#i refuse to look up what power armor looks like before drawing it thank you very much

[theraddestcowboy]

power armor in 4 was SO HYPE and my character would hate wearing it SO MUCH

[dearchilde]

Look At You Go (I Just Adore You)

summary; sparring with the commissioner. a few shenanigans happen, but it's all in good fun.

pairing; kamisato ayato x gn!reader

warnings; mutual pining, sparring, teasing (on both ends), slight jealousy, slight angst (just a sprinkle), once again reader has a cryo vision, and fluff.

…ᘛnotes; I've read so many ayato fics just to understand his character, so I hope I did him some justice! this was inspired by @celestair whose post made me get off my ass and write for someone else that wasn't diluc or kaeya.

“Perhaps you need to work on your posture.”

“My posture is great, you just lack providing me the thrill of excitement that I'm looking for,” You retorted, blocking another swing of Ayato's sword with your own. He was still holding back for the sake of the rules of the spar. It wasn't a rare sight to see you in the courtyard with the Head of the Kamisato Estate. The two of you would meet up often, sometimes together as friends, other times to spar.

You twist your sword in your hand, a bit of cryo mist emitting from the blade. “Come on, Commissioner,” you taunt with a grin. “I thought you were competent enough to take this seriously, are you not?” He meets your words with a sly smile of his own. The spar continues.

Sword meets sword, the two blades clash together in an almost rhythmic pattern that soothes your ears. The whole world was but a mere blur to you, keeping your focus solely on Ayato and his blade. Dodge. Block. Attack. Use your surroundings to catch him off-guard. That's it.

You throw your entire body to the ground, just narrowly avoiding what could've been a cut to your cheek. Above you, Ayato smirks at your sandy figure, “You seem distracted down there. Have you yielded?” You could almost howl in laughter at the mere suggestion. Surrendering was never a valid option, not to you.

It doesn't help that Ayato's words seem like they're mocking you. Your spars always ended in a draw between the two of you, so you refuse to hand over a win that you could easily turn in your favor. Screw your crush on this handsome man, someone needs to knock that grin off the Commissioner's face.

Much to his surprise, Ayato watched with curious eyes as you all but tossed your sword to the side, tightening his grip on his own weapon. You were a very curious person by nature, and it wasn't rare for you to experiment various ways to improve your combat during these spars. Ayato will admit, your willingness to try new things is what makes these spars very enjoyable—likeable, so what could you be planning now?

It was a new experience, definitely not one you were going to shy away from. You tapped into your vision, feeling it's coolness throughout your body. Focus on where you want the power, whether it be offensive or defensive, the vision will shape itself into what you want it to be, Thoma's voice rings through, his advice two weeks from when you received your vision still resonating with you.

“Follow through with it,” You look up to see Ayato's encouraging smile being directed at you. His sword was lowered, as if he was aware of the breakthrough you were about to make. Despite your questionable "friendly rivalry" with each other, you respected Ayato and Ayato respected you. “You can do it.”

Had it been in any other situation, you likely would've been restraining yourself from proposing to him on the spot. Right now, however, you could only thank him for understanding and helping you through this mid sparring. You nodded at him in gratitude, finding that your Ayato-focused thoughts had caused something to happen while you weren't paying attention. It was kind of difficult to notice since he was wearing white sleeves, but your cryo was easily distinguishable to your sharp eye.

It happened before Ayato himself could realize. One moment he had been urging you on, the next both of his arms had been encased in cryo energy. How interesting, he mused, admiring the armor like layer in fascination. He flexed his hand to test its tensile strength, noticing how the cryo didn't particularly feel cold at all. The shell was a little stiff, but movement was still possible. It wasn't long before the cryo protection shattered, disolving into mist that disappeared back into the air. That lasted seven seconds, minium.

He saw you jump in the air after a pregnant pause, excitement and joy painted on your face. “That was totally unintentional!” You exclaimed, startling a few guards stationed by the entrance who shot you some glares. Ayato felt the corners of his lips slowly curl into a smile, finding that your happiness was very infectious. This was another aspect of your presence that he felt fond of.

Naturally, your sounds of excitement drew in the attention of a certain pair that were just arriving from a few errands. As if sensing their mere presence, you turn towards the two with such speed it was a surprise you didn't pull a muscle. “Thoma, Thoma! You won't believe what just happened!”

“Must've been good if its got you this happy,” The blonde chuckled, and then you went off on a tangent while the two siblings watched on the sidelines.

Ayaka lowered her fan to chuckle at the two of them, turning her attention over at her brother. He was staring at you with rapture, arms crossed and an awfully fond smile that seemed out of character of him. This was the first time Ayato had ever been like this, and it was pretty clear as to why it was. Ayaka wasn't going to let an opportunity like this fly by.

She flicked her fan closed, snapping the elder out of his daze. He schooled his expression to one of his usual masks, but still maintaining that familiar smile he always wore when it was just the two of them. “Ayaka, welcome back. How was your trip?”

“Quite pleasant, yes. However, we shouldn't discuss about me,” She discreetly nudged his arm, a cunning smile that seemed out of character of her adorned her features. Ayato seemed almost proud at that, “It seems like you harbor some feelings for them, brother. It's written all over your face.”

Ayato kept his composed mask. “I must be doing something wrong if even my little sister has gotten wind of this,” he said, a gentle laugh pouring out of his lips. “But I find it useless to try and hide these feelings, so if you were planning on playing matchmaker, I'm afraid it won't work. They are aware of my feelings as I am aware of theirs.” Ayaka rose her eyebrows at that, redirecting her gaze over at you only to do a double-take over what she just witnessed.

Ayato, who had been interested to see her reaction, turned to look at what got her so surprised, only to feel his previous smile grow rigid and tense. There you were embracing another man—Thoma, to be more specific. His Retainer had his arms around you, seemingly praising you for whatever you two were previously discussing. What was worse was that you were hugging him as well, thanking the blonde profusely for what, Ayato didn't have the slightest clue.

Normally, this wouldn't have bothered him this greatly. Thoma and you were friends, too. It was normal for friends to share intimacy, so why was this bothering him so much? Ayato despised this ugly feeling that bubbled in his chest, but alas, like he had practiced for so many years, he kept a cool composure and cleared his throat. Thoma, sensing the rather tense atmosphere emitting from the man, swiftly released you with a placating smile. You glanced over at Ayato, clear suspicion in those slightly narrowed eyes of yours.

Ayato moved on as if nothing had happened, “Thoma, can you go fetch them a glass of water? Our spar must've tired them out greatly.”

Thoma nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”

Ayaka couldn't help but stifle a giggle behind her hand. He couldn't hide that jealousy even if he tried, and it was evident that you had picked up on it like a hawk as well. Surely this would quicken the process of the two of you getting together, right?

She flashed you a kind smile, “Anyway, I must excuse myself, unfortunately. Our trip seems to have exhausted me greatly, I hope you don't mind.”

You returned the gesture, bidding her a good rest as she retreated to her quarters. Now, you were left with a smiling Ayato, who seemed determined to not address his sudden interruption. “Cat got your tongue, Kamisato Ayato?” You teased.

“No, but it seems like it was caught by something else, though it seems like it ran away unfortunately.”

Walking over to him, you lightly poked his shoe with your own, your soft expression soothing his previous jealousy. “Thoma's a friend, you know? He's helped me with my vision a great deal, so it's only natural I thank him for his efforts.” Ayato sighed, allowing himself this momentary vulnerability with you. Something he wouldn't have done with you before.

“Trust me when I say it won't happen again. I despised the feeling, and it wouldn't be fair to you when I haven't even...” His sentence trailed off, but you knew what he wanted to say. There was a reason the two of you haven't gotten together despite your obvious feelings for each other. For starters, your drive to improve your battling skills. This required you to move around from location to location, so you were never one to stay in one place. Inazuma was your homeland, so you would occasionally settle in for a while to rest your weary bones.

The Kamisato Estate had become some place you could call "home" after losing your own family. The loss wasn't something you dwelt in for too long, because soon after you had received your vision and it had inspired you to learn new things. Improving yourself was your utmost priority, hence why you wouldn't allow yourself to completely settle until you could rebuild your family name on your own. This was one of the first few things you told Ayato when you met him, and he respected your decision.

You let out a deep breath, the slight gloomy atmosphere that had hung over the two of you leaving with it. You were learning, so it was only natural, “Hey,” Ayato regarded you with a leveled stare. That was fine, you just needed to reassure him even if he didn't need it. Sticking out your hand, you wiggled your fingers, a teasing smile on your face as he tentatively placed his hand over yours, “Look at the Commissioner acting like a puppy learning his basic commands~”

“Don't get used to it, you merely have me in a mellow mood at the moment. Besides,” You let out a startled gasp as he pulls you towards him, crashing on to his chest with a deadpan glare as he gazed into your eyes with mirth. “This little puppy deserves a treat after what you subjected him to today, don't you think?” You lightly shove him away, the urge to hit him growing when his laughter reached your ears.

