath you, the temperature of the stupid desert planet plummeting at night into single degree temps, falling into the lake was definitely not on your to do list.

Water still dripping from your sleeves, fingers shaking where the fabric bundles in the middle of your chest to support the heaviness of the cape as the crushing on dense sand from heavy boots behind you let you know the Mandalorian is still there. He’s silent as ever, mad at himself for letting you even step on the ice but as soon as he saw you fall into the deep pit of water he dived right in after, forgetting the bounty, making the choice to let him escape.

The first step on the Crest is a relief, familiarity and warmness welcome you but it’s not enough to calm the numbing that took over all your senses, voiding any sensation in your trembling fingers. The breeze that falls over the crest as the ramp closes with a gush of wind but you don’t seem to care as the cape wrapped around you falls to the floor. The Mandalorian walks past you silently, which you guess retiring for the night because at the last second before the he climbs the ladder of the cockpit by the way his fingers start to peel of the beskar not caring as it trails and clanks against the floor of the ship, fingers rim the edge of his helmet lifting it just enough to see the ends of his hair curl and stick against the nape of his neck as it drips to his tunic before the cockpit swallows him. 

If it wasn’t for how freezing you were there is no doubt you would be taken back by his openness, even wet you weren’t expecting it to so wavy, a little messy but it touches the collar of the tunic and you honestly couldn’t move as the realization dawned on you. Eyes running over the length of the ladder that rattles due to deep hum of the engine, the imagine burning behind into them. 

The cool shiver reminds you of the current predicament, fingers burning and toes numb at the verge of turning purple. A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you pull at the laces of your boots, fingers too stiff to move but eventually get them off, not caring where they fall. Only functional thought is to feel the warm water of the fresher to regain feeling in your appendages.

Hands grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it despite the cool air that nipped the skin of your stomach. With only one goal in mind and a stubborn button that just won’t latch from your pants, you don’t notice as the ladder shakes with the weight of the Mandalorian as he gains entrance back into the belly of the ship. He’s out of his armor, but the helmet had seem to find it’s way back onto his head but his upper body in a white, thin shirt, his pants hand dangerously low on his hips, they offer his body more warmth with no doubt lined with some kind of fleece, gray in color and a pair of socks. The wet pants stick to you, with your back turned toward Din who freezes the moment he notices you shimmy them down your legs, revealing the black pair of underwear the hugs your ass in the most delicious way.

He’s red, blushing, no doubt you can see the way his chest spots pink through the white shirt, hands forming fist next to his side as you turn to make a b-line for the fresher but the mass of the man catches your eyes, pausing.

Eyes never leave you, he just freezes up, unable to move as the situation seems to do the same to you. He tries, really tries not to look but can’t help it as he notices how thin the bra is, a pretty pastel pink, cute but the way your nipples harden against it is anything but, he’s speechless, mouth drying as eyes take in the smoothness of curves, drops down to the thinness of underwear, they leave little to the imagination, sticking against skin letting him see every inch and suddenly he wants nothing more than to rub his own -

His eyes lift back up to your own, the embarrassment that paints your cheeks makes him realize just how wrong it is. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, eyes casting down to the cotton that covers his toes, ashamed with red cheeks, horrified that it has even happened. “Just came down to use the shower -.”

Desire sirs deep inside his stomach, makes him awkwardly shift his hips as he turns to leave but the smooth hands that catch his fingers makes him pause, turning to face you once again.  “We can both use it.”

Javier Peña

Nothing can still your pounding heart, it’s racing, taking up all the space in your chest that it barely allows room for your lungs to expand, to take one good breath to sustain your frantic body needs, instead it’s broken up into patchy, erratic breaths that make you dizzy, vision blurring as a result. 

It’s a blur but there’s no mistaking the metallic taste of blood, it’s not yours but it seems like it should be by the way it covers every part of you. It dots your face, coats your hands with such thickness, soaks through the shirt to stain your chest pink. There’s so much of it, it takes over and fills all your senses. All you see is red, all you feel is hands rub your face to talk yourself out of this moment of weakness but the way it smears even worse across your skin, fills the pores of your skin, makes bile raise but swallow it down. 

It’s been an hour but fear still makes you shake, not bothering to even talk to anyone the moment you pull the trigger just driving home without a single word, not even to your partner Javi. The door of your apartment is even left open in your own wake, trying to yank the soaked clothes, not caring as your bloody shirt falls from shoulders staining the white carpet of your apartment. 

Finger fumble with pants as well, too shaky but none the less slowly shimmer them down flushed thighs. You suddenly can’t move, no matter how bad the shower calls you from the other room, shaky fingers press to the floor under you for support as you lower yourself to the ground until the rough carpet scratches the back of thighs but your thankful to feel something other then pure terror, relish in the scratch the spreads to the back of your knees as you bring them to your chest, lean against the couch for support with a shaky chest.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t realize how much time passes as the low baritone breaks through the sound waves, Javi averts his eyes, realizing the vulnerability on the situation. “The door was open, I just let myself in.”

“I-It’s okay.” Chest moves with the stutter, unable to realize your in nothing but a thin bra, that leaves little to the imagination and a matching black thong, that shows just how much the carpet irritates the skin of inner thighs, leaves a big rash just on the underside of your cheeks.

It’s not the way he intended seeing you like this the first time, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears that slip past beautiful, full eyelashes. It makes his heart stop, the low light of the lamp in the corner contour the dark shadows of your face, show the sharpness of cheek bones, outlines the shape of your jaw. He hates the way he can’t look away from your heaving chest, flushed breast barely fill the cups of the lacy bra, down the smoothness of skin, still stained a dark red from all the blood, down to the edges of inner thighs. 

You watch as his gaze falls between your legs but when they meet up at your face again, his lips fall, a deep sigh as a thick layer of tension fills the room. There’s nothing you want more then to forget this feeling, distract yourself with Javi.

Suddenly, he’s all that’s on your mind. The way his tongue runs over those perfect lips, wanting to feel the sensation of his moustache against your upper lip, the burns between your thighs. It’s what you think you’re getting as he lowers to his knees, finally give into the temptation of each other but the blanket that falls to your shoulders surprises you. His fist wraps around each end to ball it against your chest as his other hand reaches for a small piece of hair that frames your face, pushing it behind your ear as his lips ghost over it. “Let’s get you in the bath, cariño, yeah?”

Unsure eyes meet his, not trusting your own legs but his gentle fingers that fill the gaps between your own reinsuring. It’s a soft whine of surprise that makes you look up at him, a thankful sad smile that makes Javier return one that shows every scar of his soul, the feeling all too known to him. “I got you, honey.”

Agent Whiskey

It’s a mix up, an annoying one but none the less it’s not like you can kick Whiskey out of the hotel room and besides you’re both functioning adults, staying together in the room should be no problem but it’s a little difficult to feel comfortable with a stranger especially with one as pushy and touchy as the cowboy. 

He’s nice, very polite but smug. There’s always a tight smirk across his face, sexy eyes that test your every move as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips with a soft sigh. The bar of the hotel is loud, a thick cloud of smoke from the passerby's tickles your nose. You try to ignore it, but turn abruptly even catching Whiskey off guard as he adverts his gaze but he’s not as sneaky as he thinks. 

It’s hard to remember exactly why you turned when he offered a sweet smile, elbow against the bar while his hand wrapped around his own glass, other hand spraying over the thickness of his thighs, sitting to face you with that dumb smirk. You really can’t help it as your eyes fall between his legs, “What’s up, sugar?”

It’s either he chooses not question why or is just so used to women checking him out but your throat dries at his peering gaze, the way he wraps his lips around the glass after his tongue pokes out to wet them. It makes your face hot, averting his intimating eyes. “Nothing, thought I saw something is all.”

“Mmmm.” It’s a small hum, hesitant like he wants to ask more but settles with the answer. It’s quiet, not awkward but the tension is heavy, clouding the space between you both. Scooting to the end of the seat, eyes nervously looking at him as you shift onto your feet, standing and muttering. “I’m going to head back to the room.”

“Alright sweetheart. I’m gonna have a few more drinks, head up without me. If you need me.” Two fingers press against the shell of his ear, his way of saying I’ll hear ya. You try not to let it affect you but the heat that crawls up your skin makes you huff, closing the door of the hotel room tightly. 

A shower, to sooth the burning desire for your new partner, it was embarrassing, feeling like a teenage girl for a man that you barely know, all hot and bothered by him simply spreading his legs but it felt like an open invitation just for you. Hands reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little hesitation except for when it catches the onto the ear piece, stepping forward with a yelp as your foot comes in contact with the large bed frame. Pulling the ear piece off with not much thought, throwing it and the shirt onto the bed, fingers pop the metal from the buttonhole also discarding your pants. 

It all happens so fast, the door crashes open, hitting the wall. Pure instinct takes  over, despite only being in a very, very revealing bralette and a matching lacy thong fumbling for the gun on the night stand next to you, pointing it towards the mass of a man but let out a sigh of relief. “What is wrong with you? barging in like that, I could have shot you.”

It goes to deaf ears, smooth lines of your collarbones catching him off guard, dropping to the soft curves of your breast. He steps closer, shutting you up immediately as his fingers spread out across the hem of your underwear, warmness erupting to the lazy trail of his fingers. 

The cocky smirk that overpowers your own confused one as a tick falls from his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes peering under that stupid cowboy hat, “Now If you wanted me to see you naked you didn’t have to pretend you’re in trouble, darlin’.” 

Frankie Morales

There was never a day Frankie thought he’d be in the deep end of the forest again. The memories are still fresh, the sun doesn’t quite sting his skin like the one in Brazil but it’s a close second, the aching memories still squeeze his heart but it’s a silent burn, one he’ll take to his grave and a life he thought he left behind forever.

Frankie is a man haunted by his past, the memories never let him forget that life he used to lead. He is anything but soft, he’s kind, caring, smart, passionate but a sucker for a pretty face. It’s shown in the way he shameless answers too quickly for his liking at your proposition. To rescue your father, a man that owed a bunch of narcos too much money but you had nothing to offer except to help a single father who seemed to be struggling. 

Maybe it was the way your sad eyes looked at him with an exaggerated expression, tiredness sag your face, large purple bags that crinkle with every sigh. There was no hope, and even if your father was alive, he kissed that life away a long time also, but then again here he is.

Deep in the jungle of Argentina, sun beating down and burning his skin, sweat beading on his forehead, between the valley of his chest as he swings the bottle of water back, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Your stance matches his own, shoulders dropped, heavy breaths but slower, the heaviness of the gun wrapped around your shoulders.

You were slowing him down, it was no lie. He told you multiple times he would do it but specifically didn’t want you to come with him, he would handle it all but sending a man alone to do something like this, despite how experienced he may be it didn’t seem right.

“Go.” You huff, fingers pushing against his shoulder. It had been the third time he stopped for you in ten minutes, clearly frustrated with a crinkle of his forehead, annoyed eyes looking for any sign of danger, even with the thick trunks of trees that camouflage into the color of face paint that decorates both yours and Frankie’s faces. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He looks unsure but nods lowly, turning as his feet to walk up the ledge of the tree as you take a deep breath, fingers trembling as you try to catch your breath, ass hitting the dirt harder then you intend to but it’s a relief to aching feet. It’s a blur of blackness, hand reaching up to pull yourself up but instead pull at something squishy?

Before you could react, big, black bugs by the hundreds run up your legs, crawl under your vest and shirt. The yell that echoes the forest is what catches Frankie’s attention, turning from his short distance ahead to find you. Face hot, fearing the worst as his heart pounds against his chest. Arms flaring frantic through the thick ropes and vines as he slips skillfully past above ground roots of trees.

You are no where in sight but the peaks of dark green clothes along the brush catch his eye, picking the fabric up, clutching your shirt between fingers. With one more look around he notices another piece of clothing, but the sound of splashing catches his attention. It’s not too far, just over a large tree that separates his view from you. It’s not what he expects, practically naked except for the nude bra and matching underwear that makes his eyes widen. If it wasn’t for the panic on your face he would have taken a second to appreciate the beauty in front of him, let desire burn deep on his skin but the way you frantically try to rub the bugs off makes him take action, hands catch your own, comforting eyes meeting your own. “Relax, relax, I’ll get them off.”

“It’s burns.” It’s a soft whine, as his fingers fall to your own, pressing them against his warm skin as he flattens his other hand down the skin of your arm, down your stomach with a delicious sting from the heat of his. 

“I got you, honey.” The words are low, sugary as the realty of the situation makes your own cheeks flush. The bugs are gone, scattering at feet but his gaze never leaves your own. Only inches away from your face, lips so, so close but what really makes you dizzy is the way his hand cups your waist, squeezing so gently as his hot breath fans your face, fingertips trail to the wire of your bra, something in him snaps, giving into the desire as his lips press against yours with urgency.

tags: @victias​ @altarsw​ @coonflix​ @mudhornchronicles​ @buckysalefty​ @capsheadquarters @godohammers​ @ilikemymendarkandfictional​ @rogertaylorsfalsettogivemehives @maileecabudol @itsfangirlmendes​ @mermaidbrina​ @nikkixostan​ @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel @dinsbeskar​ @est19xxshit​ @owloveyounever​ @engie115 @impala1967666​ @akatasukilove​ @nerdalert-andi​ @mailee420​ @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @winter_rxn @Sporadicshoebailifffish

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

[astaroth1357]

The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part Two: The Undateables)

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again…) For the Brothers, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Diavolo

He was soooo excited to get to experience camping! He had been asking the MC about human camping trips for about a week before making the announcement and he was pumped!!

Barbatos chauffeured him to the campsite in his own car (of course) but he insisted on taking every roadside, touristy stop they came across which doubled the drive time considerably…

He wanted to help everybody set up the camp but Barbatos and Lucifer were having none of it… So he took pictures and offered moral support instead! Good work everyone! 😁

He had his own tent about the size of a small house (ngl it took Barbs and Lucifer about a half hour to set the whole thing up). Barbs even somehow managed to pack a collapsible desk in there for him so he could still work… greeeat…. 🙄

Diavolo wanted to try everything. Literally everything. The man even traded his uniform out for full on outdoors gear, right down to one of those floppy fishing hats with the tackle stuck to it.

Politely insistently asks that Lucifer does things with him. The MC could come along as well (and in many cases Luci begs them to do so) but he wants to get some bonding time in with his best friend!

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Diavolo would get sidetracked quite a lot… Which is how he ended up having to physically steer his Lord out of harm's way more than once…

At one point while hiking, Diavolo was so distracted by taking pictures that he nearly walked right into the path of a passing bear and her cubs. Lucifer had to tackle him down into some bushes until they went away... His brothers teased him mercilessly when they heard about...

Dia also loved the camping food quite a bit. He's never gotten the chance to cook his own food before, even if it's just marshmallows over a fire, so it was all a brand new experience for him! S'mores are now declared a human world delicacy.

Man had the time of his life! He'd love to do it again, hell, maybe even make it a yearly event! (Few of the brothers share his sentiment, but hey, it pays to be King 😏)

Barbatos

If his Lord orders it, then he follows. He'll just have to double check that everyone is prepared for the occasion…

Drove Diavolo there with the patience of a saint (while also, like, being the exact opposite of that). Had it been anyone else in the car, they might have told him, "No, we can't stop for pictures of every moose you see," but Barbs is as accommodating as he is loyal.

It was pretty much all on his shoulders to direct the others when setting up camp. Lucifer would claim it was his, but let’s be completely honest here, Lucifer can't order Barbs to do shit. 