“You owe me another spar for that. Get your sword, Ayato, we're going again.”

He smiled. “Why, of course. Who am I to refuse such a request?”

Do Not Plagiarize/Copy to Another Site.

[darless]

Jean/Barbara x Brother!Harbinger Reader

req- well hewwo!

can i request agnst? like(platonicaly!) barbara and jean x brother!harbringer!reader? How would they react that their brother is one of the fatui harbringers and also they're gonna fight (+reader is using fool legacy like sauce tartar)

SAUCE TARTAR PLS

also i can’t write fighting scenes for shit so. sorry 🏃

cw - fighting scene, male!reader, reader’s delusion is electro.

beta’ed by @/losing-vienna ! (ty <3)

You and Barbara, being closer in age, were best friends growing up.

Both of you looked up to Jean, and both wanted to do great things just like her.

Jean always rambled to you about the Fatui when they caused problems, making you go out and confront them.

Instead of what you planned, Signora saw the potential in you, the power. She recruited you, telling you with your help they can make Teyvat a better place under Tsaritsa’s rule.

You were more then happy to join, climbing the ranks quickly to Harbinger.

Your vision-wielding was already powerful, so when Tsaritsa boosted it you felt almost like an archon yourself.

The power corrupted you enough to not care about the Fatui’s violent ways, focused only on getting all the nations under her control.

Neither of your sisters knew, so when Barbara saw you talking to the Fatui members at the Goth Hotel, she chalked it up to your friendliness and walked over

She was thoroughly confused when she heard you giving them orders, before the realization struck that you, her dear brother, was part of the corrupted force.

Barbara ran to Jean’s office before she could even think, blurting out what she saw the moment the door opened.

They, after talking and looking more into proof you were a harbinger, confronted you at Starsnatch Cliff.

They tried to convince you to quit, but you refused, a heated argument starting

You weren’t sure who started the fight, but it happened.

You slashed your weapon at Jean with anger she had never seen from you before, just barely blocking it with her sword. Barbara squeaked from the side, tending to the smallish wound on her arm from you as she tried to help her big sister.

Jean dodged another attack, only defending against you,

“Please, {Name!} Lets talk about this! I don’t want to hurt you!” She fell back at one attack, your weapon drawing blood from your sister’s leg and earning a gasp of pain from her. Barbara started to move over quickly before Jean put a hand up, using her sword to pull herself up.

“The Fatui are evil, {Name.} You can still leave. You can still stop- you don’t need to help them!”

You stepped back, eyes hard

“Evil? I’m doing this for us, Jean! You won’t have to work as hard when Tsaritsa is ruling - both of you can rest!”

Barbara spoke up, eyes wide and tear-filled “Please, {little/big} brother. You aren’t like this, you shouldn’t have this power.”

“You don’t see it yet, but you will, sisters. I’ll bring prosperity and peace to Teyvat and you’ll thank us.” You activated your delusion, and they watched as armor surrounded your growing body.

Both your normal vision and electricity surrounded you, and you lunged at Jean. She rolled out of the way quickly, blocking another attack as Barbara sent some supports. You sighed

“I didn’t want it to come to this. You’ll be thankful someday.”

With a burst of electro energy, you sent Jean flying off the edge and leaving her just barley saving herself with a sword embedded into the mountain side. Barbara gasped, running over to help her sister. You watched as she pulled the injured woman up, both staring at you.

“{Name}…” Barbara trailed off, now crying.

You held up one hand, silently turning and walking off. You’ll make it up to them by making sure they have everything they need in the New World. Neither of your sisters should raise a single finger, you just need to work harder to get to this proclaimed world.

[bloodycassian]

Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!! 

Prompt -  Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them!  You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person.  Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively.  Cassian grabbed Az's wrist.  He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly.  He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?"   The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning.  + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit.  Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground.  Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower.  You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade.  + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance.  The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it.  "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt.  "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down.  "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb.  "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory.  "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away.  Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics.  "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug.  + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay.  The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child.  The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..."  Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.  You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options.  You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade.  "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air.  "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him.  A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been.  The thought hit you like a well placed punch.  He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home.   His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over.  You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out.  You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader."  Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile.  "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow.  "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again.  He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days.  "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused.  "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped.  + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket.  "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first."  Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps.  "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings.  The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect.  You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips.  You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child."  "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics.  He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering.  He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot. 

[phoenixyfriend]

#9 “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” with Obi-Wan & Jango & Satine? (... or Obi-Wan/Jango/Satine, I'm not picky)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Oh, I'm going to make this deeply stupid and AU because I got struck by a plot bunny and I'm taking it out on a prompt.

Satine hates the man named Jango Fett.

They've met before, once or twice. He'd known her father, before the latter's assassination. She'd met Jango when she was a child, before he'd lost his people at Galidraan, before she'd lost her sister to a terrorist group and her father to a blaster shot. She'd thought him gruff but kind, at the time, and very sad.

Now, she just wants him to trip on a pipe and brain himself on one of the many rusted, broken beams around them. She won't strangle him herself, won't turn her back on her oaths and commit violence, but she's not too proud to hope for an accident.

"Pick up the pace, princess."

"I am a Duchess," she snaps, lifting her skirts to step delicately over something that might have been machinery at one point.

The only light they have is from his helmet, and the only reason she hasn't fallen from the fabric catching on some matter or other is that he has a sense for when she gets caught.

He'd suggested that she pull the skirts up to gird her loins, and then found that the numerous layers made it impossible. He'd offered to cut the skirt down to something more manageable, without depriving her of the coverage she still needed in the cold of these darks, dank ruins. He'd then found that the vibroblade did nothing against the skirts.

(She was a pacifist, not stupid. Of course her clothing was reinforced.)

"I don't care," he says back through grit teeth. She's not sure why he hasn't just left her for dead, but she's not going to complain. Much. "Just move."

They've been making their way through the ruins for hours. They still don't know how they got here. They have no way to find out.

They just head up, and hope it gets them somewhere.

(Signs litter the walls, all in a script unfamiliar to them. Archaic, or simply foreign, they don't know.)

"Wait."

She freezes.

Fett moves behind her, light shifting with the noise of his beskar, and then he says, "I'm going to turn out the light for a second. Give us a minute to adjust to the dark after I do. I think I saw something glowing, but I can't tell with the flash on."

She nods, sure that he can see it, and they are engulfed in the dark again.

It's not for long, because the glow that Fett described is real. Faint, far off down the hallway and a pale blue that winks in and out in multiple spots at once, but there.

"We'll need the light to make it there without you getting rust sickness," Fett mutters. He flicks the headlight back on. "Might get some kinda hint out of it, whatever it is."

"You'd risk it?"

"Don't have any other choice," Fett tells her. "Move out, Princess."

----

They reach the blue glow, entering a large, cavernous atrium, just as dark as the rest of the ruins so far, but much less cramped than the previous hallways.

It is mostly floating motes of something, and the something in question makes Satine's skin crawl. She has no idea what it is. She doesn't think Fett does either, but he's a little busy trying to get a scan of the room around them. Satine can just barely see the floor from the blue light, and she steps closer carefully. Part of her screams about deep sea fish and wild space ancients, creatures that use light to hunt, but they've had nothing else yet. No hints.

This place feels ancient. Perhaps the spirits that linger are even older.

"Kryze!"

"I'm fine," she calls back, deliberately refusing to understand the man's worry. She just... reaches out.

And one of the blue lights comes to her.

Fett swears and comes closer, but Satine pulls her hands to her chest, cradling the little light to herself. It's larger than she'd expected, perhaps the size of a Chandrila plum. It's warm, too.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Fett snaps.

"It's friendly," she says. "I think."

"You think," Fett hisses, the noise crackling through the vocoder. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Listen--"

The lights coalesce. They are, for the moment, blinding, and Satine flinches away.

Fett has a blaster out before Satine can even open her eyes again. She knows the noise better than she'd like. She can identify which blaster it is by the click of the safety alone.

Any Mandalorian her age can.

"Oh dear," an unfamiliar voice says. "I'm afraid that--well, yes, Mando, hello there. I'm afraid that the blaster won't do much to me. I'm already long dead, you understand."

When Satine manages to blink the spots out of her vision, it's to see a glowing, slightly blue-tinged human figure in clothing that is distinctly Jedi, if very... very outdated.

The man--she thinks it's a man, beards usually indicate such--smiles and waves at her. "I apologize for the light show. It's been quite some time since I've had reason to take a solid form."

"I can imagine," Satine says, her voice weak even to her own ears. The man isn't much older than her, or at least wasn't when he... died? Or perhaps he was elderly when he died, and just rolled his age back as this spirit for some reason.

He smiles kindly, and then looks past her shoulder to Fett. He rolls his eyes, and smirks, and says, "Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor."

"I am not Mand'alor," Fett growls out. "I don't hold that title anymore."