Naturally, he had his own tent close to his Lord, more modest in comparison, but big enough to hold a majority of the belongings and gear Diavolo had requested.

He also managed to bring a almost fully functioning kitchen setup for him using magic, minus a working oven by Diavolo's instruction. If he wanted a heat source, he had to use the campfire and he found the challenge intriguing…

For once in his extended life, Barbs had to do some trial and error in the kitchen. As it would turn out, fireside cooking can be a little difficult to master, but by the end of the trip he could still somehow dish out four course meals without so much as a sweat (according to the MC the secret was tinfoil and cast-iron cookware… who knew?)

When he isn’t prepping their next meal (which let’s be honest, with Beel on the trip that’s a constant activity) he’s guarding the food from Beel and Solomon…

The sorcerer wanted to help, but Barbs has already learned the hard way that if he so much as pokes a dish its flavor is ruined… It’s enough to make him wonder if it was a curse laid on him at some point…

Watching Barbatos deny Solomon becomes a pretty funny routine in and of itself. He’s not above just smacking the man’s hand away with a wooden spoon if it gets too close. Barbs doesn’t play in his kitchen. Back off. 😠

Barbatos is happy with the trip so long as the young Lord enjoyed himself. If that’s the case, and it was, then he’d happily do it again if asked… not that he’d have much of a choice anyway.

Simeon

Simeon was familiar with the concept of camping, he’d written about it in his stories, but he’d never actually done it himself… He had hoped it'd be an interesting experience! And uh… it was that from the very start… 

Purgatory Hall got its own car and Solomon was put in charge of driving… But no one mentioned that he drives like a complete maniac. Speed limits, stoplights, even the ROAD ITSELF be damned. Solomon drives in a straight line from point A to point B and if there’s anything in the way he’ll just use magic to get around it…

It’s safe to say that by the time he and the others got to the campsite (which was significantly quicker than the rest) the angels weren’t in the emotional state to pitch tents… He and Luke just waited for the others to catch up while praying and praising the solid ground beneath their feet…

He shared his tent with Luke and didn’t mind at all. It was probably for the best anyway because the little angel was scared of human world predators like bears and wolves coming for him in the night… Poor boy…

Simeon took to hiking quite a bit. Going out and exploring the area around the campsite made him feel invigorated! The forests were beautiful and it gave him ideas for a bit of a guilty pleasure he's been debating on writing, "The Tale of the Lonely Prince." 🤭

It was on one of those trips that Simeon discovered human world creatures love him. Pretty much all of the wildlife gravitates towards him like he's a Disney Princess.

At one point he came back to camp riding on a moose with birds chirping on his new friend's antlers. He offered to take the MC out for a ride, but the brothers threw a fit about it…

He WAS able to get a couple more wrangled for Diavolo, who naturally dragged Lucifer along (though he clearly didn't want to touch the thing). 

The three ended up getting into a mooseback race because Diavolo wouldn't let Lucifer take the lead. He was glad to see Luci enjoy himself for a change! (It helped a lot that he won of course 🙄😏)

All and all, Simeon had a great time. Maybe he should ask the MC to show him more human places… But he's never getting in a car again. Pardon his language, but fuck those things!!!

Luke

He doesn't know what's worse… being out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of demons or the absolute insanity that was the "drive" down… 😣

He spent the entirety of Solomon's Magical Ride of Nightmares clinging to Simeon or the armrests for dear life. He swore his entire life flashed before his eyes, can angels even have heart attacks???

Stayed right next to Simeon when they finally pulled themselves together enough to leave the car. He was so happy that Michael didn't see any of that… Who knew human transportation was so horrifying…???

His saving grace (literally) was getting to share his tent with Simeon… After Solomon told him that bears sometimes get curious and ransacked campsites, he clung onto the older angel like a protective charm.

...Whiiiich he wasn't too off about actually after he saw Simeon playing (yes PLAYING) with the human wildlife… Simeon had to introduce him to some of the nicer animals for him to eventually get over his fear and venture out past the campsite.

Luke loved to swim in the lake or river with MC and the others. The MC found a sturdy branch where they set up a rope swing and the little guy amused himself for hours!

Sometimes he'd watch Barbatos prep and cook using the campfire… He didn't even know you could make lasagna in a Dutch oven…

At one point the MC convinced him to go with them and the twins on a particularly long hike…

He got tired halfway through and Beel offered him a piggyback ride, but of course he'd NEVER let himself be that close to a demon!! (Just kidding, poor boy was so tired he climbed onto Beel's back and held on the a kola until they got back. Then he jumped off to save face)

He had a better time than he thought he would, but still doesn't want to go camping with demons ever again. (He and Simeon also begged Lucifer to drive them back instead of Solomon so the brothers' van was pretty much a clown car on the return trip).

Solomon

Solomon hasn't been camping (for enjoyment) in quite a while, so when the prospect came up to do it with the MC and the other students he was intrigued...

When Simeon asked he knew how to drive, he said yes. He knows how to start a car, put it into motion, steer, and then come to a stop. That's all driving is really. 🤷‍♀️ You can't blame him for not memorizing all the rules, he's been traveling by portal for decades!

Was pretty confused why his angel friends fled the car so quickly... He got them there in one piece, after all. 😕🤷‍♀️ He put up their tents himself since they were too busy thanking their father then made a magic barrier around the site for protection purposes.

He and the MC both have their own tents, of course his is enchanted to be a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, but he's only let the MC in on that little secret in case they want to visit… 😏

When everyone else finally arrived, Solomon was happy to help the MC introduce the wonders of the human wilderness to their companions! Including the breathtaking vistas, beautiful flora, bitter temperatures, man-eating predators, waters filled with disease… Hm? Oh, Luke won't leave the tent now…? Whoopsie.

Solomon kept himself occupied on the trip the best way he knew how… relentless trolling (particularly of Asmo and Barbs because they're used to his shit).

He'd alternate between poking fun at Asmo for the almost ritual length routines he was going through to try and save his looks to genuinely trying to encourage him and downplay the severity of the downgrade...

Meanwhile he was bound and determined to serve at least one of his own dishes during the trip (but Barbatos had banned him from the "kitchen," the food tent, and even the spoons...)

Diavolo, nice guy that he is, eventually made Barbs relent and let Solomon cook for ONE night… It went as well as to be expected. (They sent Solomon to grab more supplies then everybody took turns washing their mouths out with lake water... Diavolo apologized profusely, he had no idea...).

Solomon was confused why the angels would rather squeeze themselves in with the brothers than ride with him back but he wasn’t upset about it. That meant he could make a few extra stops without anyone complaining! He knows a guy in New Orleans he’s been meaning to see again… Luke and Simeon can wait a little for their stuff, right?

Click HERE for Part One. Check out my Masterlist for more!

[hiccanna-tidbits]

The RotBTD+ Gang Plays DnD! (Feat. my ships, sorry not sorry XD)

So highkey I’ve actually been wanting to do a “The Gang Plays DnD” type post for AGES now, but then I saw @hobie-brown and @ohlooksheswriting-wips do DnD AU posts for RotBTD, and then I was like “Ah shit, I really should finish mine, eh?” So thank you to both of you for inspiring me to get off my ass and actually write the post!!!

Hiccup DMs. He comes up with this super complex plot revolving around dragons (because of course) where the party has to dismantle this society ruled by evil knights who want to genocide all of the dragons. Imagine his chagrin when the party wants to do nothing but fuck around in towns and aggravate NPCs 90% of the time.

They usually end up playing at Jack’s apartment, mainly because Hiccup’s dad doesn’t really want a bunch of loud nerds yelling about 20-sided dice in his household while he’s trying to work, if he can at all help it. Jack’s sister regularly barges into their living room and roasts the fuck out of Jack and his friends for being such damn nerds and eats all of their DnD snacks they’ve set out. If they’re in the middle of a combat session, she always gleefully proclaims that they’re all going to die. While Jack is annoyed by this, the rest of the party finds it deeply hilarious.

Jack Overland plays the absolute mayhem warlock Jack Frost, who got his powers through making a deal with the archfey Prince of Frost and has absolutely no qualms about being an evil god’s mortal Sower of Chaos. He spends the vast majority of the campaign doing such useful things as creating ice slicks under annoying NPCs and freezing people’s drinks. He also plays a Tiefling because absolutely no one can talk this boy out of playing the creepy demon race.

Rapunzel plays a woodland nymph druid who is also the party healer (because of course she is). Her name is probably Sunlily or something else suitably hippie-esque. Whenever there’s downtime (or whenever the rest of the party is also dicking around, and she can get away with it), Rapunzel likes to go into the nearest forest and pick the best berries and nuts for the rest of the party. She also loves baking fruit pies and cooking the best nymph food for her companions when given the chance. Definitely the party Cinnamon Roll (every party has one!). She often will turn into cute animals to distract the guards while the party infiltrates a building.

Merida’s character is the party archer and general ranged weapon master, as well as a raging lesbian. Hiccup learns very quickly that any male NPC who tries to flirt with her will very quickly get impaled with an arrow. She can’t ever decide if she wants to be a ranger or a rogue, so she multiclasses in both for flare. She also plays a Tiefling, and continually insists that her character is both scarier and sexier than Jack’s. In combat, she either Leeroy Jenkins her way in with a sword and just starts slashing every which way, or just shoots 90% of the enemies with arrows before the fight even starts. There’s really no in between. She can get away with this because she’s highkey one of the party tanks, and consistently deals a shitton of damage.

Anna plays a human bard, basically having read over the class options and going “Wait, in this one I get to make stylish medieval music??? And wear dramatic and garish outfits and a dumb hat??? And cast wacky illusion spells??? And do silly little magic tricks??? And INSPIRE EVERYONE??? Hell yeah, I’m in!!!” She mostly uses magic attacks in combat (definitely favors Tasha’s Hideous Laughter), but occasionally when she’s out of spell slots she’ll just take to slamming enemies in the face with her lute. She also has WAY too much fun with Vicious Mockery, let’s be real.

Elsa, upon hearing Jack’s character concept, rolls her eyes so far up in her head she can see her damn brain, and vows to play his concept, but serious–solely out of spite. She rolls up a super OP elf Chaos Sorcerer, filled with lots of brooding angst about how uncontrollable her winter powers can get if she isn’t careful. She combines it a bit with Storm Sorcerer so she can create literal blizzards, and Hiccup ends up allowing it just because he thinks it’s cool. Although Elsa’s character is undoubtedly aggravated by the rest of the party’s antics, she starts becoming grudgingly protective of these idiots and can deal some pretty crazy damage when her companions are threatened. She also contains one of the party’s only brain cells.

Eugene of course plays dashing rogue master thief Flynn Rider. Although his high deception and lockpicking skills certainly come in handy, he’s the most chaotic neutral fucker you’ve ever met and will take any excuse to rob NPCs blind or cheat them out of every cent they have in a tavern card game. It’s nigh impossible to get him to cooperate with the rest of the party much of the time, and often Elsa’s character has to either bribe him with some of her family’s gold or threaten to freeze him to stop him backstabbing one or more party members. Eugene’s character forces Hiccup to add in many more heist plotlines than he originally intended. This delights Eugene immensely, and sometimes he goes a bit crazy planning elaborate heists.

Moana plays a sorcerer water genasi. She can control any body of water, but she has a special affinity for controlling saltwater (i.e. the ocean lol). She also requests an animal handling bonus, but only with marine animals, solely because she thought it would be funny. She’s also an ex-pirate who robbed a lot of wealthy merchant ships and freed their slaves back in the day, which Merida thinks is incredibly badass. Moana tends to get bored and unengaged when there are no bodies of water to play around with, so Hiccup ends up having to add a lot more lakes, rivers, and oceans to the campaign than he originally planned on. Moana also takes a sailing skill, and thus the party often ends up traveling by boat. Typically Eugene and Rapunzel will infiltrate and hijack it, and Moana will sail it. Moana probably contains the party’s only other brain cell.

Astrid plays a gigantic berserker orc barbarian who is never without his trusty axe. Astrid is hands down the party’s top tank, and unquestionably deals the most damage every combat session. Much like Merida’s character, Astrid’s character is absolutely a shameless power fantasy. Hiccup pretty easily picks up on this, but is too polite to say anything about it. Jack also picks up on this, but is hardly as courteous as their DM, and teases Astrid mercilessly. Astrid is not amused.

Rapunzel requests that her weapon of choice be a frying pan, her justification being that her character found a discarded one at the edge of a human village outside her woods and mistaked it for a highly-dangerous human weapon. Hiccup is like “…you know what? Fuck it” and rolls up stats for a goddamn frying pan. Jack has nigh-endless admiration for Rapunzel for choosing such a goddamn memey, absurd, yet oddly effective weapon and it definitely makes the poor boy even more smitten with her than he already is.

Eugene and Merida have a bet going on who can sleep with more sexy barmaids. Merida is currently winning, much to Eugene’s chagrin. She’s not even inherently better at seducing NPCs, she and Eugene have the same charisma stat–she just consistently rolls better than Eugene. Eugene is incredibly salty about this.

Anna and Elsa want to be sisters in-game as well, but neither want to change their race–so Anna decides her character was adopted. Hiccup and the rest of the party go along with it, mainly because there’s something deeply hilarious about a regular human bard being adopted and raised by a family of high-powered elf ice mages.

Astrid is absolutely the sort of player who tends to get bored and restless outside of fights, and tends to fidget and twiddle her thumbs waiting for the next combat session. Jack picks up on this, and purposely does more roleplay for longer just to piss her off. He’s also just a very dramatic fucker and highkey loves roleplay.

When she’s not causing mayhem around the town or sleeping with hot women, Merida tries to entertain Astrid between combat sessions by offering to spar with her. Unfortunately, this does not usually end well for poor Merida, as even the most hardcore and badass of tieflings is prone to getting dumpstered by an 8-foot-tall barbarian orc with an axe. Astrid is, nonetheless, grateful to have someone to fight.

Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana will humor Hiccup and attempt to actually play the main plot. Meanwhile, Jack, Merida, and Eugene are a DM’s worst nightmare. They constantly derail the damn campaign to fuck around, cause mayhem, and do inane shenanigans in every. Damn. Town. They go to. Anna is kind of a wildcard–she’ll typically go with whatever group looks like they’re going to be doing something more interesting. Astrid will go along with whichever group is more likely to get into a fight–which, often as not, is Jack and his posse of terrible Chaotic Neutrals (who have definitely pissed off a number of NPCs into attacking them).

As the campaign goes on, Elsa and Eugene become the beleaguered Party Mom and Dad. Both are quite aggravated by this–especially poor Eugene, who just wanted to play a morally-gray charming rogue who stole everything and got away with it and then accidentally ended up caring about these idiots he got stuck with.

Anna initially joins the campaign because she has a planet-size crush on Hiccup, and inevitably is the one who dragged Elsa into it too. Being the hopeless romantic that she is, Anna writes a love interest into her backstory. Hiccup eventually has the party run into said love interest, and Anna is overjoyed. He starts flirting with her as the love interest, and it’s easily the best 30 minutes of Anna’s life.

Moana and Elsa also give Hiccup pretty detailed backstories, and he works in little subplots for them. Moana gets to bring water back to a dying part of the jungle in the middle of a draught, while Elsa gets to go on a whole sidequest to explore her family history and how they came to be sorcerers.

Jack, Merida, and Eugene also give Hiccup fairly elaborate backstories, but Jack’s and Merida’s are like 99% memes and Dumb Shit. Hiccup tries to give all of them backstory-related plot hooks, but inevitably any hooks he provides are either stabbed, robbed, or frozen. Honestly any plot hook offered to these 3 will be all but spat in the face of and tossed off a cliff.

The one relevant part of Eugene’s backstory is that he and Rapunzel decide they used to be partners in crime before the campaign started. Rapunzel would infiltrate and scout out places he wanted to rob as small, unobtrusive animals (her preferred Wild Shape is a chameleon) and later distract the guards as a bunny or kitten while he went in and took every gold coin in sight. In return, Flynn Rider would bribe builders to not develop into Sunlily’s forest. Rapunzel and Eugene partly came up with this For Funsies, but also it was Rapunzel’s sneaky way of tricking Eugene into having prior connections in the party so he’d be less likely to betray them. It works pretty well–although the entire party is protective of Cinnamon Roll Sunlily, Flynn is certainly especially protective of her.

Astrid does the absolute bare minimum as far as backstories go. She is literally just here to smash stuff, slice people, and beat some fuckers up.

Rapunzel has a backstory, but she’s typically so invested in the main plot and the other party members that Hiccup rarely needs to bring it in to keep her engaged. She’s highkey the party emotional rock, and probably the only one keeping them all together.

On that note, Rapunzel’s character is the ONLY one who can get Jack’s character to take the plot even REMOTELY seriously. Like he’ll be dicking around in the nearest tavern challenging the nearest orc to a drinking game, and Rapunzel will come in and ask him to help them on a Main Plot Quest. And he’ll be like “come onnnnn I’m having funnn” and she’ll be like “Jack pleeeeeease?” and you just. Can’t resist Sunlily’s puppy dog eyes. At all. Also, whenever Sunlily is genuinely threatened, any silliness immediately goes out the window and Jack Frost is OUT FOR BLOOD.

For better or for worse, Rapunzel is not immune to being looped into Jack’s shenanigans. Occasionally if either Merida or Eugene have a particularly hare-brained scheme she’ll go along with it, but by and large Jack is the most successful in convincing her to temporarily abandon the plot and cause mild mischief with him. They once wasted half a session creating an elaborate “ice theme park” for some squirrels in the forest.

Hiccup tries to get Merida to play the main plot by eventually having there be no more sexy female NPCs to seduce in the towns they go to. Unfortunately, this backfires–Merida just hooks up with Moana’s character instead. When asked to roll for how good the lay is, Merida gets a nat 20–and thus her character and Moana’s character end up hooking up regularly throughout the rest of the campaign.

Hiccup introduces a few Wise Old Mentor-type NPCs to guide the party throughout the campaign. While Rapunzel, Elsa, Moana, and Anna actually try to listen to them and take their advice, Merida, Jack, and Eugene absolutely refuse to take them seriously and mercilessly play pranks on them.

At one point, Hiccup gives the party the option to attempt to tame a group of wild dragons and use them as mounts. They all have to make animal handling checks. Anna, Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana pass. The rest of the party fails, with Jack and Eugene crit-failing. Hilarity ensues.

Hiccup ends up bringing back Anna’s backstory love interest as an NPC regular. Anna thinks he’s just being a good friend and a good DM and trying to incorporate her backstory as much as he can, but really, he just wants an excuse to regularly flirt with her. He hardly has the balls to out-of-game.

Merida comes out as gay toward the end of the campaign. Everyone in the group is extremely supportive, of course, but everyone is also like “Merida…with the amount of barmaids you’ve banged…and the amount of times you and Moana’s character hooked up…this isn’t exactly surprising.”

Hiccup actually finds a way to use Jack and Elsa’s same-concept-opposite-execution characters to the plot’s advantage. He decides one of the main villains will have a prophecy saying he’ll be taken down by a powerful ice mage. The party manages to fool this guy into thinking this ice mage is Jack, and sends Jack to fight him. As soon as the villain sees Jack, he’s like “WHAT??? THIS clown???” (word has absolutely spread throughout the land of Jack not using his ice powers for anything besides mildly annoying trolling). Naturally, the bad guy lets his guard down after thinking he’s going to fight this literal joke, and then Elsa crashes in from the side and absolutely dumpsters him.

Jack tries to defeat the final boss by just annoying him so much that he leaves. Unfortunately, he just annoys him so much that he attacks Rapunzel’s character. Jack’s just like “oh HELL no” and attacks with absolutely nothing held back. Turns out he’s pretty terrifying when he’s not using his magic for Dumb Antics.

During the final boss of the campaign, the Big Bad tries to one-shot Moana’s character, and Merida’s character super theatrically jumps in front of her to take the blow instead. Rapunzel just barely manages to heal Merida’s character, but it’s a really close call. During all this, Merida is like “ah shit...maybe I’m NOT just in this to get fantasy-laid.” After the fight’s over, her and Moana’s characters have a big dramatic love confession and share a Big Damn Kiss in front of everyone. It’s pretty epic.

After the final session of the campaign, Merida drags Moana outside Jack’s apartment and sputters and trips over her words for a solid minute before she finally gets out that through all this nonsense...well...maybe it’s not just in the game that she thinks Moana is hot. Moana just gets this HUGE grin on her face and says “c’mere, Leeroy Jenkins” and just pulls Merida in and kisses her. Cue the rest of the party barging in on them. Merida and Moana freeze, and there’s a moment of terrified silence...and then the entire party starts cheering them on like “took you long enough!”

The entire rest of the party could detect the sexual tension. Literally all of them.

But Eugene is like “HA, THIS MEANS IF WE DO A SEQUEL CAMPAIGN I’M WINNING THAT BET! BECAUSE YOU��RE GONNA BE DATING MO’S CHAR AND THUS NOT ABLE TO SLEEP WITH ANY MORE BARMAIDS!”

By the epilogue session, Jack and Rapunzel are dating. Merida and Moana are also dating. Hiccup and Anna STILL haven’t figured out why they’re so prone to spending half the session flirting when Anna’s love interest shows up, and Hiccup STILL hasn’t figured out why he likes to have Anna’s love interest show up so often. Bless their souls. Maybe they’ll figure it out next campaign...?

Damn I actually really like this...maybe if people like it I’ll do some incorrect quotes or a drabble or something??? Or maybe some HCs from next campaign???

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Not bad at all.

FRANCISCO ‘CATFISH’ MORALES. ┃ TRIPLE FRONTIER.

❝ request by @chibsytelford: Heyo. What about reader being very shy around Frankie on the first date, who's also shy, and one of them just cracks a joke and they just laugh and laugh and the ice is broken, and they have the best date. ❤ Thank you.

❝ words: about 1.9k.

❝ a / n: first time writing for Frankie! I'm really excited and I hope you all enjoy it.

Gif credits to the author.

“Santiago García, I swear that if you stand me up, I'm gonn—”.

“(Y/N)?”

Your blood freezes at the call as your eyes go wide, keeping the phone in your ear as you spin around with a forced and ashamed smile on your lips, you feel your knees weak watching Frankie some steps away from you with both hands inside the red and black flannel jacket. Son of a bitch. Hanging up the call —or better said, the voicemail— the two of you come closer to each other.

“What 'you doing here?”

As the question comes out of his mouth, there's an awkward moment where you don't know if you should greet with a kiss on your cheek or hugging, being a mix of both that makes you giggle.

“Well, uh… It was supposed I'd have dinner with Santi, but… he hasn't shown yet”. You reply puckering your lips, noticing the change in his gesture. “I've been waiting for the last twenty minutes and I'm really hungry”.

You can't help but frown watching him rub the back of his neck, slightly moving the hat covering his softs curls. Squinting at him you don't really need Frankie to speak to know what's happening. You can feel your face and the tip of your ears burning because of the embarrassment. Last week you confessed to your best friend the things you were starting to feel for Fish and he has decided to force you to take a step ahead.

And seems like Santiago has done the same with him. But, does it mean he feels something for you too? You sigh rubbing your face trying to calm down the heat covering your skin, while he babbles random words. You see him waving a trembling hand between the two of you, perceiving he's as nervous as you are. That causes you to curve your lips up with a soft funny smile.

“Listen, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. I— I— I… shit”. He ends up grunting stroking his lips and his chin passing his palm over them, putting his terrified dark chocolate eyes from you. Frankie looks like a pudding and you can swear it's the sweetest thing you have ever contemplated. Too captivated by the way he has to raise his black hat from his head to brush his hair using only three fingers, before putting it on again, he takes your silence like a negative. “Lemme walk you home at least”.

His beg throws you back to reality, finding an insecure gaze looking for a positive this time. It's the first time since you met him two years ago that you watch him doubting, feeling unsure of himself. He has always given you the impression of being a cool-headed and confident man, but now Fish is quite the opposite.

“I'm hungry tho”. You reply as soon as you can react. “I just… think he did it on purpose. Making me wait for dinner, you know… So I wouldn't say no”.

Santi knows pretty well how to play his cards. It is his specialty. But that hasn't sound how you were expecting, as Frankie continues feeling ashamed, probably misunderstanding you.

“I me— mean, I wouldn't say no anyway”. You confess with a soft whisper, bowing your gaze down to his boots for a second. A brief second that seems enough to offer you a hand without noticing it.

Your heart races with the deep belief it could fly off from your chest when your cold fingers get laced with his warm ones. An electrifying shiver roams your body from your tiptoes to the top of your head, as he secures your hands together to come inside the restaurant. Only like a gentleman would do, he keeps open the door for you to walk in first, not loosening your connection at any time. For an instant, you can't help but fantasize about having real dates with Frankie, with him falling for you while continuing to believe he's just being polite and compensating you for Pope's ambush.

You lead your steps through the hallway between tables with old couches just in like the fifties, till the end of the place with the last table free close to the large window from where you can see the street. That's when, much to your regret, your hands are separated to take a seat in front of the other, occupying yours then with the menu to calm the nervousness shaking them briefly. You're going to kill Santi tomorrow. How does he dare to play dirty to you? And poor Frankie who —probably— could have a better plan than having dinner with you, if it wasn't for his friend.

The silence is installed soon around your table after the drinks are served, feeling the tension in the environment while you continue not knowing what to say or how to break the ice. You're about to tell him that he doesn't have to stay, just like he has said a couple of minutes before, but when you open your mouth nothing comes out; totally enraptured on the way he's looking at you waiting for something. You can't help but force another smile pursing your lips shamefacedly. Putting down your eyes over the menu between your hands, you try to pretend you're actually reading it, but your mind is busier on how the simple touch of his hand stole the air from your lungs.

“Pope told me you're learning Spanish”.

You have to hide your face for a second, cursing your damn best friend in silence before sticking your head out of the carte nodding with your cheek.

“Why?” Frankie sounds so curious that makes you think he maybe knows the real and main reason.

“Oh, uh… expand knowledge”.

You're a terrible liar and he doesn't need to be a genius to notice it.

“Tell me something in Spanish”. He asks cockily, placing his arms over his backrest.

You chuckle shaking your head this time while saying no once and once. But when he leans over the table, forearms against the edge of it, you have to gulp before choking on your own saliva like an idiot. The heat invading your whole anatomy again causes you to lick your lips, hoping that gesture calms you somehow.

“There's a… sentence that… I find funny for some re— reason”.

“Okay… Go'head”.

You make a short pause, finding some encouragement to utter it by remembering why you started to learn it. To impress him. To talk with him and call his attention.

“Juan come manzanas”.

(Juan eats apples).

Your accent is horrible, that's a fact, you knew that; but you feel more embarrassed when he remains silent for a second, breaking into a burst of loud laughter after not being able to contain it. You can't avoid a chuckle either, leaving in the background your shame, to focus on the beautiful melody his laugh is. You could spend all your life listening to it without abhorring it.

“Your pronunciation is awful”. He giggles adjusting his hat, raising a little the visor to look you better.

“Woah, thank you”. You reply with a humorous grimace drawn on your lips and a light sarcasm in your tone of voice. “I really appreciate it coming from you”.

“You're welcome”.

Shaking your head you begin to feel somewhat relaxed, finding a topic to talk about and joke about it so this situation is less awkward. You grab your beer to have a sip whilst he continues keeping visual contact with you, noticing he wants to add something but he doesn't dare. You know what it is, tilting your head as your eyes are narrowed.

“I don't trust you to be my teacher, surely you'll teach me the wrong things to make fun of me”.

“Meh…” He replies waving a hand jokingly, causing you to chuckle again.

As the night goes on and you discover more interesting things about him and his stage in the army, the dinner comes to an end and he insists you to walk you home. He doesn't want either to finish your conversation, talking about everything and nothing, in reality, just enjoying your voice and how excited you sound while talking about one of your hobbies or your favorite tv show. Just like you, he couldn't get tired of your company.

You reach your house sooner than expected, having been entertained and feeling this time your way back home has become shorter than ever. The nerves kick you again standing close to your porch not knowing what to say, what to do, or offer him a last drink. You'd sell your soul to the devil for five minutes more, but maybe you need to take it easy.

“Thanks for walking me”. You utter in a thin voice thread, playing with the keys between your fingers.

“It's been a good night”. Frankie opines then keeping a hand in a pocket and using the other to scratch a side of his neck. “I mean… we can repeat it whenever you want”.

Like another date? Has it been a date, actually? Or just two friends hanging out?

“Yeah! Yeah, sure. Sounds good to me”. You nod an instant before letting go a soft sight. “Uh… I should… you know”.

“Yeah, 'course. Good night, (Y/N)”.

“Good night, Fish”.

Offering him one last smile, you turn around to go upstairs your porch straight to the front door. But as soon as you introduce the key in the lock, you're interrupted.

“Hey!” You face him again, curious and intrigued, watching him coming closer towards you with his hat now in a hand. “How bad would be if… I kiss you?”

That's the most unexpected question you have ever heard, causing your brain to collapse momentarily until you realize it hasn't been a figment of your imagination. The smirk on his face curves shyly in the right corner of his lips, stopping his feet not too far from yours.

“Not… bad at all”. You giggle in response. What else could you say?

His mouth meets yours with a soft sweet touch. Just a touch, until they get used to each other. Slowly, Frankie places his hands on your lower back seeming afraid if you suddenly decide it's a terrible idea, and take a step back. This feeling disappears when yours land on both sides of his neck, securing a little more the grip and shortening the small distance between your chests. He tastes like beer and chocolate, after sharing a piece of brownie like dessert. For you, Frankie tastes like heaven. And without planning it, he needs the urge to slide his tongue between your lips to find yours. By inertia, your fingers tour his skin till being gently nailed in the back of his neck, breathing through your nose not wanting to finish the kiss.

As both of you swirl your tongues around the other, you become a little addicted, almost moaning inevitably against his lips when you have to stop not having enough air filling your lungs.

“How bad would it be if I ask you to stay?” You murmur unable to believe what you have just said.

“Not bad at all”. He doesn't hesitate, caressing the tip of your nose with his, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tighter and pepper your lips as you try to open the front door.

If you’ve liked it, lemme know in a comment, I’d really appreciate it. Reblogs are welcome too, so more people can enjoy it! ✨

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95

TRIPLE FRONTIER: @phoenixhalliwell @goldielocks2004

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

so i am back on the grima train and i was reading through your posts (absolutely quality, for which i can only thank you !! 💓) and you mentioned in one about his use of magic that you have a Lot of Feelings about grima in relation to gender and plz i need to hear them!! (if you want to share? 👀)

LOTR: Grima & Gender 

Oh man, so Grima and gender. My favourite topic. Other than Grima and magic - but they’re linked! So, that’s a bonus for us.

I want to thank you so much for asking this question. I have wanted to rant about this for Forever.