"You do in spirit," the figure claims. "None other can say the same, not yet."

Before Fett can argue further, the man smiles pleasantly, and says, "I don't suppose you could remove yourselves from my shrine? Just a few steps back, thank you."

Satine looks down. She notices the raised platform and carved sigils and the stone column she hadn't seen in the earlier darkness, and flushes. She steps back and down, and Fett does the same.

"Now," the figure says. "As I was saying--"

"What are you?" Fett demands. "Ghost of a Jedi?"

"Something like that," the figure allows. "I was not just a Jedi, but... yes, I'm something you could call a ghost. I'd prefer simply a spirit."

"Like the ka'ra," Satine mutters, and grunts in disagreement.

"Those, Duchess, are only Mandalorians."

"Then I suppose it is fitting that I am both," the spirit says, and his form shifts.

Armor. It does not cover all of him--his pelvis and head are distinctly bare--but the shapes are distinctly Mandalorian. The colors aren't quite exact, with the blue glow he carries about him, but she's fairly certain she's seeing blue, green, and black. Reliability, duty, and justice.

Fitting, for a Jedi. The symbol for the Order is on his pauldron, even, and the hilt of his saber hangs easy at his side.

The gasp that comes through Fett's vocoder is harsh. She can't imagine he likes this.

"You--" he cuts himself off, takes a breath audible even past the helmet, and tries again. "There is no way you are Tarre Vizsla."

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The man smiles and tucks his hands into his sleeves, the swinging of the fabric allowing them the glimpse of vambraces beneath. He ducks his head in a shallow nod. "I am indeed."

Satine feels how empty of blood her own face is. She can't imagine Fett is doing much better.

"This is the Kar'ta-yaim be talyc rang," Fett mutters, horrified in a way that Satine feels her own self echoing. "You..."

"Well, we certainly never called it that," Kenobi says, head tilting faintly. "But I imagine that after the siege... Yes, Temple of Bloodied Ash would certainly reflect our final days."

It was one of the few stories that didn't pit Jedi and Mandalorians against each other, in the histories.

It had been the first attempt to coexist, the warriors of the saber and the warriors of iron. None managed to wed the two philosophies the way Kenobi had, but that hadn't mattered. They'd lived together, in peace. The reports had been clear enough, that there hadn't been weapons storage. There hadn't even been real defensive measures, barring the force fields. The Jedi had refused to let war reach this building, even whilst the Sith still raged across the galaxy. The other temples could handle the atrocities afar. The children, the elderly, the infirm, they were all to find a home here. The only weaponry were the sabers and whatever metals the Mando'ade carried in their armor.

Just a place of peace, a home to research, to children, to hospitals, all slaughtered to the last man, and set ablaze after. Nobody had ever tried such an attempt at peace between Mandalore and Jedi since. The location has been lost for longer than anyone remembers, but...

"Why are we here?" Satine asks.

"I wonder," Kenobi says, seeming far too pleased for the revelations of the last minute. He strokes at his beard, and then turns and sweeps an arm across the air. As he does, a whirring noise surrounds them, stuttered and heavy, but growing in power. Bit by bit, the sections of the wall that he'd gestured at begin to glow.

There are lights set into the wall like circuitry, warm and bright. The generators, which much be centuries old, at the least, continue to run.

"They draw energy from the river in the mountain," Kenobi says, before either of them thinks to ask. "Come along, my dears."

Satine hesitates. So does Fett.

Kenobi turns, presumably noting that their footsteps aren't following him. He smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Satine can't remember how old he supposedly was, at his death. His eyes are much older, but...

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe," he tells them. "The building won't hurt you."

"The building?" Fett asks, sounding perhaps a little more dubious than the situation warranted. They were already talking to a figure of legend.

"Yes, the building," Kenobi repeats, indulgent in a way that Satine would have found irritating if aimed at her, but rather approved of like this. "The walls are already straightening out, I feel. And the droids are going to be clearing out the debris soon enough. The rust will be a little difficult to manage, of course, but..."

"What do you mean the walls are going to straighten out?" Satine asks. "And how... this place has been dead for centuries, hasn't it? How did you wake it?"

"Duchess Kryze, I didn't wake the Temple," Kenobi tells her. She doesn't know how he got her name. "You did."

She doesn't know what to say in response. She stays quiet, and waits for him to elaborate.

"Is it because she woke you up?" Fett asks, clearly unwilling to play a waiting game. "You're a... guardian? The keyholder to the power?"

"Mand'alor," Kenobi says, with a smile playing on his lips behind the carefully-groomed beard, "I am the Temple."

What.

He smiles and starts walking backwards, gliding in a way that makes it clear he doesn't need to step, really, because his feet don't stay planted where he puts them. They have to follow, now, or risk losing him. "My consciousness, my very self, is woven into every bit of this building. I have no flesh, not anymore, but while my sense of self stays coherent in the Force... the Temple is my body."

"How?" Satine demands, hurrying to keep up. She tries to ignore the way the flagstones shift and settle ahead of her, still and level by the time she steps forward. She tries to ignore the grinding of metal, as it's pulled into the walls like it's soup instead of stone. She tries to ignore the creaking of the foundation about them, and stays focused on the pleasant smile of one of the only two Mandalorian Jedi in history that maintained the balance.

"Do your history books carry the name of my apprentice?" Kenobi asks.

"Skywalker," Fett says immediately. "And... Tano, I think, before she changed it. She escaped, didn't she?"

"Yes, she was away at the time," Kenobi says, voice distant for but a moment. Somewhere far off among the tunnels, there is a mighty crash. "I'd fought until I couldn't any more. My armor, what I had of it, protected me from the flames. I'd worn a helmet during the siege, and it filtered the smoke, even as I lay dying from other wounds... between that and the Force, I lasted long enough that Anakin found me. The others had all died of smoke inhalation, if they hadn't succumbed to their injuries or the flames themselves by that point."

"The fire didn't reach you?" Fett questions.

"Mm, no, the alcove I was in was all stone, and there wasn't anything flammable enough nearby to reach," Kenobi says, sounding distant again. "In any case, Anakin found me. He was... distraught. Desperate. Not entirely sane, I think, but with what he walked into, I can't find it in myself to fault him."

"Master Kenobi," Satine finds herself saying. "What did he do?"

Kenobi's smile is sad. She'd call it resigned, really. He's lived--sort of--with this situation for centuries now. It makes sense. "He took my mind, my soul in the Force, and 'saved' it in a way that would leave me tied to the world past my death. It was ingenious, but... I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I don't think Anakin realized what he was doing until long after he'd already succeeded at the impossible."

"He cursed you," Fett declares.

Kenobi shrugs. "I think he expected the temple to be cleaned and re-inhabited again soon enough. It wasn't, as you can see. The generators have been gathering power for centuries, but the fire destroyed most of them, and we didn't have anything in reserve with how much we poured into the shields during the battle. I couldn't fix the ruins, and with the horrors that had occurred, nobody was coming back. Anakin said he would, he promised, but... he disappeared. He visited, and he spoke with me, but a few years in he was simply... lost. I had a connection to his ship's signal, and it winked out in the blink of an eye, and never came back."

Oh. Terrifying.

"For all that I am the Temple, now, there are still secrets here that I don't yet understand," Kenobi tells them. "Your arrival, for one thing. The sediment carried up the mountain has slowly buried the temple over the centuries. There isn't a way in, save for two tunnels leading to the river, both of which I know are untouched."

"We just woke up here," Satine admits.

"Yes," Kenobi says. "You did. And part of me knows why."

"...part?" Fett asks.

It's a fair question to ask of a man who happens to have a brain that is also an entire building, somehow.

"Areas are cut off from my awareness," Kenobi admits freely. "Cave-ins and the like, mostly. There are one or two that I think I cut deliberately, due to what lay within."

Also terrifying, thank you.

"But I do believe I know what happened," he says, with that same damnably soft smile. "You two are the leaders of your people, yes? Tradition on one side, and peace on the other."

Satine shares a glance with Fett, and then turns to Kenobi and nods.

"Then I do believe it's simply the right time," he tells them. "You'll need to work together."

"I don't think so," Satine immediately denies.

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Kenobi tells her. "And if it brought you here--and you couldn't have arrived otherwise, I promise you that--then it was for a reason. Two leaders, the same people, with ideologies that I do believe are possible to bring together into, if not mixing, then at least coexistence."

"Impossible," Fett says. "The New Mandalorians are cowards, Kenobi. To share a culture with them--"

"Is as unlikely as Jedi and the old Mandalorians?" Kenobi asks, smiling so very politely that Satine wonders at how they aren't frozen stiff at the sight of it.

The sigil of the Order gleams mockingly from his pauldron.

Kenobi huffs out a breath, just a shadow of a laugh the slightest duck of his head, and then he turns and waves open a door.

Beyond him, sitting clean and pretty and entirely free of dust on its ancient stand, rests the Darksaber.

Satine stares.

She's sure Fett does, too.