This became incredibly long, but the long and short of it is that Grima undermines social expectations of masculinity in Rohan through his disdain for martial achievements, his occupying a more private/passive role within the king’s household rather than the expected “masculine” public/active, his use of spells and potions being an “unmanly” and “cowardly” approach to problem solving, and his reliance on language and soft-power approaches to politics.

All of this works to position Grima within a more feminine role and character - at least within the context of Rohan’s hypermasculine performativity of manliness.

[It does allow us to read Grima as trans with greater ease in terms of fitting into the canon than the usual favourites, other than Eowyn. So, you know, do with that what you will. Eowyn and Grima both want to be queen. Let them be in charge! I’m going to get my ass bit for this.]

-

Grima’s gender performance needs to be quickly situated within the broader context of masculinity in Middle-Earth. Gondor’s ideal of masculinity is the gentler masculinity that everyone focuses on when they talk about men in middle earth being good models of what masculinity can look like. It’s a nurturing masculinity, it’s gentle, it’s healing-focused. Aragorn and others try and take the first off-ramp from violence or conflict whenever they can. There is no enjoyment in warfare or soldiering. It’s done because it’s necessary. Dick-swinging is limited to non-existent etc.

Rohan is different.

Faramir touches on this when he speaks to Frodo of how Boromir was more like the men of Rohan and how he thought that wasn’t a good thing as it meant he was seeking glory for glory’s sake, relishing war and soldiering as an occupation rather than an unfortunate necessity.

Of course, Faramir was also making (some very dubious) racial commentary, but race and gender are often bound up together (e.g. hyper-masculinization of black men and the feminization of East Asian men in the North America).

As R.W. Connell says, “masculinities are congurations of practice that are constructed, unfold, and change through time” — and, additionally, masculinity must be defined in opposition to femininity but, also, other masculinities.

For Rohan, there is a strong, militarized hyper-masculinity that threads through their culture. One of the reasons Theoden was seen as a failing king was his physical decline and inability to continue being a physically strong king. His aging emasculated him, more so when compared to Theodred and Eomer. (Something Theoden believed of himself and Grima capitalized on.)

For this, I’m going to speak of masculinity of the upper classes, since that’s what we see for Rohan. Masculinity, and how it’s to be performed, is contingent on social variables such as, but not limited to: age, appearance and size, bodily facility, care, economic class, ethnicity, fatherhood, relations to biological reproduction, leisure, martial and kinship status, occupation, sexuality etc. and as we never see lower class Rohirrim men it’s impossible to say what the “acceptable” and “expected” forms for a farmer or cooper would be.

Upper class men of Rohan are expected to be militarily capable - ready to ride and fight when called by their king or marshal. They are to be men of action over word, and when language is in play, it’s to be forthright and plain. No riddling. Marriage/Husband-ing is an expected part of manhood. Being strong minded, and capable of taking charge and making decisions is important. Fatherhood is also clearly prized, especially fatherhood that results in son(s).

(Theoden only having one child could be read as another “failure” in living up to Rohirrim ideals when compared to the older kings of his family who were far more prolific.)

The appearance of an “ideal” man is tall, fair, and handsome. Physically strong and capable in all ways (martially, sexually, fertile etc.).

Men should be able to demonstrate that they are capable of being in charge, taking control, defending and protecting families and homes. This slots in with more generalized expectations around bravery, honour and glory.

[Eomer: And that, in summation, is how you are to Be A Man.

Grima: Well that sounds utterly exhausting.]

-

So, with all of that in mind, let’s talk Grima.

First, let’s address the name and character construction as this is the least bound up in how he acts and its tension with Rohirrim ideals of Being a Man. It’s also interesting in that it can give a glimpse into Tolkien and the possible thoughts he had when constructing Grima.

Grima’s Name & Beowulf Stuff

Grima’s name is from old Icelandic Grimr, which is a name Odin takes during the Grimnismal saga.

Here are some lines from Odin in the saga:

I have called myself Grim,

I have called myself Wanderer,

Warrior and Helmet-Wearer,

[...]

Evildoer, Spellcaster,

Masked and Shadowed-Face,

Fool and Wise Man,

[...]

Rope-Rider and Hanged-God.

I have never been known

by just one name

since I first walked among men.

Not only is Grima’s name from Odin, more importantly, it’s the feminine version of that name. No man in the eddas or sagas goes by Grima. Only women. And most often they were seidr-workers or healers/magic practitioners of some kind.

"Other healers include Gríma from Fóstbræðra saga and Laxdæla saga and Heiðr from Biarmiland in Harald’s saga Hárfagra." 

- “Hostile Magic in the Icelandic Sagas,” Hilda Ellis-Davidson

And

"There was a man called Kotkel, who had only recently arrived in Iceland. His wife was called Grima. Their sons were Hallbjorn Sleekstone-Eye and Stigandi. These people had come from the Hebrides. They were all extremely skilled in witchcraft and were great sorcerers." 

- Laxdæla saga

This is most likely something Tolkien was aware of — I would be flabbergasted if he wasn’t. However, did he fully appreciate the implications in terms of gender and subversion of masculinity? Impossible to say, of course, but he certainly knew he was giving his male character a name that has only been used by women in historical texts.

It would be akin to naming your male character Henrietta instead of Henry. It’s a deliberate, explicit decision. And while I don’t think Tolkien expected most readers to track down the origin of Grima’s name, the --a ending, to most anglophone readers, signifies a feminine name, more often than not. At least, it rarely, if ever, signifies masculine.

So the name alone brings in, at a subconscious level to readers, feminine qualities.

Alongside this, Grima is loosely based on Unferth from Beowulf. The entrance of Gandalf et al into Meduseld directly mirrors Beowulf’s into Hrothgar’s hall (complete with Grima lounging at Theoden’s feet the same as Unferth at Hrothgar’s). Indeed, it was clearly Tolkien’s intention to make a call back to Beowulf with that scene. (He was being all “look how clever I am. Also these are Anglo-Saxons on horses. As a general fyi”).

Unferth is a fascinating character in his own right ,and there is much scholarly debate around his role within Hrothgar’s hall, as well as the text more broadly. While there isn’t enough time/space to get into Unferth, I will quickly note that he is another character who subverts his society’s ideas of manhood and masculinity — particularly with regards to expectations of heroism and bravery. Yet, at the same time, Unferth is noted for being very intelligent, cunning, good at riddling, and overall quick witted (also, a kin-slayer. Dude murdered his brothers for Reasons).

Unferth’s contrary behaviour that flies in the face of Anglo-Saxon norms and ideals of masculine bravery is clearly reflected in Grima. Particularly in Grima’s fear of battle and lack of interest in taking up his sword when called by his king.

This leaves us with a character who was given a woman’s name and who is loosely based on another character who is known for his inability to follow through on his society’s expectations for masculine behaviour. 

Grima, from the first moment we meet him, clearly reads more feminine than masculine - this is amplified when he’s contrasted with the likes of Theoden and Eomer. And, not only is his aligned with traditional femininity more than other male characters, he is specifically aligned with the more negative tropes of femininity (i.e. lack of bravery, unreliable, dubious morals etc.).

-

That is a brief overview of the bones of Grima’s construction: name and inspiration. Now for actions and characterization within the text. This will be subdivided into comments on his use of magic and how that interfaces with Rohirrim masculinity then we’ll get into power and language.

Grima’s key point of power is his ability to weave words in so powerful a way he could convince Theoden of his own infirmity and weakness thereby securing control over the king. Alongside this, we know that he was using certain “potions and poison” to further weaken Theoden. Most likely to amp up the king’s physical weakness so it coincided with Grima’s mental magic games.

Magic for Anglo-Saxon and early medieval Scandinavians was heavily rooted in the power of the spoken word. Runes were probably used but the historical support of this is vague. Which is to say, we know they were used, we’re just not certain how and to what extent.

We do know that rune staves were a thing. They were most often used to send your landwights after opponents or wreck havoc on enemies from afar. To make one, a magic-worker would carve the prescribed runes onto a large stave and position it in the ground facing the direction of their enemy. On top of the stave was added the head of a horse. (Lots of horse sacrifice happened for early medieval Scandinavians, alongside some human sacrifice.)

But, the brunt of magic for Anglo-Saxons and early medieval Scandinavians was spoken word. Which makes sense as their society was, like Rohan’s, predominantly illiterate or, at least, para-literate (though, there has been some recent archeological evidence that is starting to call that into question, for what that’s worth).

In particular, Grima’s spellwork aligns most closely with seidr, a fact I’ve gone about ad nausea. And, again, something we can assume Tolkien was aware of, which means he was also aware of the gendered implications of a man practicing the craft.

The mainstay of seidrcraft is, but not limited to, the following:

making illusions,

causing madness and/or forgetfulness,

brewing of potions and poisons,

prophesying,

channeling the dead,

channeling gods,

removal of elf-shot, and

recovering lost portions of someone’s soul.

The first three bullets are things Grima does to Theoden. That kind of magic — the kind that fucks with your mind and your sense of self, the kind that is subtle and quiet and lurks beneath the surface so you don’t know it’s happening, that’s cunning — that kind of magic is what women do.

It was considered unmanly/effeminate for a man to partake in it as it undermined the hypermasculine militarized culture of the time. Winning a battle or a fight through spells and poison was cowardly.

Therefore, in Rohan where we have this hypermasculine culture that so prizes military glory and grandeur and martial might, Grima pursuing his goals through spellcraft and potions/poisons is Grima pursuing distinctly unmasculine, effeminate modes of action.

Indeed, within Rohan it could call into question the entirety of his masculinity. It would make him ragr (adj. unmanly) because his actions are the epitome of ergi (noun. unmanliness).

"In the Viking Age, homosexual men were treated with extreme disdain and a complex kind of moral horror, especially those who allowed themselves to be penetrated. Such a man was ragr, not only homosexual by inclination and action, but also inhabiting a state of being that extended to ethical and social qualities. This complex of concepts has been extensively studied, and in the words of its leading scholar, "the unmanly man is everything that a man should not be with regard to morals and character. He is effeminate and he is a coward, and consequently devoid of honour". [...] What we would call sexual orientation was, in the viking age, completely bound up with much wider and deeper codes of behaviour and dignity, extending way beyond physical and emotional preference." -Neil Price, Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings

Though Price references specifically homosexuality in this passage, a man could be considered ragr for more than just that — and one of the other ways was through practicing seidr.

We see this with Odin, who learns how to do seidrcraft from Freyja, and is then mocked by Loki for how emasculating the practice is for Odin to undertake (as if Loki has any room to talk). Odin’s made himself effeminate, he’s made himself unmanly, he’s allowed himself to learn spells that could enable him to take a cowards way out of a situation, to be dishonourable etc.

Which is a neat tie-back to Grima’s name being one of Odin’s names, particularly when he is in disguise and using seidrcraft and wily ways to escape various unfortunate situations that he ends up in during the Grimnismal saga.

(As Odin says: I have been called Evildoer, Spellcaster, Masked and Shadowed-Face, Fool and Wise Man.)

It also mirrors him to Gandalf - another character who bears an Odinnic name. Gandalf very much represents the masculine, “acceptable” aspects of Odin. Grima embodies the darker, more dubious, and more effeminate, aspects of the god. As I’ve said in other posts, they are two sides of the Odin coin.

Though both are temperamental as fuck.

-

Alongside the spellcraft and potions, Grima’s performance of power does not align with Rohirrim traditions and ideals. He relies on his wits and his skill with language to navigate the world. Succinctly captured in the epithet bestowed upon him: Wormtongue. This is the modernization of Wyrmtunga, or, Dragon’s Tongue.

Wyrm can translate to worm, sure, and we see Saruman doing this on purpose when he refers to Grima as a worm, a creature that crawls in the dirt. But Wyrm, of course, is actually a form of dragon. And in Middle Earth, wyrm is used interchangeably with dragon (Smaug is called both wyrm and dragon), rather than denoting a specific species/categorization of dragon as it does in our world.

Grima’s approach to power is that of a gentle touch. He speaks softly, but doesn’t carry a large stick. He’s not Eomer or Theodred, who are much more traditionally martial, aggressive and forthright in their responses to a situation. Grima is clearly all about influencing those around him either through persuasion/use of words, or through spellcraft. He manipulates, he uses linguistic trickery.

-

Additionally, how he undertakes his role as advisor to the king places him more within the private world of Meduseld and the king’s household than the active, public world of marshals and thanes. And, of course, the private world of households was traditionally considered the woman’s domain while men were expected to occupy the public spaces of the world.

Of course, being involved in court politics is a public role as opposed to existing within a wholly private space (such as Eowyn. Who, in the books, takes a mostly private role until she is required to rule in her uncle’s stead while he and Eomer are off at war, and even then it is clearly considered a temporary situation and part of her duty as a woman). But the manner in which Grima occupies that public position is a more “feminine” one.

We can assume that if Eomer or Erkenbrand or Elfhelm occupied the role as advisor to Theoden, they would have a very different approach to the position. A much more aggressive, active and probably military-focused approach. Less carrot, more stick.

A quick note on his appearance in the film, aside from being entirely in black with black hair in a land full of blonds because he needed to be visually distinct as the Bad Guy. He is dressed in longer tunics and robes compared to Eomer and other Rohirrim men (aside from Theoden, but as soon as he is “healed” of his possession(?) he returns to the Proper Masculine shorter tunics than the Weak and Effeminate longer robes and tunics of before). Grima’s hair is longer than Eomer’s and Theoden’s, he wears only a dagger and not a sword, the furs and quilting of his clothes indicate wealth and status, of course, but also decadence and effeminacy.

-

All in all, Grima’s performance and actions undermine and subvert Rohirrim expectations of masculinity. If not outright transgressing gender norms. He uses spellcraft to achieve his ends which is cowardly and effeminate. When it’s not that, he relies on language and manipulation to ensure his position and rarely, if ever, willingly takes on an active, martial role that would be expected of a man who is in the king’s household and serves as an advisor and a quasi-second-in-command.

Here is a man, occupying a man’s role, but doing it like a woman. Subversive! Scandalous! Underappreciated by fandom!

Grima lives in a liminal, marginalized space that is at once gendered and ungendered but is absolutely Othered.

-

As for my note on Grima and being trans - absolutely a trans woman. Grima suffers from that thing of “I want to be you and sleep with you” re: Eowyn. That’s my hot take. (Similar to me and Alan Grant from Jurassic Park - I want to be him and sleep with him.)

But no, in all seriousness, a strong argument can absolutely be made for Grima being not-cis, however that might look for Grima. Grima and Eowyn are the two, within the trilogies, that have the strongest arguments to be made for not being cis.

(Grima is a bit of a foil for Eowyn, I think, while also being a foil for Gandalf.)

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

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[valdomarx]

*Ahem* don't know if you write prompts or not, but think of this: Jaskier is coming with Geralt to Kaer Morhen, both of them still not in anything romantic/sexual. But it's not Jaskier who's adored and loved by everyone. It's Geralt, their favourite winter bitch. Jaskier stumbles across him being fucked by Lambert, and Geralt comes, looking into his eyes; sees him sucking Eskel off in his bedroom. He had no idea Geralt can be so relaxed and slutty. In the end, they all have some hot group sex.

Anon, you’re a genius. I present to you the Geralt is the slut of Kaer Morhen fic we all secretly wanted.

Jaskier has been waiting months for this, to see the famous Kaer Morhen for himself, to talk with the other witchers Geralt trained with and to hear their stories. He couldn’t believe his luck when Geralt actually agreed to bring him here for the winter, despite the fact Geralt barely seems to tolerate his presence even after all these years.