"That can't be real," she says, her mouth moving before she can control it. "The Darksaber is lost, but it's popped up in history too recently to have been here since the fires."

"I saw it in Tor Vizsla's hands less than a years ago," Fett confirms. The vocoder cuts emotion from his voice, but not enough. "This place has been locked tight for centuries. The saber can't be here."

"The same could be said of the two of you," Kenobi points out.

It's true.

Satine steps forward, when it becomes clear that Fett won't. She picks up the weapon, holds it like the antique it is, square and unwieldy, but so very, very old that she cannot deny its importance. Weapon or not, it is her people's history.

She lights it.

The blade burns black.

"Turn it off," Fett rasps, and she does.

Satine looks back at him, and then to Kenobi. She turns fully, and steps forward, and holds it out to Fett.

He looks at her, uncomprehending.

"If you'd like to check for yourself," she says, and her voice is too quiet, but she can't help it. Something is happening, something heavy and broken, and she can't ignore the pressure of the future in this moment.

Fett takes the saber. He looks at it in his hands, and she thinks he is shaking.

"Your people need you, Mand'alor," Kenobi says, and there is no room for question. "They also need the Duchess."

"Why you?" Fett asks, voice strained and shattered in a way Satine can't even begin to pick apart.

"It was either me or Tarre, really," Kenobi says, with an idle shrug unfitting of the situation. "And I'm a little more... accessible, shall we say, to those who aren't sensitive to the Force."

Kenobi steps forward and rests an immaterial hand on Fett's shoulder.

"I already failed my people once," Fett says, barely audible.

"And now you shall save them," Kenobi says. His voice is firm. It is as if there is no question, to him, about whether or not Fett will succeed. "You won't be alone, either."

Satine shifts her weight, refusing to meet Kenobi's eyes. Her hands fist in her dress, and her mind races.

"What do you need of me?" Fett manages.

"...Mand'alor?"

"What do you need of me, Master Kenobi?"

Satine looks up.

Fett... Fett removes his helmet, and looks at Kenobi with an expression that is more desperation than deference.

"To cooperate with those who would follow a different creed," Kenobi says, so low it's practically a murmur. His hand, still intangible, reaches out to cup Fett's jaw. Fett leans into it. "To protect those who cannot do so for themselves. Our people are warriors, Mand'alor, but to refuse violence for violence's sake, after the wars that have killed our home and rendered it little more than glass, that is its own bravery."

"Master--"

"Listen to me," Kenobi says, and Fett falls silent. "You will need to protect them. The Duchess may have the funds and the support to bring forth education, agriculture, childcare, and so on, but there are many who would take advantage of that peace. She provides the home for tradespeople, but you are the shield that keeps them safe."

It could be a balance, Satine tries to tell herself. Maybe.

Kenobi seems so certain of it, and Satine may hate violence, but she is far from unaware of the pirates and warlords that nip at their borders.

"The foundlings need homes," Kenobi continues. "The stories need to be told. The culture is fading, Mand'alor. Bring it back."

His eyes flick to Satine, and she looks away.

(Her pressure was only ever on violence. Her advisors had pressed at the erasure of the rest, but if it meant children grew up without the worry of their parents dying in pointless battle, then wasn't it worth bending?)

(Couldn't she look the other way as they tightened restrictions on even symbolic vambraces, if it meant few too-small bodies in the streets?)

(Her planet was a wasteland. What did culture mean in the face of so many dead?)

(She knows Fett doesn't see it that way, but she is the only governing New Mandalorian with any blood on their hands. She knows the weight of violence, of lives taken by her actions.)

(She knows it, and she rejects it knowingly.)

Fett breathes harshly, and Satine closes her eyes.

"I agree to try," she says. "If we can get out of these ruins and back to our people... I will try. I cannot speak for my people on this, but to instate the old Mandalorians as a planetary guard... it may be doable."

"Little steps, my dear," Kenobi says. He looks down at Fett, who's... not well, it seems. "The Mand'alor needs some help, I think. I'm no trained mind healer, but I imagine I can help. More than most, maybe. There are few who know what it is to be a sole survivor."

He smirks, just a little, at the joke that he is not, in fact, a man who survived.

It's not very funny.

"I'll stay," Fett says. "I'll... I'll learn. Master Kenobi, you... Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me."

"As a student?" Kenobi asks, catching on to just the same thing as Satine has. "Not in the Force, surely, but... you truly wish to stay?"

"There are none left alive that I would trust to show me the way," Fett says. Beseeching, he reaches for Kenobi, and his hands pass through. There's a pain in him that Satine can't quite comprehend, and Fett falls to his knees. "Please."

"You need only ask," Kenobi says. "The Duchess will look after our people until the King takes his throne, and then you will rule together."

They'll have to, Satine tells herself, and steps forward. She puts a hand on Fett's shoulder, and pulls him to his feet.

"Where do we begin?" she asks.

[fett-djarin]

Anything

this bitch done YEET

anyway this is Boba Fett x f!Reader! I had this idea kicking around for awhile and shit finally came together and i was able to get it done!

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, canon-typical violence (not in the smut), PiV intercourse, unprotected sex, fingering, riding, throne sex come get yalls juice, multiple orgasms, creampie, spanking, slight cockwarming?, pet names, swearing

NSFW BELOW THE CUT!

Boba Fett was an enigma. He intimidated you, intrigued you--but he didn’t scare you. Boba could be violent, occasionally cruel, but only to those who had earned his ire. You had nothing to fear.

You still remember the day he stormed into Jabba’s palace, a wrathful spectre on a mission. You had been afraid you would be caught in the crossfire, an exchange of possession through violence. But then your chains were blasted apart, scum of men dying around you instead of finding your own demise. Instead of fleeing like the other girls, you dove towards a dropped blaster and levelled it at one of the smugglers putting up a fight. This particular one had been a thorn in your side for a long time. You’d be lying if you said you felt no satisfaction watching him fall lifeless from your well-placed blaster bolt.

“Nice shot,” the woman--Fennec, you had come to learn--commented. You had turned in a panic, pointing the blaster in her direction, her own rifle coming up in an instant, aimed squarely at your head.

“Easy, girl,” the Mandalorian--Boba--had said. “We have no interest in fighting you.”

“If you mean to sell me again,” you spat, “it would be easier to kill me now.” Your fingers flexed on the blaster, and you tried to steady your shaking hands. Fennec’s aim hadn’t faltered.

“Stand down, Shand,” Fett directed the sharpshooter, who immediately lowered her weapon. He then addressed you again. “I don’t deal in flesh.” You slowly dropped your arm. “What’s your name, girl?”

That had been...a few standard months ago, now. Boba ran his syndicate under a tight fist. He had no use for slaves, and had told you you were free, even offered you credits to return home. Some of the others took his offer. You had opted to stay--your birth planet had nothing to offer you, and you did not want to try your luck as a newly freed woman with nothing to your name on Tatooine. You didn’t even have a name, really. You were called something different each time you moved; your birthname was no longer you. That person had died long ago.

“Call me anything,” you had told Boba. “I don’t mind.”

He thought for a minute, and then decided. “Mayen.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. The gruff, seemingly serious man had a sense of humor. Mayen--Mando’a for ‘anything.’ His lips quirked in a sly smirk. You liked it. Mayen it was.

“You know Mando’a?” He had asked.

“I’ve picked up things here and there,” you smiled in return.

He later on told you that you could pick your own name, you had no obligation to go by the silly pun he called you. But you had a sense of humor, and actually liked how it sounded. It was a new beginning. You decided you would keep it.

You knew quite a few languages, or bits and pieces you heard over the years. Boba had hired you as a translator, and you accompanied him to meetings with traders, smugglers, and pirates. He didn’t allow any of them to harass you. If they so much as leered in your direction, they tended to lose a few fingers or teeth, either by your hand or his. At Boba’s insistence, you now carried a blaster and a vibroblade. Fennec had been showing you how to properly aim and shoot so you could better protect yourself. He had gifted you the vibroblade as part of your payment.

Yes, Boba Fett was a hard man, but you appreciated his kindness.

His scars added to his imposing figure, and you often found yourself wondering about their origin. What he must have gone through for his skin to be marked so. You also wondered about how stupid some people could be--Mandalorians were legendary warriors, and Boba Fett had some infamy connected to his name, yet fools still picked fights they were destined to lose. His armor impressed you--and the dark stare of the T-visor when he looked your way always had something low and warm stirring in your belly.

It didn’t help that sometimes he would watch while you practiced with your blade. Your heart thundered in your ears the first time he came up behind you, chest to your back, and moved your arms into the correct defensive position. His boot also nudged your stance wider, centering your weight. It’s part of training, you told yourself. You prayed he didn’t notice the heat in your face or the way you refused to look at him. Stars, if you turned your head you could kiss him--

What could you say? He was a handsome man.

Occasionally he offered to spar with you, which was laughable. The first time you had outright refused. “I don’t want to die, thanks,” you said.