Walking through the great gate to the crumbling castle takes his breath away, the sad state of the deteriorating walls somehow an apt metaphor for the strong but underappreciated men who live here. And meeting the other witchers is a revelation, each of them throwing Geralt’s character into sharp relief in the way that seeing someone among their very old friends inevitably does.

–

The castle is as homey as one could hope for from a tumbledown ruin, and the witchers have taken care to provide Jaskier with what he might need. Despite their reputation for brutality, they are clearly considerate hosts. The room he is shown to on his first night has a spacious bed, a bowl and a pitcher of water for washing, and even a little tray with some dried fruit on it.

What it is lacking, however, is more than one thin blanket. Witchers don’t feel the cold the way humans do, it seems, and Jaskier lasts bare minutes in bed before he decides that if he doesn’t find something warm to sleep in, he might actually freeze to death before morning.

He does his best to navigate through the twisty corridors and crumbling staircases to Geralt’s room, hoping to beg a spare blanket. But as he approaches the room, he stops short when he hears something unexpected.

The door is cracked enough for him to hear wet slaps and a throaty groan, and Jaskier is not restrained enough to avoid taking a peek. Glancing through the narrow opening, he sees Geralt on his knees, face pressed into Eskel’s crotch, who has his hands twined into white hair and is thrusting down Geralt’s throat.

“Oh, you feel so good, I’ve missed your mouth,” Eskel is panting, and Geralt lets out a high pitched whine which Jaskier has never heard from him before. “Sucking me off so well.”

Jaskier’s pulse races. This is not a side of Geralt he’s ever seen before. Before now, it’s been rushed and infrequent stops at brothels, Geralt disappearing with the occasional adventurous girl in the larger towns. Not this, Geralt pliant and tactile, taking cock down his throat like he’s done it a thousand times.

There’s a thrill of temptation to stay and watch some more, as fucked up as that is. But Jaskier knows how Geralt values his privacy, so he forces himself to turn around and go back to his room.

Once he’s back in bed, the thought of Geralt on his knees keeps him plenty warm.

–

In the morning, Jaskier carefully and deliberately slots the “Geralt and Eskel are fucking” knowledge away and out of his conscious mind, and makes an effort to get to know his hosts. They’re prickly and a little distant, all of them, but if Jaskier can handle that from Geralt he can handle it from these Wolves as well.

He uses his most charming smile to tease a story about fighting a striga out of Eskel, then helps Vesemir prepare and pickle the last of the fresh vegetables to see them through the cold months.

When he heads to bed that night, he swears he doesn’t walk past Geralt’s room on purpose. It happens to be on the route between the kitchen and his room, so it can hardly be avoided. He does, admittedly, slow just a little as he walks past Geralt’s door, left ajar once again.

But this time, he doesn’t hear the deep, scratchy voice of Eskel. This time, it’s Coen’s sinuous tones carrying down the corridor.

And, look, Jaskier never claimed to be a morally upstanding person, okay? And, well, he’s curious. He’s getting a whole new view of his friend. So he takes a peek through the gap in the door.

Geralt is stripped mostly naked and pressed face-first against the wall, with Coen behind him. Jaskier can see by the flick of Coen’s wrist and the way Geralt is practically humping the wall that he has at least two fingers inside him.

“That’s it, good boy,” Coen is saying, voice low. “Gonna open you up nice and loose before I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, I want it, want your cock,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier nearly fucking passes out. He had no idea Geralt could be so… vocal.

He retreats to his room at a clip, and if when he’s in bed he shoves a hand beneath the covers while thinking about the sounds Geralt makes when he’s needy to get fucked, then no one needs to know about that, do they?

–

Jaskier spends the next day very much not thinking about Geralt’s sexual proclivities, thank you very much, and remains focused on ingratiating himself with the Wolves by helping patch up some of the damaged exterior walls. It’s hard, physical work, and by the end of the day his hands are cracked and bleeding, but he’s determined to prove that he can be useful.

Geralt catches his eye at one point and gives him a strange look.

“Do I have cement on my face?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says, “you were just looking at me like…” He blows out a breath. “Never mind.”

Shit. Jaskier resolves to be more circumspect in future. He’s going to have to be if he’s going to last the winter here.

Of course, he’s circumspect to a point, but he still has to walk down the corridor past Geralt’s room that evening, his pulse picking up before he even gets close.

This time, the door is wide open, without even a hint of propriety. When Jaskier walks past, there’s absolutely no way he can avoid seeing Geralt naked on all fours on the bed, Lambert behind him using a handful of long hair to yank his head back.

“That’s it, moan for me like the slut you are,” Lambert hisses, slamming into Geralt with deep, hard thrusts. “You know you fucking want it.”

Geralt’s massive shoulders flex and sweat drips down his brow, and he moans in the most filthy way. His eyes are scrunched shut, but when Jaskier’s breath hitches Geralt’s eyes fly open, looking straight at him through the doorway.

Jaskier panics, because even if Geralt having noisy sex with the door open is a bit rich, that still doesn’t excuse his gawping.

But Geralt doesn’t look angry. In fact, he stares at Jaskier in a manner that can only be described as hungry. Jaskier’s heart pounds.

Behind Geralt, Lambert doesn’t let up. He does throw a smirk Jaskier’s way though. “Enjoying the show?” he drawls.

“I…” For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaskier is at a loss for words. “Erm.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Geralt, the way his face is slack with pleasure and his cock hangs huge and heavy between his legs. He’s dribbling seed onto the bed and it might be the most obscene and compelling thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Best ride this side of the Pontar,” Lambert says, letting go of Geralt’s hair to smack him on the arse. He catches Jaskier’s eye with a devilish grin. “Maybe you ought to have a go at him when I’m done.”

Geralt makes a reedy, whiny noise and comes, messily, spending himself over the bed and staring at Jaskier all the while.

Jaskier gasps. He blushes. Then he turns and runs back to his room as fast as his legs will carry him.

–

The day after that, Jaskier hides out in the library, fussing over the books without reading any of them. He can’t get the image of Geralt being fucked out of his head, and he can’t imagine what the hell Geralt had been thinking leaving the door open like that. Almost like he wanted to be seen. The idea makes Jaskier’s skin prickle.

Vesemir finds him in the library at midday, nodding politely and settling himself in an alcove to read a massive dusty tome on beast classification. Jaskier can’t sit still, worrying his lip between his teeth, wanting to ask for advice but unsure how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Vesemir says after a while, snapping his book shut. “Whatever you want to ask me.”

Oh. He is perceptive. “It’s, ahh, it’s about Geralt.”

Vesemir sighs. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important. I just never realised he was so, umm, popular with the other Wolves.”

“You mean the fact he’s fucking all of them?”

Jaskier swallows wrong and coughs.

“Geralt has a lot of affection to give,” Vesemir says with a shrug. “Though gods know it’s hard to tell from that sour expression that’s always on his face.”

Jaskier fidgets. “And are you and he, you know… ?”

“No, little bard. He’s like a son to me.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. Thank the gods. He want sure he’d have been able to cope with that.

“Guess it’s just you and me being left out then,” he jokes.

Vesemir snorts. “Mmm. I’m sure.”

Jaskier has no idea what to make of that.

–

Jaskier dithers about returning to his room that night. It’s not that he’s been avoiding Geralt, not exactly. It’s just that he’s not quite sure what to say to him so he’s arranged for himself to be elsewhere.

What do you say to your best friend when you’ve watched him being fucked and you both clearly enjoyed it?

Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe now Geralt has had three witchers on three consecutive nights he’ll be sated.

That doesn’t seem very likely. Jaskier catches himself hoping it’s not.

Eventually he caves, heading to his room through the drafty corridors and down the crumbling steps, his hands sweating as he approaches Geralt’s room.

This time, it’s quiet. No panting or whispered words or sounds of carnal activity. That’s the tiniest bit disappointing, if he’s honest.

The door is open though, candlelight spilling out onto the floor. He looks in as he passes and Geralt is lounging on his bed, wearing a loose shirt which for some godsforsaken reason is unbuttoned all the way down, and a pair of trousers tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Jaskier inhales sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up, smiling coyly, and that’s an unnerving expression to see on his face. “I was hoping you’d pass by.”

“Oh? Right. Yes, well, here I am. And here you are. Though I see you’re, ahh, alone tonight.”

“Not any more. Not now you’re here.” Geralt’s eyes looks almost black in the flickering light.

“I suppose that’s technically true…”

“Did you like watching?” Geralt asks it so casually, like he’s discussing Jaskier’s wine preferences. “Last night, and the nights before?”

Jaskier swallows. He can’t very well deny it. “Yeah. I liked it.”

Geralt smirks. “I thought so. You want to watch again? Or, better yet, join in this time?”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jaskier that joining in could be an option. An image flashes through his mind: Geralt bend over, spreading himself for him, making those delicious noises as Jaskier warms him up. He feels light headed as all the blood in his body rushes southward. “You’d… like that?”

Geralt cups himself through his trousers, stroking the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric and making sure Jaskier sees what he’s doing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Jaskier is still standing in the doorway like an idiot when he hears footsteps and raucous laughter echoing down the corridor.

Eskel, Lambert and Coen come barreling toward Geralt’s room and Lambert gives him a wink. “Back again?” he asks Jaskier. “We were hoping you’d return.”

Coen claps him on the back. “Welcome to the team.”

They’re a team? Jaskier looks back to Geralt, who is leering at the four of them and playing with himself. Apparently, yup, they’re the let’s all fuck Geralt team now.

“Come on, Jask, don’t be shy,” Eskel smiles at him warmly. “I’ll show you how Geralt likes it. We’ll even let you go first.” Lambert scoffs at that but Eskel cuffs him round the back of the head. “Be polite to our guest for once in your life,” Eskel chides.

The three of them push past Jaskier and into the room, laughing and chatting, though Jaskier still stands frozen on the threshold. He looks back to Geralt, who has taken his dick out of his trousers and is ignoring the other wolves to stare at Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, quiet.

Geralt grins wickedly. “So very sure.”

Jaskier feels like he has been handed his life’s desires on a silver platter. His heart races, imagining everything he wants to do to Geralt, everything he can do now.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.

[a-pirate-my-hearties]

Yes, Captain (Darling Hook smutty one-shot)

Relationship: Adult Wendy Darling/Captain James Hook

Summary: Wendy Darling and Captain Hook are happily married. They lead a lavish, decadent, adventurous life, filled with all the wonders and riches Wendy has never thought she’ll ever experience. They also very enjoy their bedroom life spicy.

And Wendy enjoys to play this particular game with James very much.

Inspired by a certain quote from Marquis the Sade’s works.

Warnings: BDSM, whipping, bondage, swear words, anal fingering, anal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, vaginal sex, just if it's not clear - THIS IS NOT A TRIANGLE

I was not sure who feels comfortable added to the tag list so I haven’t tagged anyone in this - feel free to message me :) And enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Wendy was married and happy, and overwhelmingly so. With no one other than the infamous Captain James Hook. She didn’t care for the societal expectations, she stopped caring a long time ago. She’s discovered that only made it harder for her to pursue her own happiness. So she threw that away and instead accepted her wishes and desires.

Both emotional and sexual.

James accepted her and loved her for who she was. Wendy didn’t need to water herself down in any way. His fire matched hers. He loved her intelligence, fierceness, her wit. He craved her passion, her stubborness, her fire. He adored her vulnerability, her softness, her sweetness.

And Wendy reciprocated with all she had.

All his wounds and scars, be it physical or emotional, were safe with her. James trusted her with his life and loved her more that the life itself. After all, it was Wendy who saved him from the dark abyss of loneliness.

He tought her how to free herself from the bounds of others’ expectations. Being a pirate captain, James had a fare share of experience in taking what he wanted and never looking back; he tought her the freedom of choice, even if his own were ostensible in terms of Neverland’s existence. He tought her that her vulnerabilities are safe with him and she’s no less beautiful to him because of them; because Wendy accepted him whole, never ever felt repulsed by his deformity or his dark mind, what else could he do but embrace her in the same open, unashamed, loving way?

Their open trust and fire translated into their bedroom activities. Another thing that James tought Wendy were the pleasures of flesh that were somehow unconventional and not to everybody’s tastes. But to James’s delight, they were to Wendy’s. Oh how much they were.

~*~*~*~

Tonight they were about to play their little game and Wendy was shivering with excitement. James instructed her on how he wanted her to look when he came to her. Since their arrangement required bondage, Wendy needed to meet up with Luke first.

Luke was one of James’s and Wendy’s servants. Part of his work was unique in that sense that he would assist them in what was almost impossible for James to do with just one hand, since his hook was rather more useful for slicing than tying knots.

It was Wendy’s idea. At first James was jealous, but Wendy assured him with utmost care and love that it was all about being practical and nothing else. And she happened to pick just the perfect candidate.

Luke was a man probably in his early twenties. He had curly blonde hair, light green eyes and a charming smile. He and Wendy quickly became good friends and even James took a certain liking to the open, honest man. They soon both learned Luke wasn’t really interested in women, so James’s jealousy disappeared completely. They also realised he was quite experienced in what they both enjoyed, so not much lessons about tying ropes or respecting boundaries were needed.

Luke respected his master and mistress very much and soon he became more of a friend that a servant really. They could trust him with the most delicate matters and be sure they will be taken care of thoughtfully and attentively.

~*~*~*~

James passed Luke on his way to the main bedroom in the mansion, exchanging a knowing nod and look with his servant.

This was going to be delicious.

He opened the door, doing it deliberately slow.

There she was, his beautiful godess, her arms spread, tied to two of the posts of their bed, kneeling on the soft matress. She was wearing a thin, silk robe in pale pink over a lace cream corset, matching undergarments and stockings. She was also blindfolded, so she could only listen to him, pacing slowly towards her, making her breath quicken and her hearts race and he would only chuckle lowly at her reactions.

"Stunning.”, he murmured at her, already feeling a slight steering in her breeches at the sight in front of him.

Wendy’s breathing grew more and more shallow the closer he got. Finally he was there, his hand ever so gently brushing down her neck, between her shoulder blades, her lower back, before giving her buttock a firm squeeze.

She arched her back towards him with a moan, then gave a surprised, but delighted squeak.

James chuckled.

"Always so enthusiastic, always so ready to play”, he leaned close and whispered hotly in her ear, gently brushing away honey brown locks from her neck to plant the gentles of kisses there. Wendy moaned softly and exposed her neck more, and James slid her robe down slightly from her shoulder to gently bite at the crook of her neck and lick a stripe from her shoulder to her ear. He felt her shudder under his caresses and smiled against her soft skin.

"Patience, my pet. It’s a virtue. Don’t you think?”, he continued his ministrations on her other arm, before giving her left breast a light squeeze. She wasn’t wearing any bra and he was so hard already.

Wendy gasped, unable to form a proper thought, yet say anything.

James bit her on the neck gently, making her gasp again and move against her restraints. "I asked you a question, pet.”

She gave him a breathless "Yes."

"Yes, what?”, his tone was merciless, yet polite.

"Yes... Captain.”

He smiled. "Such a good, darling… girl.”

He stopped and turned away from Wendy. She whined at the lost of his touch. There was a moment of heavy silence, and Wendy’s anticipation and arousal were only growing with each passing minute. She wanted James to touch her again so badly. But she loved their game too much.

She was waiting.

A few minutes later he came to her and she felt him slide her robe down her body. Another moment and there was a slashing motion, a touch of cold on her side and Wendy felt her corset falling down on the floor. She was left only in her undergarments and stockings.