“You’re gonna have to face people bigger and stronger than you sometimes, princess,” he said the endearment mockingly.

“Most people aren’t Boba Fett.”

“You’re right about that. Still, come on, show me what you’ve learned.”

Your first fight ended miserably in about three seconds. You gave him a pointed look that said I-told-you-so, and he just shrugged. “Not bad for your first time.” Sparring became regular.

“You’re quicker than me. Use that to your advantage, stay out of my reach. Strike and retreat.”

“Arms up, but keep ‘em close--protect your body.”

“Stagger your stance, distribute your weight. Make it harder for people to knock you down.”

“Move with confidence--this is not the time to falter.”

His words of advice came with each session and stuck. After a few weeks, you could hold your own for a minute against Fett. Then five minutes. Then your sparring was like a coordinated, aggressive dance, blades flashing and deflected, ducking, dodging, weaving, spinning around each other. Once, you had even managed to disarm him, knocking the blade from his hand--you both froze in stunned surprise before Boba recovered and had you pinned to the floor in an instant.

“Very good.” He said from his place atop your legs, pride curling darkly through his voice. “But next time, press the advantage. You freeze, you die.” Now you froze for an entirely different reason--his weight on top of you caused something hot and wanting to smolder in you, his thumb gently stroking the hollow of your throat making your breath hitch. And then he was off you, pulling you back to your feet with ease.

You still couldn’t beat him--you don’t think you would ever be capable of that. The best bounty hunter in the galaxy against you? You much prefer being on his good side.

Boba had just returned from a recent bounty hunt alongside a fellow Mandalorian, having left you and Fennec at the palace. You had been helping her sort through the datalogs and contraband left behind from the previous occupants when he appeared, moving surprisingly silent for such a broad, imposing man.

“Mayen,” he called you, and you looked at him over your shoulder, having been preoccupied cataloguing the contents of the crate in front of you. He was still in his armor, adding to his bulk. The green-painted beskar gave nothing away. “I’ve got a meeting. You’ll be needed. Fennec, I sent you scouting information on the next bounty.”

You nodded, and with your acknowledgment, he turned and strode back towards the throne room. Fennec stood, brushing sand off her pants. “Careful,” Fennec warned. “Keep your blaster close. You never know how these meetings will turn out.” She patted you on the shoulder.

“Got it,” you said, adjusting your tunic so she could see the holster on your hip. It would be the first time she wasn’t there alongside you while Boba arranged deals with crime lords. Sometimes Boba would go in alone, or the both of you would attend. “Trained by the best.”

She cracked a smile at that. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to track down our next target.” She exited the storage room opposite of the way Boba went.

You gathered yourself, then followed after Boba. Entering the throne room was daunting, as the traders he was meeting with were already there and turned to stare. A few of them openly looked you up and down. Your eyes were fixed solely on Boba lounging on the throne, legs spread, seemingly completely at ease and exuding power. You strode past the group of men come to bargain, refusing to look away from the void of Boba's visor that tracked your movement. One of them muttered something as you passed that you couldn't make out, but it had not sounded pleasant. You took your place at Boba's side.

"Boba Fett, the legendary bounty hunter back from the dead," a wiry human man stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. His grin was more of a baring of teeth. "Now that you run this joint, I have a few propositions to consider--"

Since he was speaking Basic, you have to admit, you tuned out. You watched the two Twi’leks that had accompanied him, who kept throwing glances your way, murmuring to themselves. Something about them put you on edge. Of course, you never trusted the people who came to do business with Boba, but you liked this group even less.

You translated for a Rodian bounty hunter when it was his turn to speak. You noticed the Twi'leks and the first human had been getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot and continuing to eye you and Boba. The Twi'leks had never come forward. They spelled trouble. You were tense the entire time, but they reached an agreement and left without trouble.

Boba on the throne was a sight. Your mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to sit on his lap, straddle his strong thighs. You shook your head to clear it as Boba cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

"Go get some rest, little one." And with that, you were dismissed.

You touched yourself thinking of him that night. Imagining it was his fingers instead of yours bringing you to your peak. You bit your fist as you came, muffling your moans and preventing you from calling his name out into the night.

The next day, he had gone out once again. When he returned, you noted his armor had some new scratches, some of the fresh green paint chipped away. He beckoned you forward with a wave, following him to the throne room. He sat with a heavy sigh. You stood before him, waiting for his direction, when he removed his helmet and set it aside. There was a new cut on his cheek, dried blood sticking to his skin.

"You're hurt," you said, stepping forward. Boba grunted noncommittally in response, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a small container of bacta.

"Use this," his voice was gravelly and he tossed the container to you. He...wanted you to put the bacta on him? Your pulse kicked up. But you would do as he asked.

You unscrewed the lid, swiping your finger through the gel. "What happened?" You asked as you spread it as gently as you could over the cut.

"Those hunters from yesterday," he sighed. "Thought they could catch me unaware out in the dunes. Their last mistake." He chuckled. "This was really the only hit I took," he gestured to the cut along his cheek. You had finished spreading the bacta, but your hand still lingered. You were entranced, being this close to him. Your thumb mindlessly caressed his cheekbone.

"Mayen," he said your name. You met his eyes, the heat in his gaze taking you by surprise. He always had fire and fight in him, but this wasn't like that. It was wanting. Boba grasped your wrist of the hand that still held his face, his other coming up to cup the back of your head.

Then you were kissing him.

You don't know if you leaned down or if he pulled you down or if he leaned up or if it even mattered, all you cared about was his rough lips against yours. When you gasped into it, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Boba's kisses were all consuming, overwhelming--he demanded all of you, and wouldn't accept any less.

He leaned back, bringing you with him so you had no choice but to straddle his lap or be pulled off-balance. You settled along his thighs, sighing as you could now grind your center against his stiffening member. He nipped your bottom lip, breaking away to press kisses down your throat.

“Tell me, sweetheart…” he murmured, worrying a mark into the delicate skin of your neck.

You whined, rolling your hips against his. His hands clamped down like durasteel around your hips, stilling you. “Tell me. We stop if you say so.”

“I want you, Boba,” you gasped, and he rewarded you with another hickey sucked into your neck. He guided your hips back into a slow grind, thrusting up against you. The layers of clothes between you dulled the sensation, but warm waves of pleasure still radiated through you. You cradled his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours, before trailing your palms down his chest. You pawed at his chestplate and robes, making him chuckle.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased you lightly. You squeaked when he pinched your ass. “Take this off, princess.” His hands slid up under your tunic, running up and down your sides before caressing your breasts.

You lifted your arms, helping him slide your shirt over your head. Instinctively, your arms came down to cover yourself, but Boba tutted at you. “Don’t get shy on me now, mesh’la. Let me see you.” He murmured in your ear before lightly nipping the lobe, sending shivers down your spine. He encouraged you to put your hands back on his chest. You whined against him, need building in your core as he undid your bindings and continued to guide your hips in a deep grind.

Boba’s fingers crept along the waistband of your pants before diving inside. You moaned as they landed on your clit. “This wet already? Someone’s a needy little thing.” You felt your face heat at his teasing accompanied by his rough fingers circling your clit built you up even more. You hid your face in his shoulder, grinding against his hand for more of that raw pleasure. Boba suddenly pressed hard against your clit in a tight circle, making you cry out loudly and grip his robes for dear life.

“Boba, please,” you whined, lips tracing his throat, his jaw, wherever you could reach. You brought your own hand down to cup him through his pants, running your hand along his bulge. He cursed lightly in your ear as you gently squeezed him.

“Up,” he said, patting your ass. You stood, taking the opportunity to shimmy out of your pants and panties. He lounged back against the throne, taking in your form. You didn’t cover yourself this time. “Good girl. Come here.” You stepped between his spread knees and he took you by the elbow, pulling you down and turning you so your back was pressed to his chest and your legs were spread by his own. His touch returned to your clit, sliding through your slick folds to tease your entrance. You pressed your ass back against his hardness and he groaned.

His arm banded around your waist as he finally slid a finger into your dripping entrance. You gasped, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. When he introduced a second one, you began to squirm. The stretch was so good as his fingers slid within you, curling and pressing into that perfect spot that sent you soaring. You were practically riding his hand, your hips circling as his fingers moved faster and faster.

“Oh,” you gasped as he added a third, legs trembling. Your hand shot to his where it was locked around your middle, holding you against him, while your other curled up and back, turning his head so you could kiss him. Boba found that spot in you that made you clench tight around him and zeroed in with deadly precision. You felt him grin smugly against your lips as your breathing stuttered. “Boba!”

“Look at you, so desperate for my fingers. Squeezin’ me so tight, sweetheart, can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

You found yourself teetering at the edge of release. You turned your head, burying your nose in Boba’s neck. “Please, Boba, g’nna cum, please--” you gasped out. It was a good thing he held you to him, else you would have been bucking off his lap.

“Cum on my fingers, cyar’ika.”

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you tipped over the edge of orgasm, cumming hard around Boba’s fingers. Your cunt flooded with wetness, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into you becoming even wetter. If he hadn’t been holding you to his chest you would have doubled over with the devastating pulses of pleasure rocking through you from your center. He continued working you through it until you whined, pushing at his hand that still moved between your thighs, need building up in you again.

Boba brought his fingers up to his mouth and you moaned at the sight of him sucking and licking them clean of your arousal. “Taste so sweet,” he said. “Open.” You opened your mouth, and he slid his fingers inside. Obediently, you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around his fingers like you would his cock. Boba groaned. "Dirty girl."

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and you begged. "Want your cock, please, Boba--please fuck me, please--"

"Hush, needy pet. You'll get what you want." He bit your neck, the sharp pinpricks fading into a warm buzz that made you squirm, wiggling your hips on his lap. Boba reached down between you two and shifted himself out of his robes, sliding his cock against your soaked folds. You looked down and Maker, he was thick. You were suddenly glad he made you take three fingers--you hoped you would be able to take his cock.

He rutted against you, his cock sliding through your folds and pulling breathless little gasps from you each time his head nudged your clit. Each slick drag of him against your lips coated his cock in your wetness. Boba evidently grew tired of teasing you, because he urged you up and took hold of the base of his cock, guiding it to your dripping entrance. You moaned at the feeling of his thick tip splitting you open, sinking down the first inch.

Boba's hand came around to rub little circles on your clit, making you jerk against him, his other hand caging you in by your hip. Slowly, he encouraged you to sit back on his lap, the thick drag and push of his cock working inch-by-inch deeper into you. Stars, you felt him in your fucking guts. Your thighs trembled, and when your ass touched his lap you nearly sobbed from how full you felt.

"Look at that," he murmured into your hair. "Takin' me so well, princess. Feels fucking good, doesn't it?" You clenched around him at his words, making him choke off a moan. He rubbed your clit a tick faster just to feel you spasm around him again and he laughed at your high gasp of pleasure.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was too good--that ache, the raw sparks shooting down your legs and up your spine. Shifting the slightest bit pushed him right up something devastating inside you and you couldn't stop the wrecked moan that tore from your throat. Boba gave an experimental thrust and you nearly shrieked and lurched off of him, if he hadn't grabbed a hold of your hips and held you on his lap. You babbled senselessly, too overwhelmed as every ridge of his cock pressed your walls just right. "B-Boba, Boba, move, please--"

His big hand slapped your inner thigh and this time you did wail, the hot sting fading into a pleasant, buzzing warmth. His fingers dug in to the soft flesh hard enough that you knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers come morning. Then he lifted you slightly off him, cock sliding only a few inches out, before pulling you down in time with a thrust upwards, burying himself in you with a deep grind. You let out a choked moan, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

"Ride," he demanded. Your breath hitched as you scrambled for purchase, hands going to his strong thighs for support. It was sort of an awkward position, your feet barely touching the floor, requiring you to go on your tiptoes to pull a few inches off his cock. Boba's thick fingers cupped your pussy in a V shape, so every time you rose and fell they rolled against your clit. You couldn't tell if you wanted to push your hips back away or forward for more stimulation.

He slapped your other thigh this time, rubbing to soothe the sting, encouraging you to bounce on his cock faster. Your breath was coming in high, moaning pants as each drop of your hips buried him deep inside you, reaching places you never had and lighting up your nerves like a star gone supernova. Paired with his touch teasing your clit with every thrust, you weren't going to last long.

Boba's hands on your hips guided you faster, rougher--each downstroke hitting deep and holding you there for a second just to feel how full, how stuffed your pussy was of him. His thrusts up as you dropped down allowed his cock to hit your g-spot dead on, over and over. You felt yourself rhythmically clenching around him, heard his groans as your cunt strangled his cock, and you were so close to cumming again. The feeling coiled up at the base of your spine, the pleasure winding tighter and higher and ready to burst.

And then--then Boba hooked his hands under your knees, pulling your legs up so all your weight rested on where he was buried in you, and he slipped another inch further inside. You couldn't stop the sob of pleasure as he held you like this, open for him to take, and he set a punishing pace. The dull slap of skin-on-skin paired with the wet gush of your arousal around him, dripping down his balls and onto the throne, made your head tip back onto his shoulder and wrenched moan after moan out of you.

You were talking, babbling nonsense--begging, pleading for him to make you cum again. Boba tilted his hips just right and you keened as it pushed his cock right against the soft spot along your walls. Each thrust shoved you closer to the edge right until that coil inside you snapped. Your legs shook and your pussy clamped down so hard around Boba's cock that it stunted him to short, shallow thrusts as you rode it out. You distantly heard him groaning, praising you, telling you good girl, good fuckin' girl--you were spasming around him, each jolt of pleasure like a white-hot knife radiating from your core to your toes. Boba kept fucking you through it and you nearly begged him to stop--it was too much, the bite of overstimulation burning your nerves--when he pulled you down, fucking into you as deep as he could and he came with a groan of your name, cock throbbing as his release coated your walls.

Somehow, you ended up turned, face buried in his neck and legs wrapped around his waist as you trembled and caught your breath. His hands trailed up and down your spine and thighs in soothing motions as you came back down. You sighed and cuddled closer to him, the hard beskar plating cold against your bare skin, but it felt good on your overheated body.

"Made quite a mess on me, sweetheart," he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest under your ear. You just mmm'd and clung closer to him while he chuckled. It was true. Your arousal coated your thighs, dripped down onto the throne, soaked Boba's cock where it was still buried in you. Boba pulled his robe around you and stood, supporting you with his hands under your thighs. "Come on, little one, let's go to bed." You closed your eyes as he made his way out of the throne room and through the palace. He didn't drop you off in your bedroom, instead taking you to his and laying you in the spacious bed before stripping off his armor and joining you.

[spinchip]

writing prompt: zane not always being comf with repairs due to repeat trauma, and how the various ninja comfort him and help him thru it

This got out of hand, not exactrly what you asked for waughkjhm. 3000 words, post s12 ;; Mountainshipping/polyninja

Warning: Panic attacks, trauma, PTSD

In the Aftermath of Unagami, the city rejoices. People gather in the streets to reunite with those they lost, children and parents embrace, tears and laughter ring out across ninjago city like bells far into the night. Pixals own friends cheer and holler, the adrenaline riding high still, and Zane throws his arm around her shoulder and draws her close. She laughs, wrapping an arm around his back as Jay chatters on and on about what happened after the others were cubed, filling them in on every detail.

Halfway through the story she realizes Zane is much heavier than he was a moment before.

She stands a little straighter, hauling him into more of a standing position before turning to face him- worry freezes her joints. He’s not smiling like he was earlier, his face blank and vaguely confused, his eyes hazy and glazed as he slumps more and more, and now that she’s paying attention she can feel him trembling around her. Her mouth works but no sound comes out before she gets her feelings under control, reaching out to set a palm on his chest to steady him.

“Zane?” She asks quietly, paying no mind to how the conversation died at the fear in her tone.

He blinks sluggishly, turning towards her voice but his eyes are too distant to focus on her. He opens his mouth to say something, shaking his head as if he were trying to force himself to stay awake before his knees give out and he collapses, nearly taking her down with the sudden weight. She cries out his name in alarm and Wu jumps to take his other arm, lifting him up with Pixal. The others rush forward, hovering their hands uncertainly, worry sharp across their face.

Pixal pats his cheek a few times, “Zane? Can you hear me?” She can barely keep her voice level and she bites her lip when he doesn’t respond, his eyes closed and head lolling listlessly.

Jay leans down and presses the side of his face to Zanes chest, eyes searching empty air for a tense moment, “His mechanics are still running.” he confirms, hearing his internal parts working. He winces openly at a sound the others aren’t close enough to hear, “Something’s wrong. We need to get him back to the monastery.”

“What happened out here?” Cole asks, hands fluttering nervously at his side.

Pixal fills them in while they wait for the Bounty to make it to their location- Autopilot was a blessing. There’s no room for the Bounty to land in the crowded streets, so when it arrives Kai scrambles up the chain from the anchor and drops the gurney for them. In a scene almost too familiar to stomach Pixal helps Wu and Cole load Zanes unconscious form onto it, taking the same route Kai took to get on deck afterwards. Nya and Jay have already taken him into the back room and Pixal sheds her Samurai X armor without pause, sweeping her bangs off her forehead as she strides into the room.

They’ve already got his chest panel open, Nyas sleeves are rolled up to her elbows as she pushes aside wires and inspects the damage. Jay is running a diagnostic through their central computer, a thick cable plugged into Zanes head. Lloyd lingers at the door nervously, watching them work with worried eyes.

“What’s the problem?” Pixal asks, resting her hands along the bed and peering down at his chest.

Nya face looks grim, “His core’s been overloaded, it’s fried a majority of his main power lines to near ruin- but even with something like this, they should have been able to work. The Mechanics adapter shouldn’t have caused this much damage.”