James looked at Wendy, his forget-me-nots eyes now darkened with desire. He fetched himself a bottle of red vintage, a glass, put it on the small table near the bed and pulled a chair so now he was facing Wendy’s exposed back. He also had a riding crop in his hand now.

~*~*~*~

Wendy was pracically shaking with desire already, gooseflesh on her skin from where James kissed, touched and bit her. Her knees were already getting a bit uncomfortable and her arms slightly strained, but she knew she needed to wait patiently just for a little bit longer.

She heard him opening a bottle and the pouring himself a glass of alcohol. He took a sip and Wendy figured out he must have sit close to her when she felt a flat, wide, leathery tip on her back. She smiled and arched under her restraints.

"So beautiful, so willing, and all only for me.”, she heard a smirk in his voice. Then suddenly he was close again and his fingers were teasing her sex. She let out a long moan of relief. "And already dripping wet for me, too.”, Wendy heard in his voice he was barely restraining himself, but she knew his self control. His fingers left her and she complained but then she felt the tip of the riding crop on her back and buttocks again.

"I’m going to whip you now, my darling. Remember that if at any time you want me to slow down or stop, you just have to say a word. What are your safe words?”

"Green for go, yellow for slowing down, red for stopping.”

"Very well, love. Let’s begin… Count each strike with me and thank me after each, do you

understand?”

"Yes, Captain.”

"Good girl.”

His first strike landed on her left buttock and was rather gentle. "One! Thank you, Captain.” The second was much harsher and elicited a gasp from her. "Two! Thank you, Captain.”

She felt him caress the irritated skin before striking again and leaving her almost breathless. "Three! Thank you, Captain!”

The fourth and fifth strike landed on her right buttock and were as gentle as the first but the sixth one almost made her scream „red!”. Almost. Tears swelled up in her eyes but she bore the hit well.

"S- six. Thank you, C-captain!”

"Are you alright, my darling? We can stop now.”

Wendy exhaled deeply. "I’m fine, love. Please continue. Green.” She felt him kiss and massage the irritated flesh tenderly before striking the other buttock twice in a row.

"Seven! Eight! Thank you, Captain!”

They went on until Wendy was almost breathless but she did well. Her legs were trembling when they were done.

"Th-thirty. Th-thank you, C-captain.”

"Oh my beautiful, darling girl. You are marvelous, do you know that?”, he whispered in her ear. His hand cupped one of her breasts, massaging the flesh, rolling her nipple gently. He licked the shell of her ear and she let out a long moan.

"When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings...”, he whispered, his voice hoarse with need, his hand sliding down her body, down her undergarments, "when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...”, he slid his fingers between her wet folds and bit her earlobe, eliciting a shameless moan from Wendy’s lips, "when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing...”, James slipped two of his fingers inside her and she rolled her hips violently, "mewling, buckling wanton whore” – the word was degrading, but he spoke it with such softness and love Wendy felt warmth in her heart – "enticing from within this feral lioness… growling and scracthing and biting… taking everything I dish out to her...” – his fingers were now on her clit, making lazy circles – "at that moment she is never more beautiful to me.”**

Wendy was in a daze. She could feel his fingers inside her, his need pressing urgently through his breeches at her buttocks, her knees were about to gave out and that’s when took his fingers out, slashed the ropes and took down the blindfold.

He caught her just in time.

"You’ve done beautifully, my darling girl.”, he kissed her forehead. "I must have you now.”

"Yes Captain.”, she heard herself say. "I want you...”

"Tell me what you want me to do, pet.”

"I want you to fuck me, Captain. I need you so badly.”

James smiled and Wendy felt even more wet. It was a hungry smile of a predator.

"Will you let me fuck your other hole today, pet?”

Wendy moaned. "Oh yes, please Captain. I want it.”

"Since you’re asking so nicely, pet… Undress me.”

~*~*~*~

James was barely able to control himself at this point. He dressed lightly, only in his red frilly shirt and black breaches and boots so it was easier for them to get out of the clothes right now. Wendy’s fingers were fumbling over his buttons, meanwhile he kicked off his boots and she practically tore his shirt off of him while he literally slashed her panties. He took her in his arms and layed her down, their lips crashing in a violent, passionate kiss. Wendy’s fingers tangled in his dark curls and tugged forcefully as he growled into her lips and pressed her even closer to him, his hook dug into the bed post not to hurt her.

"James, please...”, she whispered, her voice strained with desire and need.

He smirked at her and kissed her ravenously before reminding her, "you’re forgetting yourself, my pet.”

"I’m sorry, Captain”, her words came out a moan when he bit into the crook of her neck.

"I need to fuck you now, my darling pet. Just wait for me.”

He came back a moment later with a little bottle of oil. Wendy already layed with her legs spread for him, a hungry smile on her lips, her pupils blown wide, eyes shining.

James took out a bit of oil and put it on his fingers. Gently he massaged Wendy’s tight hole that clenched under his ministrations. Wendy’s let out a moan and closed her eyes.

"None of that, pet. I want you to look at me.”

Wendy opened her eyes, clouded with pleasure and looked at James. His blue gaze seemed to pierce her to the spot, entrace her everytime, hypnotize her.

She felt his finger slip inside.

"Oh fuck, yes. Yes, please, Captain. Please fuck me.”

He moved his finger slowly, teasingly, in and out and it was driving her crazy.

"More!”

"What’s the word, pet?”

"Please, Captain!”

He slipped a second finger inside and she almost sobbed but his pace was too slow for her, so she buckled her hips impatiently. He chuckled.

"I think that’s enough indeed”, he said and removed his fingers from her. She whined but just a minute later he was between her thighs, positioning himself at her tight hole, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

All composure finally lost, James intense gaze was focused on Wendy’s green eyes as he entered her slowly, and they both let out sounds of pleasure and relief. Wendy opened her legs wider and lifted them higher to allow him better access and put them around his back. His thrusts were slow, deep and sensual and his grunts and moans were music to Wendy’s ears.

Wendy’s ecstasy was apparent, as he felt her slip her hand down to pleasure herself by rubbing her clit and finger herself.

"Yes darling, touch yourself”, he breathed, picking up a faster pace, beggining to chase his own release. "Come for me, my love. Be a good girl and come for me.”

"Yes, Captain – ”, she moaned out between the sensations. James saw her like this before so many times and he knew and felt she was close. His thrusts were rough and fast now.

"Come for me!”, James’s voice was commanding, his thrusts merciless.

"Yes, Captain! Yes, oh yes, James, yes! Oh god!”, she came with a shameless cry, now clawing at his back, he hissed, surely she drew blood but he didn’t care as he came just moments later, spilling his seed deep inside her.

They were a breathless, panting mess now. James took a few steadying breaths before kissing Wendy’s forehead and rolling out of her. She was also spend, beads of sweat on her temples and breasts and the look of pure satisfaction of her face.

James thought she was absolutely exquisite.

"Thank you, James, my love.”, Wendy kissed him tenderly before laying her head on his chest.

He put his arms around her, careful not to cut her with his hook.

"You did so well, my darling girl. I love you.”

"I love you too.”

Soon they drifted off to sleep. After all, they had a busy night, didn’t they?

**A quote by Marquise de Sade.

[birbleafs]

[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he’d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into  his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him.  “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

[reidingandwriting]

You Had A Bad Day

Word Count: ~990 words

Ship: Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Bit of language, my lack of writing talent 😂

✨ Masterlist ✨

Today was the definition of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. You were already exhausted from the all-nighter you pulled to study for an exam first period, and that was only the start of your bad day. You spilled coffee on your new top on the way to school, you dropped your surprisingly heavy chem textbook on your foot, and you failed your exam you lost sleep over. To make matters worse, Flash was even more irritating today and you got in trouble for yelling at him. You may have said a few curse words. Just like, two. Okay, three. And all of that happened before lunch.

When Happy picked you up from school today, it didn’t take long for him to see you were in a bad mood. You forced out a polite but short greeting to Happy before you put your earbuds in, and you didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride home. You gave a half-assed nodof recognition to your dad on your way to your room, and Tony turned to face Happy.

“I have no idea what happened.” Happy spoke before Tony could. “I think she’ll be fine after some time to herself.” Unfortunately for you, your dad had other plans.

“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.” Tony spoke when he knocked on your door. “If you’re not down in ten, we’re leaving regardless of how you look.” You groaned when you heard his voice, knowing he would drag you out of the house in your pajamas if you weren’t downstairs when he wanted you. And half an hour later, clad in an oversized hoodie and leggings, you were seated across from your dad in a Denny’s booth. You scowled at your plate and Tony looked at you.

“Pretty sure glaring at your plate won’t help you eat.” Your narrowed eyes met Tony’s, and he held his hands up in surrender. “You do need to eat though, it won’t taste good cold.”

“That would be the cherry on top of the day I’ve had.” You muttered as you grabbed your fork and stabbed a piece of your eggs.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Talk to me about it.” Tony continued to eat after he spoke. “The floor is yours, kid.”

“Just teenage things, Dad.” You picked at your pancakes, eyes downcast again. “A lot of little things, it sounds stupid thinking about it.”

“If it upsets you, it isn’t stupid.“

“But it could’ve been-“

“It doesn’t matter what it could have been. Could it have been worse? Of course. But it was bad to you, and that’s what matters. Your bad days don’t have to be the worst ever experienced for your feelings to be valid.” You bit your lip and felt tears form in your eyes.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath before you explained everything- from the all-nighter, to the failed exam, to the verbal lashing you gave Flash. The whole time, your dad let you speak. He didn’t interrupt, nodded along as he listened, and failed to hold back a laugh when you repeated what you told Flash.

“That’s my girl.”

“Dad! You shouldn’t encourage me to cuss someone out. Even if they deserved more than that.” You started to smile and you took a sip of your drink.

“You’re right.” Tony slammed his hand on the table, a playful glint in his eyes. “You should not use such disgusting language, Y/N Y/M/N. Watch your damn profanity!” You snorted and Tony continued. “Who am I to discourage you? Freedom to express yourself is very important for teenagers. They go kind of crazy without it.” Tony made a cuckoo sign and you rolled your eyes. “I’m telling you, you’ve got a better moral compass than me. You could have punched him, and I honestly wouldn’t care.”

“Dad!” You and your dad both laughed, and he launched into a rant about how much he hates “that damn Flash brat”. By the end of the meal, your spirits had lifted completely, and you were so grateful for your dad.

“I hope you feel better, Y/N/N.” Tony’s arm was wrapped protectively around your shoulders as you walked to the car.

“Eh.” You teased and laughed when Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding. It was just what I needed, thank you.” You got in the passenger seat of the car, and an idea popped into your head. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Tony asked as he buckled up.

“You know what would make today even better?” Tony raised his brow. “I’ve always wanted to take one of the suits for a test run.”

“Of course that’s what you’d ask.” Tony glanced at you and tapped his chest. “Seatbelt.”

“Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? For me?” You put on your seatbelt and turned to your dad with a pout. “It’ll make my bad day better.”

“When Pepper ends me, I’m haunting you. Just so you know.” Tony started to drive home and you grinned.

“I’ll take my chances.”

~~~

“This is awesome!” You cheered as you flew through the air, Tony close behind you. “Wanna see me do a flip?”

“No!” Tony sounded so panicked you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at the little hologram of your dad in your helmet.

“I feel like I’ve aged ten years watching you, I might go into cardiac arrest if you start doing stunts.” You slowed down a bit, flying right by your dad’s side.

“Next time?”

“NO.” You opened your mouth to respond, until Pepper’s face popped up on your’s and Tony’s screens.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Pepper asked.

“I told Dad we shouldn’t have done this!” You blurted out.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Dad. Race you home. FRIDAY, more power to the thrusters, please.”

“Right away, Miss Stark.” And you flew off, your dad trailing behind you. Totally worth the earful you both got from Pepper.

Taglist: @daughter-of-stark​ @agent-barnes40​ @spideygirl2003​ @ditttiii​ @5aftermidnight​

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt. 1

a/n: I have been struggling with writer’s block because all I’ve been wanting to do was write about garbage man Overhaul. I have no idea how or when my simping for this man began T.T that being said, the words came flowing out when I started this XD

warnings: cursing, subtle flirting, nothing much happens since its only part 1

links: part 2

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

It was a rather fine Monday afternoon. Lazily drinking your coffee, you waved to the people who knew who you were. You weren’t part of the top ten heroes, no. Not even in the top 100 poll. Instead, with a quirk like yours, you chose to enter the police force. With a bit of training here and there, you mastered everything there was to and still managed to develop your quirk every two missions or so.

Now, you were sitting by the window. Waiting for your partner to arrive. He had called you in for a rather hasty meet up somewhere far from the precinct. With no details given, anything was possible when it came to Tsukauchi and his brain.

A blur of tan and green caught your eye. Turning to face the no longer vacant chair, you observed as he took off his matching hat and fixed his tie. His rectangular eyes greet you with sincerity but hints of anxiety at the same time. Something was about to happen, it was plain obvious.

“Well, good afternoon to you, Nao.” You gave him a cheers of your coffee before taking another sip. The bitterness of your beverage is ever so relaxing. “What can I do for my partner, hm?”

“You read me too well, (Y/N).” He chuckled. Taking a folder from his messenger bag, he placed it on the table and gave you permission to open it. The way he saw your eyebrows furrow only strengthened his hypothesis. “I can explain.”

“You bet your ass you need to explain.” You leaned on your chair. Heart racing a little faster now. Your eyes darting from the detective before you and the streets outside the window. Index finger tapping on your bicep as your arms instinctively crossed on your chest.

“I know this is familiar territory to you and I am sure that you are very much uncomfortable right now,” He began. The little shift in your seat caused guilt to eat him a bit. Seeing your eyes moving from one item to another made him question if this were the right choice. “But with considerable thought, you’re the only one who has a chance in turning this situation for the better.”

“Nao, I get where you’re going but there’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.”

“This mission is only up for 9 months. If you step down then someone else will take your place. With you being tied to the yakuza, the probability of having the time frame cut short is high.”

Ahh. The background-trump card. Of course the chief of police wanted to pull that off.

Before having entered the police force, you had been somewhat a part of the Abegawa Tenchu Kai group. Though the group had been put to an end, they had successfully managed to hide your father in a hidden pathway that none of the police had managed to find.

From there, he had slowly rebuilt it. Still enforcing the way of the yakuza, your father slowly came to realize just how little there was left of the yakuza. Secretly, he began to create ties with the police to ensure a bit of political immunity for his group. By the time you were born, things took a turn and the small organized crimes came to a halt.

When you gave him the news that you were joining the police force, he had let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the halls. Telling you it was ironic and certainly unexpected, he told you of the difficulties you would face but encouraged you the same.

“I know I’m tied up with them but having to fight another one would be difficult. You’re all too aware that the yakuza are a strongly knit group after they were disbanded one by one. Though I’m aware that the group mentioned is trying to take the lead, I would rather not be intertwined in a mess like this.” Your answer was stern but the look your partner gave you made things inconvenient. “Do not give me that look, Tsukauchi.”

“You won’t be alone in this. The plan is for you to talk to the Shie Hassaikai and use them as support for this one.”

“Lmao, what?” You held up your palm and shook your head with amusement. There was no way in hell you were about to create a bond with them. “D’you just hear yourself, Nao? Those people are whack and some are a lost cause already.”

“Overhaul is the current boss. Perhaps you can set a meeting with him and talk.” The way Overhaul came out of his mouth made him want to puke. It was a vile word, even for him. Yet, desperate times call for desperate measures. If low key teaming up with the Shie Hassaikai would put an end to the growing crimes the other group was causing, then so be it. “Just tell him that you won’t dig into his business.”

“You’re putting me in the hands of someone who could obliterate me in a matter of seconds.” You commented. Dragging the folder off the table, you tucked it into your bag and gulped the remaining amount of coffee. It’s taste now bland to you. “Wish me luck. I’m gonna be needing a lot of it.”

“I owe you a lot, (Y/N).” Tsukauchi thanked you while taking his coat and putting it on. Leading the way towards the exit, he opened the door for you and motioned for you to exit first. “Also, be aware that only a select group of people know about this arrangement.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed and waved goodbye.

Walking down the streets, your thoughts began to eat you up. If there was one thing your old man taught you, it was that the Shie Hassaikai had something going on beneath them. Of course, your father never gave any information as to what they did. All you could do was to respect his decision. He was still a yakuza after all. And despite what the people might think, the way of the yakuza wasn’t all that bad. At least when it came to morals of brotherhood, of course.

The screeching of tires caught your attention. A white carrier van came speeding through the road and took a rather sharp turn. It was probably 4 blocks from where you stood. You were off duty but still, trouble waits for no one. Cautiously, you jogged towards the location.

Not soon after, a small scale explosion made you wince. By now, you were running and saw the distressed people exiting the corner as a pillar of smoke started to climb towards the skies. Moving at fast speeds, you ended up bumping with a stranger with a black and gray mask on. His layered blue unbuttoned polo exposing his matching shirt. “Sorry, mister!” You apologized before turning around the corner. The look on his face was a little confused. You couldn’t blame him. Confusion was always part of the recipe of disaster.

You stopped running when you were met with dismembered and morphed bodies of the supposed to be criminals. Standing in front of you were 3 people. One with a large build, one who was slim but wore a hood, and the other with auburn hair. His dark green bomber jacket stood out due to the purple fur around the hood.

He seemed to be busy monologuing knowing he hasn’t killed you yet.

“And who might you be?” The voice seemed to be coming from above.

Not wanting to lose your sights on him, you watched as he turned around and faced you. His magenta bird mask on full display. His eyes still marked with the rage he had just let out a few moments ago. His golden eyes dug deep to your soul. It was scary to say the least.

Your heartbeat raced and your thoughts tried to come up with a logical explanation as to why you did not run away. When Overhaul took a step forward, you held your breath and opened your mouth.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you, Overhaul.” Your eyes followed as his surgical covered hands began to adjust his mask. The twitch in his eye bringing you one step closer to death. “I’m from the Abegawa Tenchu Kai.”

It was amazing to you. How you casually stated you were part of another group. Feeling the air shift around you, the person who had asked as to who you were was now standing beside you. The beak of his mask a mere inches from your face. You wanted to glare at him, but the real threat here was the one right in front of you.

“It’s not safe to talk here. The police are coming and it’s pretty obvious you don’t want any more dirt on your hands, yes?” You began to walk backwards and motioned for them to follow you. They could follow you or they could just brush it aside and move along with whatever business they had in mind.

When the same person who had been beside you just now talked to Overhaul, it was now clear who he was. Chronostasis. One of his indisposable pawns. You’ve heard of the stories surrounding these two.

“You have approximately 5 minutes to decide before they arrive.” You informed them. “I’ll wait in the corner in case you want to hear what I have to say.”

When a minute had passed, you were now face to face with the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and his companion. He probably let the rest go on ahead. Good. At least he was curious as to what in the world a random person would want them for.

“Speak before he changes his mind.” Chrono threatened you.

Unwavered by that, you began to walk. Thankfully, the sidewalk didn’t have that many people.

“I need your help. The Fukuo Kai group have been getting restless.” If they were still updated with the inside news, you hoped you wouldn’t have to explain the details. It was too tiring and time was of the essence.

“Who exactly are you, woman?” This time you heard his voice. It was oddly intoxicating. He was careful but made sure not to show it.

“I’m sure you can do a background check on me. I have no way in stopping you, I’m all too aware.” Rummaging through your bag, you took out a pen and paper. Jotting your number down, you handed it to Chrono. If the stories were right, he would freak out if you were to touch him. “If you want to talk about this more in your office, feel free to hit me up. But, no to kidnapping. It’s tiresome.”

Overhaul just stared at you. Calculating what to do next. Or how this would benefit him. Yes, he would surely ask some of his men to follow you around but with you being tied with the Abegawa Tenchu Kai, it was almost certain that you had henchmen following you around. Looking over at his masked companion, Chrono immediately understood that a background check would be done the moment they would step into the grounds.

“2 days. If no call, I’ll move on to the next people on my list.” You gave them a quick bow. There was no need to but he was who he was. The rumors being spread about him and his plans were most probably true. He at least deserved a half ass bow from you.

Knowing it was more than enough contact, you turned to the next corner and made your way back home. All too aware that the possibility of being followed was all too high. There were two ways you could go, you could go to your apartment or go home. None of that surely mattered with who he was and what he was capable of. Letting out a sigh, you went with the former.

By the time you arrived in your unit, you flopped on your sofa and threw your bag to the coffee table. Sinking further and further down, you flailed for a few seconds before composing yourself. Leaning towards your bag, you took out your phone and began to dial up a number.

“What can I do for you, (N/N)-chan?” The voice over the phone said.

“Is dad busy?”

“The boss is currently out of office. He’ll be back in a few hours. He shifted in his seat and felt a tad antsy. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah. Just miss the old man.” Giving him a chuckle, you sat straight up and pulled your bag closer towards you. Shuffling through the mess as you took the folder out. Placing it on your table, your eyes began to wander and skim through the pages. “Anyway, I gotta go. Tell him to call me back.”

When he gave his reply, the call ended and you immediately began to read the information more closely.

Hours had now passed and you ended up crashing on the couch. By the time you woke up, the room was now dark save for the city lights illuminating the walls softly. Stretching your limbs, you stood up and turned the lights on. It was painfully blinding but you adjusted quick enough.

Checking your phone for any messages, you tossed it back on the couch and grunted. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

With nothing else to do, you decided to get started with dinner.

Pasta and wine. That’s what you craved for. Not sure why but all the contents were now laid out before you. Preparation time would take around 30. Nothing too long or too fast, just right. Starting the labor, you began to heat up water in a pot and began to prepare the sauce.

Moving in a trance, the sound of your phone ringing caused you to jump. Wiping your hands clean with a tissue, you jogged towards the living room and stared at the unknown number.

‘Shit.’ You mentally prepared yourself. “(L/N) speaking.”

“I have been thinking about your offer.” He said over the phone. His voice a little muffled due to his bird mask, at least you presumed. “However, I would prefer if we talk about this in person. I would hate it if your phone was bugged and such.”

“What time are you free?”

“2 in the afternoon. I am aware that you know where we are located.” He replied. A tiny voice seemed to be yapping about in the background. The small voice seemed to stop and Overhaul continued. “If you’re late, then you’ll have to go through your list of people.”

Before you could respond, he ended the call. For someone who was rumored to be antisocial, he sure had a knack of being sarcasm. Who were you kidding, that wasn’t sarcasm.

Walking back to your kitchen, your mind was out of it as you continued making dinner. Your foot began tapping your tiled floor. What would happen tomorrow? Sure, you knew where they were situated but to be inside their headquarters? A chill ran down your spine.

In the task force, you were one of the people who were experts on reading people. Yet, the Shie Hassaikai leader was one person you would rather not read into. Sociopaths were usually textbook people but for someone who was whispered to be an antisocial sociopath? Your mind couldn’t comprehend what goes through his head.

Safe to say that you did not enjoy your dinner.

Time was now moving fast. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself at the gates of their headquarters. Last night, you fell into such a deep sleep that you barely had enough time to dream. With only another cup of coffee to keep you going, you knocked on the wooden gates and waited for entry.

The gates opened slightly. You were met with a random thug who didn’t wear a mask. He was wearing plain simple clothes but the look on his face told you he was definitely not happy to see you.

“I have some business with Overhaul.” You said plainly.

“Oh so you’re that woman.” Opening the gates a little wider, he watched as you entered. “Follow me, missy.”

The headquarter’s building was designed similar to your home. Traditional Japanese interior when you made your way through the front door. The tatami mats lined on the floor while the shoji screens littered every few steps.

The walking stopped and you were now face to face with Chrono. His mask present and his hood kept his hair hidden. The man who led you quickly bowed and left without looking back.

“Not the traditional meeting room?” You tried to joke. Met with only silence, you told him you were ready and he began to walk down the dimly lit path. Tailing behind him, you took note of the turns you had to take. For a while, it began to confuse you and realized that the sole purpose was for that.

It went on for quite some time before the halls were now lit properly and a double door was now facing you.

“Do I knock? Or do I just barge in?” You turned to be face to face with Chrono. A smirk landed on your face when he let out an unamused sigh. Before you knew it, he leaned and opened the doors for you.

Making your way inside, the decor of the room was nothing much. Two sofas parallel to each other with a table situated in the middle. A banner of their insignia hung proudly on the wall. Sitting on one of the couches was the reason why you were even down here.

Without his obnoxious bomber jacket, you had to admit that Overhaul looked pretty damn fine. Clean and proper. Taking a seat on the empty sofa, you leaned on to the back and shrugged your shoulders.

“Well, what do you wanna talk about?” You decided to start the conversation. In a way, it calmed your senses since the silence was deafening.

“What do I get in return?” His elbows rested on his knees. Tilting his head a little bit, he squinted his eyes ever so slightly. The horrible lighting of the room somehow made the golden trimming of his mask shine.

“You get to take their rank. You’re aware that the Fukoa Kai are pretty up there and surely you would love to have additional men behind your back.”

“And why would a police officer like you want to ask help from people like us? That’s a bit ironic now isn’t it?” Not a single movement save for his occasional blinking. “I’ve heard stuff about your lot. And it would definitely make things a whole lot easier. Besides, the chief of police saw it amusing by using me as a bridge. You’ve done your background check I presume?”

“(L/N). Daughter of the man who reestablished the Abegawa Tenchu Kai group from the dirt. Top ranking police officer despite having been born with the yakuza way.” He began to relay out. “Political immunity granted due to the old man pulling a few strings and helping the force every now and then. Such a shame his goal was patterned like that .”

Years of hearing that, you were now immune to those choice of words.

“If it calms your clammy hands,” You retorted. His eyebrows jumped a bit at how you raised your voice. “Only a few select people know about this. We plan to keep this on the low hence me meeting you. You won’t be meeting any of them, save for maybe one. But other than that, this would surely benefit you more than it would for us.”

“Tell me, (L/N).” He was now leaning on the back of the sofa. His head craned back to rest as well. You couldn’t help but wonder how heavy that mask was. Or what he was hiding underneath it. “Do you play shogi?”

Not expecting the question, you couldn’t help but giggle ever so slightly. Making sure that your hand partly covered the smile you were holding in. Tucking in a loose strand of hair, you lifted your chin and responded.

“I do but I’m not the best at it.”

“If I am satisfied with how you play, then we will commence whatever plan you have in your head.” He motioned for Chrono to get the board. “But, should I win, you have to add a few more privileges for my participation.”

“I’ll have to…” You had to cut yourself. Coming to a conclusion that your chief would surely decline it, you would just have to face the consequences of it later. “Sure.”

Watching as his companion laid out the board, you took the opportunity to observe what you could with the man sitting in front of you. His shoulders were broad and his face smooth. His eyebrows were quite unique as well. His lower lashes were eye catching, no doubt. Though his eyes were the money shot though. The dim lighting did no justice to the golden hues he were gifted with.

When his eyes met yours, he raised an eyebrow. You raised one as well. Furrowing his brows, you merely blinked lazily. Squinting your eyes, they slowly traveled down to his shoulders. Realizing that you were clearly checking him out, you jolted your sight once more and met his. The staring game was always fun for you knowing you don’t chicken out. When Overhaul finally broke connection, he gave you the liberty of ushering the first move.

The only sound that now echoed the room was the sound of your pieces being put into place. It was a rather intense game. For a while, he had managed to snag some of your powerful pieces but you managed to turn the table around by taking his as well. Chrono stared intently at the game. Seeing how his boss was now playing with his hundred percent was something he had not seen in a while. Looking at you, you were unfazed by the pressure of playing with the boss.

Little did they know that behind your poker face, you were panicking. The moves left were slowly depleting and you could only go on for a few more minutes. It was too obvious he was enjoying this. Deciding to play on defense, you picked up a tile and placed it where you intended it to be.

This exchange of moves went for a few more minutes before you finally saw the opportunity to grab his king. By now both of you had practically an equal amount of each other's soldiers. Though it would require you to sacrifice three pawns, the feeling for victory would probably be within reach in 5 moves.