“What do you mean?” Pixal finds her mouth is running dry, looking down at the scorch marks across his arms where the violent electricity had burned lines across his metal.

Jay leans over, pointing out several twisted wires, torn and broken and out of place, “His wires were already messed up.” his voice is grave, “The effect of the Mechanics portal combined with these damages? It made everything so much worse.”

“Already…?” She shakes her head, “The Never Realm.”

“We think so too. Something must have happened that he didn’t tell us about.” Nya pulls back and glances at the monitor, “He’s stable for now, his body forced him into low power mode to stop the spread of the damage. We have a lot of work to do when we get to the lab.”

She nods, turning to look at him. His face is slack in sleep, his lips slightly parted, and she realizes with a jolt this is the first time she’s actually seen him rest since he came back. He wont talk about it, about any of it, she didn’t realize he was hiding something so serious.

Jay sighs deeply, leaning onto the table with an exhausted slump to his shoulders, the excitement catching up to him all at once. Nya leans her back against the table and runs her hand over his shoulders soothingly, “Why don’t you go rest? Pixal and I can handle this.”

He nods his head slowly like he’s considering it but Pixal watched him still suddenly, his eyes narrowing. He sits up and leans over Zane’s chest, searching his wiring with increasing fervor, “We need Kai.” He says, looking up at Nya with wide eyes, “He’s- He’s freezing over.”

Pixal lunges forward, nearly knocking into Jay headfirst to look, and sure enough ice is crawling across Zanes' parts slowly, encasing each of his damaged wires in a protective layer of frozen water. If she had blood, it would have drained from her face. Nya practically jumps the table, calling her brother's name and Lloyd scrambles out of her way, each of them splitting up to pin down the fire user.

Frost spreads from his fingers where they are resting against the table, his lips are turning blue with ice, Pixal doesn’t know what to do.

“What is this?” Jay asks breathlessly, “It’s… conducting.”

She can see visible arcs of electricity flickering through the ice as it grows stronger, each chunk connecting broken wires and damaged pieces to make him whole. Their elements never responded like this, not normally, but something happened in the Never Realm and this- it must be second nature to him, to protect himself, to keep himself going.

Kai appears in the doorway half a second before Zane snaps awake.

He comes back in a blind panic, twisting on the cot and hyperventilating, crashing to the floor in his chaotic thrashing. Pixal jumps back to avoid him bowling her over, stumbling in shock. He digs blunted fingernails into his head, scratching and clawing desperately at the cable above the back of his neck until he rips it out, scrabbling against his own skin for a few hysterical seconds before he realizes that the cable is gone.

He scrambles to his hands and knees, shoving himself back until he’s squished into a corner,  “Where am i? Where am i? Where am I?” He repeats in a hysterical mantra, chest heaving, his eyes wide and unseeing. Broken ice litters the ground in little chunks, handprints from where he’d crawled away turning to slick ice across the floor, frost crawling out from where he’s huddled against the wall. He clasps his hands over his head in distress, pulling at his ears and squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if willing them to work again, whining in fear.

“Zane!” Pixal cries, hovering and unsure, “Zane, please- can you hear me?”

Jay is by her side in an instant and he puts a reassuring hand on her arm, guiding her to crouch down on his level. He turns around and waves the others off so Zane won’t be so overwhelmed, Nya herding them back, “Zane, hey, it’s Jay.” He says soothingly, “You’re in the Destiny's bounty.” He repeats this a few more times and on one of the repetitions, Zane’s eyes slowly bleed into focus.

“See? Pixal is here, you’re safe.” He tells him gently, making sure not to touch him unless Zane asks.

Zane gasps loosely, a shuddering intake of air, “What did I do?” his eyes fill with tears as he looks at Jay miserably, “What did I do?” he asks desperately, moving both hands to grasp at the cable port in his head, tugging at it hard.

Pixal connects the dots, she knew enough about the violence in the Never realm to put his fears to rest, “Nothing, Zane. You haven’t hurt anyone.” She reassured him firmly, “You were hurt, we were running a diagnostic. You’re okay.” She sneaks a glance at Jay who nods at her minutely.

“Is this the first time this has happened?” Jay prods as respectfully as he can.

Zane shakes his head, “a couple of times.” He rasps, struggling to keep his voice even, trembling all over.

“What do you need?”

It goes on like this for almost twenty minutes with Jay and Pixal talking soothingly with him, at this point the Bounty has docked at the Monastery but Zane isn’t stable enough to move without panicking. Slowly, he calms down, until he’s sitting slumped and exhausted on the infirmary floor, uncurling himself from the clenched ball he’d forced himself into. Ice still insists on clinging to his skin and crawling around the floor without his permission, but he’s not in a blind panic anymore.

The tension in Jay's shoulders has begun to relax, “Hey, you back with us?” he asks gently.

Zane looks at him through bleary, but focused, eyes, “Yes.” He says quietly, “Thank you.”

Pixal chooses to avoid the elephant in the room, glancing at Jay with an appraising eye, “You handled that well.”

He shrugs, “I get them too, Panic attacks. After Nad- after everything. Nya does the same thing for me.”

“Do you think you can get inside?” Pixal turns back to Zane.

He takes a moment to think before he nods slowly, “I-” His face pinches and he swallows roughly, “I will need help.”

He holds his hands out and she takes them, pulling him slowly to his feet. He stumbles and she finds herself catching him for the second time that day, taking his full weight as his legs refuse to hold, until he can get his feet under him again. He whines, low and almost too quiet to hear, pressing his palm against his chest and squeezing his eyes shut.

Jay takes his other arm and wraps it over his shoulder, “We just have to make it inside and you can rest again, okay?”

“Keep talking.” Zane says, opening his eyes just barely enough to see where they’re going, and Jay obliges. He runs his mouth nearly non stop as they help him get to the repair center of the garage, and with each word Zane seems to be edging back from another panic attack. He talks about nothing, but Zane nods along like he’s explaining the meaning of life.

Nya is there already, replacement wiring, tools, everything laid out in preparation for Zanes injuries. She’s got her hair pulled into a tight bun, a headband she only breaks out in emergency repairs keeping her bangs out of her face, the soldering iron warming up on the table. Jay and Pixal help Zane collapse onto the bed they have there, and Pixal helps adjust it so he’s sitting upright.

Kai appears at his side and hoists himself up to sit at his waist, the bed dipping at his presence, “Hey,” He says gently as the air is flooded with warmth, reaching over to cup Zanes cheek. He runs his thumb over Zanes cheek, ice flaking off at his gentle touch.

Zane tries to smile reassuringly, but it comes out thin and reedy, “Hello, Kai.” he leans into his boyfriend's touch, exhausted.

Jay goes to help Nya but she stops him, cupping his shaking hands, “You’ve done great, but you need to rest.” She squeezes his trembling fingers to prove her point. He wouldn’t be able to be steady.

He hesitates, but concedes her point, stepping back but hesitant to leave. Cole and Lloyd linger in the doorway before Cole nods to himself and quietly slips inside, speaking softly to Jay until the smaller man concedes and herds Lloyd out of the garage, both of them disappearing inside.

Nya motions to Pixal and the nindroid jumps into action, rounding to the other side of the bed to give Nya a hand.

“Hand me that?” She asks, motioning to a bucket in the back corner of their work station. Pixal holds it out as Nya turns to Zane, “I’m going to open up your chest panel, is that alright?”

Zane squeezes his eyes shut and Kai takes his hand reassuringly as he summons the bravery, “Do it.” He nods, and Nya unlatches it quickly.

Kai grimaces, looking at the frozen over electronics. Pixal can’t look away. It’s smart, in a pinch- it kept him running, it kept him awake and aware and alive. It does not look like a kind way to live.

Nya’s expression matches her brothers, “In order to do the repairs, I'll need to clear out the ice, Zane. I can turn you off-”

His whole body tenses, his breathing coming fast, and she acknowledges the reaction silently, “-Or I can do my best to do it while you’re awake. can you pull your powers back?”

“I don’t know.” Zane’s hands shake, his hard-won composure cracking, “I’ve been doing it for so long.”

“It’s okay, I can help.” Kai reassures him, stroking his hand soothingly, “I’m going to melt the ice now, and Nya is going to pull out the water before anything is damaged.”

“Alright.” Zane says, bracing himself.

Kai keeps one hand intertwined with Zanes and the other he holds out over his chest, pushing heat and warmth. Pixal ends up holding the bucket as Nya carefully and delicately draws the melted dropplest from his chest. Exposed wires spark and Zane jerks, his fingers digging into the sheet over the bed, gritting his teeth loud enough for pixal to hear.

He whines and Nya glances at his face with a wince, “You’re doing really well. You’re doing great, Zane.”

Cole approaches from where he’d been trying to stay out of the way, leaning over the bed and looking down at zane, “Hey, hey,” He coaxes Zane to open his eyes, blue laser-focused on Cole's face, “You’re alright, I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” he promises, and Zane lets out a shaky breath, blinking away tears.