5 moves later, you finally leaned back on the sofa. That had been one of the longest games of shogi you had ever played. Mentally, you were drained and hungry. The effects of the coffee had worn down 16 moves ago and you wanted to stuff down a hearty burger before you head to the precinct.

“When will the operation start?” Overhaul asked as he still stared at the board. Processing how he had just lost. Yet, he had to admit that your final moves were brilliant.

“I’ll give you a call.” You tossed the piece and he caught it with ease. His eyesight never tore from yours as he placed it back on the board. “But, I am in a rather good mood. The only add on I can give to you is that no snooping around will happen. Whatever it is you have planned in this maze of an office you have, I’ll have nothing to do with it. I’m here for one purpose and one purpose only.”

“Then so be it.” He accepted the offer. “If there’s nothing else-”

“How heavy is your mask?” You blurted out.

Both men in the room were rather speechless at the sudden question. Even you were surprised. That had simply been a thought but your mouth seemed to move faster than your brain could comprehend. Perhaps it was the hunger taking over.

“You don’t have to answer that.” You looked away and stared at their banner. Shame and embarrassment creeping into you. “But, yeah. There’s all there is to it.”

Once again, you were back to the winding halls. You didn’t bother memorizing the area knowing full well you were bound to go back. When the traditional walls were within sight once again, all you could think of was the exit and the nearest hamburg shop.

“What’s your quirk?” Chrono suddenly asked.

“Thought you’d already know by now.” You replied.

“It was marked as classified information no matter how deep we dived into the systems. Did you pay for the secrecy?”

“Nope. Well, maybe.” You were now facing the entrance. Chrono was still waiting for an answer. “I’ll tell you when the time comes. But, it has something to do with health. So if it makes your boss any less worried about the germs I carry, I’m clean.”

Waving a farewell, you walked and exited yourself away from the building.

Taking your phone out, you searched for the nearest hamburg store and began to walk your way. It was only a few blocks away so it wouldn’t hurt to exercise your legs. Glancing at the time, you were shocked that 2 hours had passed in that meeting. It felt too fast but perhaps it was the shogi that took up most of the time.

Realizing that you had to send updates to your partner, you searched for his contact and hit dial. He answered after the second ring.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” The typing of his keyboard was evident and you recalled just how many other cases he had under his care.

“It’s a done deal. But, I had to cave in with his one demand.” Letting him digest what you had just shared, you heard the creak of his office chair. A sigh followed after. “We are not to meddle with his affairs. One purpose and that’s it.”

“Well, at least it’s not much. And another team is currently doing that as well. Still, as expected from my partner.” He praised you. “How’d you do it?”

“I beat him at a game of shogi.” You couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of him realizing he was in too deep to pull himself out of the corner. “Anyway, I’ll be eating lunch. Want me to bring you something?”

“Daifuku will do.”

“Got it.”

Ending the call, you scrolled down through your contacts once more. Hitting up the dial button, you finally arrived at the food chain. The ringing still killing your ears. When the waitress handed you the menu, you were put into voicemail.

“Gei. Pick me up when you get this.” Placing your phone on the table, you called the waitress and told her your order. It would take 15 minutes for your food to arrive and that meant you had 15 minutes to dig around what you could about Overhaul.

Scrolling through news articles, there wasn’t a lot of coverage about him. As expected from a young yakuza member. How old was he anyway? Remembering how you asked him about his mask, you face palmed and scolded yourself.

The screen changed and Gei was calling you. A smile found its way to your lips. “Whattup girrrl?!” Your friend greeted you. His voice pitchy as always and you were positive he was moving his head with every word.

“Just finished a meeting with someone and was wondering if you wanted to crash by my place tonight?”

“Say no more boo. Imma bring some chips, a tub of ice cream, and the glorious wine!” His happiness was contagious. With such a tension filled job, it was a miracle Gei and you became friends. “What’s the occasion baby girl?”

“Uh, just the usual.”

“Ooh~ Is this a red wine situation or a moscato problem?”

What kind of problem was it anyway? If you replied red, it would mean work trouble. If you went with moscato, it would be a mix of work and relationships.

“I guess both?”

“Well! Lemme take my purse and rush to the convenience store! You better spill the beans (N/N).”

“I will~” You said farewell and he made sure to send kisses over the phone. Ever so flamboyant, your friend was. Yet, despite his personality, you knew that Gei would always be there for you no matter what. Of course, with him being your loud best friend, it was a given that you would do anything for him as well.

Your food was now served and you downed it in just 10 minutes. A new record, if you said so yourself. Wrapping things up, you took the daifuku and went your way towards the precinct. Wishing you had taken your car, you called for a taxi and took a quick nap.

[jonathananubian]

Cuun Tracinya [SWs Fanfic]

I’ll only be posting the first chapter here. The rest will be on AO3.

Synopsis: Kote was raised to believe the jedi were near gods of infinite power who only accepted the best of the best. But when he meets an injured soft eyed man with coppery hair and a sweet smile- he realizes that jedi are more fragile than he'd been led to believe.

Something about this man, his gentle sincerity, endless kindness, and fiery determination, calls out to him. Calls out to all of the vode. They were told they were created for the jedi. But Kote can't help but thinking that maybe... it was the jedi who were made for them.

Tags: Alien biology, Taung ancestry, obsessive and possessive behavior, dubious morality, clone culture and pack dynamics/hierarchy. Characters: Obi-wan, Cody, Rex, the 212th Pairings: Obi-wan/Cody, Obi-wan/Rex, Obi-wan/212th Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782984/chapters/65336146

The first thing they learned as cadets was that they were made for the Jedi. All powerful and aloof beings that would find them wanting if they weren’t good enough, fast enough, strong enough, or smart enough. The second thing they learned was what happened to those who didn’t make the cut. The brothers who disappeared one cycle and never returned. The ones with the wrong color of hair or eyes, the ones who had trouble learning, the ones whose hands shook when they whispered late at night ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Nothing but the best would do for the Jedi.

Rising through all of that was a near impossible task and yet some vode found solace in the struggle, in the challenge. Kote was one of them. Jango himself had named the future clone commander after a particularly nasty test called the Gauntlet. Kote had stood tall against the challengers and held his position at the top, never allowing a single vod or even trainer to unseat him. He was moved straight to the command track the next day.

As they grew they were introduced more and more to the idea of Jedi and what serving the Republic would be like. Soldiers, they were, and fighting was in their blood. But something struck Kote as odd. What he could find of the Jedi painted them not as war heroes but as some kind of peace keeper. He began to wonder why the Jedi, powerful beings of near limitless power with the ability to move things with their mind, would need an army. If one of them was worth an entire battalion… then why were there battalions to begin with?

The first time he saw a Jedi he knew immediately who and what they were. Brown robes, soaked from the rain, and pale skin that could barely be seen from under the wide hood. A thrill of anticipation ran through him. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know.

Then the hood came down and he froze. Copper locks, the likes of which he’d never seen before, and liquid blue eyes that made his heart speed in his chest. “Huh, Stewjoni. Don’t see that every day.” Two of the trainers had been doing a review of the troops, pitting them against each other in some sort of game to see how well they could think on the field. Both of them stopped to watch the Jedi as they passed. “Wonder how the Jetii manage to keep them away from all the slavers. Stewjoni are a rare breed.” Kote’s eyes followed the Jedi until they were out of sight- he needed to do research.

Stewjoni, it turns out, were a race of near-humans who were known for their high fertility and advanced adaptability. They could survive, and even thrive, almost anywhere. Them being a Jedi just made all the more sense to him now. And yet… the Jedi had looked so small next to the Kaminoans. There was something almost meek and gentle about them that made Kote frown in concern. He hoped he would be able to see them again and ask all the questions burning a hole in his mind.

Kote, and a large chunk of the command class, had never really put much stock in the Force or the Manda the trainers occasionally spoke about. So when he came across the Jedi again on his way to a class he was stunned still for a moment. The Jedi, who really needed a name, leaned against the white walls as if trying to keep themselves standing. Their cloak was gone and their uniform was soaked through, as if they’d decided to take a swim in the raging ocean below. Their hair was almost the color of blood and there was a bruise on their cheek. Kote started when he realized they were wounded.

“Sir!” The Jedi turned to look at him and fear crossed their face for a moment before it was hidden behind a blank mask. Kote knew that expression well and it shocked him to the core to see it one someone who was supposed to be his superior. “Let me help you to medical, Sir.” He said quietly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture often used on the more skittish of the young cadets. The Jedi gave him a small smile, trying to wave him off.

“Oh, no, I am perfectly fine. No need to see a medic. I’m only catching my breath.” They looked up at him, straightening, and Kote was surprised to find the Jedi was smaller than he was. Not by much, but it was enough. Funny, he’d never thought they would be smaller than he and his brothers. “Your, um, template?” The question was tentative, as if the Jedi wasn’t quite sure how to ask.

“The Prime.” Kote answered easily enough, liking the way the Jedi’s expression softened to appreciation.

“Ah, yes, thank you. The Prime, that is Jango, and I had a bit of a disagreement. I’m afraid my ship was utterly destroyed before he tossed me into the ocean.” There was a lightness to their voice, a hint of humor. It almost made him ignore the statement itself. Almost.

“The Prime did what!?” The Jedi shrank back slightly, as if worried about his reaction to the news. Honestly Kote was surprised he could read the nearly inexistent body language, especially with the loose clothing they were wearing. But there was something so expressive about their eyes, something that drew him in. “Sir, please at least let one of my medics check you over.” Knowing that the Jedi were supposedly mind readers he tried to force sincerity and concern into every single word. The Jedi shuddered slightly and licked his lips before slowly nodding. In relief Kote reached out and took the Jedi’s nearest arm, putting it over his neck and slipping an arm around the Jedi’s back to help him walk.

“This is completely unnecessary, you… ah.” Kote looked down at them when they faltered, finding the slight flush of their skin to be endearing. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.” Kote frowned slightly.

“Sorry, Sir. I am CC-2224.” There was a very pointed silence for a moment that he could almost feel. The hand over his shoulder clung even harder to his armor for a moment. “Or… you could call me Kote, if you prefer.” It was a risk, a gamble. There was no reason to believe a Jedi would care about something so simple as a name. Yet the relieved smile he received was enough to make his tense shoulders relax.

“Thank you for trusting me with your name, Kote.” The Jedi blinked for a moment, then frowned. “Is it Cody, or Glory? Like Darasuum Kote?” Hearing the Mando’a fall from their soft lips so easily made something light up inside him, something he couldn’t explain or control. He had to swallow hard past the sudden lump in his throat in order to reply.

“Bal kote, darasuum kote.” He murmured, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

“Suvarir. Kote it is.” They paused and a sheepish look crossed their face. “My name is Obi-wan Kenobi, He/Him, I am a Knight of the Jedi Order.” Kote tilted his head, wondering what that was in terms of rank. The Jedi were supposed to be their Generals, so he suspected it was something in that vein. He also didn’t miss how the Jedi had labeled himself as male, or at the very least using male terms. Kote would have to be sure to use them. Some of the trainers got particularly incensed when you messed up and called them by the wrong term.

As they walked further into Tipoca city every brother they passed quickly snapped to attention, trying desperately to hide the surprise and glee at finally seeing a Jedi in their midst before realizing that he was hurt. Even without looking Kote could just feel the sudden worry and concern, like a tangible sensation against his skin. Under his arm the Jedi shivered, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from the thoughts of his brothers around them. Eventually he sat them down in a common area and barked for a medic. The battalions had been assigned for half a year now, so everyone already knew their place. Where Kote went the rest of his battalion wasn’t far behind. So it wasn’t really a surprise when Stitch practically materialized next to them and began to fuss.

“Sir, what happened to you?” There was a hush as the clones waited to hear the Jedi speak. Kote already knew what his voice sounded like and even he was excited to hear that voice once again. The Jedi looked around at them wide eyed and politely cleared his throat.

“As I was telling Kote on the way here. I had a… disagreement with the Prime.” He glanced to Kote, as if trying to gauge whether he’d said it right. Kote gave him a small nod of acknowledgment and the Jedi continued. “We fought and my ship was destroyed. I ended up in the ocean, it was all quite unpleasant.” The hushed anticipation turned to awe. Even with their superior genetics none of them had ever been able to go toe to toe with the Prime. The fact that the Jedi didn’t have any broken limbs or was bleeding out all over the floor was impressive to say the least.

Stitch tugged at the Jedi’s clothes and got an annoyed look in response. The medic just scowled imperiously. “Sir, I can’t check you over properly unless you remove your… tops.” They weren’t quite sure what to call the loose cloth that covered the Jedi but it was obviously in the way. Seeing no objections, no one to back him up, the Jedi let out a sigh and finally complied. Kote tried not to stare at the pale scarred flesh, only focusing on the spreading yellow bruise over his right side. For the first time in his life he felt a small pang of jealousy as Stitch ran careful fingers over pale skin.

“Sir, you have at least three cracked ribs, multiple contusions, and a twisted ankle. I can administer a pain killer and some bacta, but that’s the best I can do at this time. I’m only a medic.” The Jedi smiled and shook his head.

“Really, there’s no need, I’ll be f-”

“What’s all this?” An unwanted voice called into the quiet moment of awe. Kote clenched his fists even as he straightened in response to a voice that he had been taught to obey. Sergeant Priest shoved past the troopers milling about. The man stopped once he could finally see the Jedi and his face contorted with disdain. “Jetii!” He hissed, reaching for his weapon.

Without a second thought three of the vode tackled the training sergeant to the floor. It didn’t matter if they were scared of him, it didn’t matter that he had a weapon and they had none, Priest had attempted to attack the Jedi. The Jedi who had been wounded in a previous fight and was sitting there amongst them, looking small and vulnerable. All of their instincts kicked in as the need to protect the Jedi took over.

“Get off of me!” The sergeant growled, trying to kick and punch the vode who were holding him down. The Jedi rose from the bench and moved closer to the struggling men. Kote wanted to reach out and stop him but found himself rooted to the spot when those blue eyes darkened to a stormy gray. Priest stopped moving and glared up at the Jedi. “You’re Kryze’s pet jetii, dar’manda whore!” He spat, face reddening with anger and strain. The Jedi stiffened in surprise before reaching out a hand and holding it above the sergeant’s face.

“Sleep.” Sergeant Priest shook his head vigorously, though his struggles were becoming weaker. “Go to sleep.” The Jedi wasn’t loud or even particularly forceful but there was something firm in his voice that felt unnatural, otherworldly. Priest’s eyes rolled back slightly before he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Whatever he’d done had rendered the man no longer a threat. The vode who had been holding onto him relaxed and slowly got up.

“Sir, we’ll see to it he’s locked up.” The Jedi smiled, though he wavered slightly on the spot.

“Thank you. I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.” There was a pause and a sigh. “I didn’t think that Jango Fett would allow Kyr’tsad anywhere near him, let alone allow someone like that to train his…” He shook his head almost sadly before he seemed to remember he had an audience.

Now that the danger was over there was more than one vod whose eyes were slowly trailing over his still unclothed chest and back. The Jedi’s face flushed beneath his beard and he shuffled nervously on his feet for a moment. “Sir, sit down and let me do my job. You need bacta. I’m worried about that sprain.” Thankfully Stitch was a persistent bastard of a vod and quickly hustled the Jedi back to the bench.

“Kote!” Turning he spied his favourite brother and smiled. Rex was a little winded, he’d probably run the entire way. Skidding to a stop next to him his brother opened his mouth to ask a question but stopped. His eyes had continued onward toward the odd splash of color in their midst and suddenly whatever his brother had meant to ask was gone to the void. Rex’s mouth hung open as he gaped at the half naked Jedi. Kote nudged him with an elbow and Rex shook for a moment, as if pulling himself out of a daydream.

“Is that-” Kote nodded.

‘Jedi. Mine. Get your own.’ It was only meant to be a playful jab, a throwaway joke, but something deep in his mind curled around the idea, clinging to it. The clones had been made for the Jedi, of course they would belong to them. But… why? Why did they need the clones if they were so powerful? He knew the Kaminoans were constantly lying, during testing, during class. Even the training sergeants disliked and distrusted the Kaminoans. So why should they blindly believe-

His brother responded by slapping him on the back of the head, which immediately broke through his thoughts. He glared at Rex, who gave him a cheeky smirk in return.

“Oh, hello there.” That soft voice called out to them. Rex turned to look at the Jedi and froze, expression carefully blank. Kote knew he was worried what the Jedi would think of him. After all the strict training and harsh testing Rex had been through, solely due to the color of his hair, he knew his brother was expecting to be found wanting. Even if he was one of the most talented vode.

“Sir.” Rex said, sanding at attention. The Jedi’s smile faltered slightly for a moment but it quickly returned.

“Who might you be?” Rex glanced at Kote, who signed a quick ‘designation,’ at him. His brother took a breath.

“CT-75-” The Jedi waved his hand in the air and Rex’s mouth shut with a snap.

“Oh, no, I… if you happen to have a name you prefer? I would be more than happy to use it.” Kote watched Rex as his brother digested the Jedi’s words before giving a slow, wary, nod.

“Rex.” The smile his brother received was one that Kote would be unable to forget as long as he lived. It was like seeing the sun for the first time.

“Oh thank the force! Please, if you all have names I would be honored to use them. None of this numbers business.” He faltered slightly, looking around. “Unless of course you prefer your numbers, in which case I will honor your decision and do my best to remember.” It was like a shock wave went through them. No one had ever told them they had a choice before.

“Thank you, Sir.” The Jedi looked up at him oddly, a slight frown on his lips.

“For what, Kote?” Stars, he could get used to hearing his name in that soft lilting voice.

“For using our names.” For giving them the choice to use them. A fierce look came over the Jedi and he stood, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s what you all should have had from the beginning. You are all sentient beings with your own thoughts, feelings, and preferences. Each and every one of you shines differently in the force. You may look alike on the surface, Kote, but you are all unique.” A hush fell over them all as he spoke. There was a fire inside the Jedi that touched something within them, setting the tinder in their souls aflame.

“Sir.” Kote said, stepping closer and giving a proper salute. “We are at your command.” His, and no one else’s. Kote had already decided. This Jedi was his and he would kill anyone who tried to get in his way.