“Sorry.” Zane pushes out past his teeth, “I am stronger than this.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Cole tries to hide the heartbreak on his face, “You’ve been through a lot. You’re tired, you’re in pain, it’s okay if you take off your mask. We’ll be here to help you.”

Reaching out to cup his cheek and strategically angle him away from the others ministrations, Cole keeps his boyfriend's eyes on him, “I will keep you safe.” With each reassurance, Zane seems to relax more. He knows that the others wont hurt him, but the fear response is so engrained he can’t calm down. The words help.

Raw wiring greets Pixal when Nya finally sits back, the bucket sloshing and full, and Kai has to blink away tears at the usually neat mechanics looking so mangled.

Nya takes a fortifying breath and picks up the soldering iron and starts in on the thick of it. She explains each of her actions to Zane in perfect detail before she does them, each time she has to touch him she announces it, each time she has to unplug a ruined wire she warns him. He braces and flinches and whines each time, and there’s several moments Nya has to turn away to try and compose herself.

Hours of grueling work pass before Pixal realizes they’ve run out of repairs to make.

Nya leans back, and swallows deeply, rubbing at her tired eyes. She takes another moment to double check her work before she carefully closes Zanes chest panel. There’s a little cosmetic damage from the mechanics chains across his skin, but that can wait until another day, “Okay. I- I think we’re done.”

Zane exhales as if he’s been holding his breath the whole time, closing his eyes and sitting up fully, his shoulder slumped. Kai and Cole move back to give him space as he runs his hands over his face, exhausted, “Thank you.” His voice wavers. He swings his legs over the side and allows Cole to take his hand. His feet are firm when he stands on them, and he raises a hand to his chest automatically, his shoulders relaxing when there’s no aching pain.

“Zane?” Pixal says, and he turns to face her, “Why didn’t you tell us?” she prods gently, and Zanes face tightens.

“I…” he shakes his head, “I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend none of it ever happened.” he gathers his courage, “When I was sent to the Never Realm, it hurt. I’ve been protecting myself ever since.”

His eyes skate over the mess of broken wires and miscellaneous gear from the repair session, “I didn't realize it was so bad.”

She thinks maybe he’s talking about more than just the physical aspect, his panic attack still at the forefront of her mind. She takes a step forward, the bed a frustrating obstacle between them, “We love you, Zane. we don’t want to see you hurt. If you ever need to talk to someone, i’m always here- or we can help you find someone else together.”

He blinks hard, staring at the floor. Kai moves closer and cups his cheek, murmuring soft words. Zane nods, “Thank you.” He says to Pixal, “I will think about it.” It’s the most promising thing they’ve gotten out of him yet. Baby steps.

The door opens, and Lloyd pops his head in cautiously. He brightens at the sight of Zane up and about, “Um,” He says, smiling, “If you guys are finished, Jay and I made dinner.”

“You did?” Zane blinks, clutching Cole's hand as they begin the trek over to the door, “I’m impressed.”

“It’s nothing fancy.” Lloyd ducks his head, and Zane assures him anything they made will be just perfect.

Pixal watches him leave and dares to hope that things will get better.

[itskatastrophe-x]

Far Off Places (CH 2)

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3

Word Count : 3,022

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

It took a few hours to wake up, but when you did, you sat up in a cold sweat, sharp pains shooting through your ribs, legs, and back. Almost three days of walking and running had taken a huge toll on your body. You scrunched your face in pain and shot a hand to your chest, noticing bandages around your arm and hand. That’s when you were very aware of your surroundings and two other figures in your peripheral. You looked at them in shock, their faces mirroring your same expression. You remembered the one with the wings just as you fell to the ground, but this second person you hadn’t seen. How many people were here, you wondered.

You tried to speak but your throat was raw and all that came out were raspy whispers and coughs. The one with wings looked at the taller one and motioned to a doorway. The taller one nodded and walked away swiftly, coming back seconds later with a bottle of water and another one full of a sparkling pink liquid. He handed you both of them and advised to drink the pink one first and wash it down with the water, explaining it was a health potion. You obliged and gulped it as fast as you could, almost gagging from the taste, and quickly chugged and swished the water after, feeling the effects almost instantly. You thanked them both and handed the bottles back to the boy and he took them back through the doorway, leaving you and the winged man alone. You fiddled with the bandages on your arms for a moment and cleared your throat a couple times before finally speaking.

“Where am I? Who are you? Thank you for the help.” The man lightly chuckled and took off his hat, his hair falling to frame his face. “My name is Philza, but you can call me Phil. The other one is Ranboo, he’s our friend that lives over by the mountain.” His voice had a very thick accent, unlike the boy, Ranboo. You nodded and he continued. “You’re outside of the Dream SMP. I live with Ranboo here with Technoblade. He goes by Techno. He’s currently asleep and we’re not sure when he’ll wake up. You’ve seen our dogs,” he chuckles out, drawing a smile onto your face. You scratch the back of your neck and heat makes its way to your face. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Your dogs made quite the ruckus.” He smiles fondly at you and waves you off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. We’re normally up around that time anyway. Days have been pretty restless lately, what with all the wars and such going on.”

He notices the worry on your face and goes on. “We tend to stay out of things. We’ve been involved too many times and we all like to keep things peaceful. These cabins are essentially a safe place. No one really knows where we live and we’d like to keep it that way. You aren’t here as a spy are you?” You shake your head and look down at your hands, bruises and cuts litter your body, but are slowly fading thanks to the potion from earlier. “No, I uh…” You clear your throat and steel yourself to speak more. “I… I travelled for three days to get here. My homeland was destroyed and I have nowhere to go.”

You look up at the man, the younger boy now standing next to him, staring at you in wonder and concern, the same concern seen in Phil’s eyes. “I’m still not sure how much I can trust anyone so I won’t say much more, but I lost my home and everyone I know. I’ve come a long way and I need somewhere safe. The person that murdered and burned my home could still be out there, and I need help. I know we’re strangers but I hope to trust you two more. You seem like nice people and, if you’re willing, I’d like to find some help some day to go back and figure out what happened.”

They both stare at you for a while until Phil smiles politely and nods. “Of course! Do you have a name you’d like us to call you?” You think for a minute, not being able to come up with a name to go by so as to keep your real name hidden. Ranboo speaks up a minute later. “We could call you Faer, if that’s ok. As a name it means Traveler.” You smile brightly at the small  name and nod. “I guess that fits, seeing as I am technically a traveler now. I didn’t do much of that back home, so sure, let’s go with that.” They both nod in unison. “Faer,” you say to yourself. A fitting name, short and sweet and it rolled off the tongue nicely. Maybe one day when you knew you could trust them you’d tell them your real name, but for now that nickname would do.

They gave you some supplies, a bed, and some armor and better clothes after you got some rest and pointed you to a good spot to set up your own little home. They also gave you a map of the surrounding areas and gave you a rundown of some of the people that lived in the main cities, but there were so many that you forgot half of them. Ranboo followed you out to pick a spot to settle down, idly chatting about how life was in the area, who to stay away from, where all the farms were, and just general stuff to pass the time. Eventually you ran out of wood so you both ventured into the woods to chop some more.

After a couple hours, your small abode was looking good. It wasn’t anything fancy or as big as Techno or Phil’s houses, but it did the job. All you had to do yet was finish putting walls up inside, decorating, and making it pretty outside. You added some fences to give yourself a front yard, placed torches to liven up the place, and also made a small deck out front facing the aforementioned houses. It took a couple more hours of work to get the inside done, but everything was done around sunset and you were ready to pass out. Phil came over close to the end and said Techno was awake and they would be over soon to welcome you in. You were grateful to have such a warm welcome, but you were still on edge. How well could you trust these people? Sure, they gave you plenty of things and were friendly, but it felt like they were hiding something or were keeping information away from you. The way they would shirk off certain questions or avoid subjects completely was weird. You assumed it was because they didn’t trust you either, so you shrugged it off. You were a stranger to them. A person that ended up passing out on their land, giving them no info on who you were or where you came from. You were lucky you ended up here, though. Hearing some of the stories Ranboo told you made you glad this was the closest on your journey.

Ranboo returned, after leaving to clean himself up, with some flowers, a diamond sword, and a couple emeralds to get you started. After chatting with him for a couple minutes you heard a knock on your front door, signaling the return of Phil. You hopped off of your seat and opened the door to greet him. He had a couple dishes of various kinds of foods piled into his arms, so you gladly took some from him. What you were not prepared for was Techno. You didn’t know what to expect, as Phil had given no description, but the tall half pig, half human standing behind the winged man with a disgruntled look on his face, flowing red cape, and glinting golden crown was absolutely something you weren’t expecting. I mean, you weren’t one to judge, you just had no clue what to expect. Phil walked past you and asked Ranboo for help setting everything up, leaving you with the large man. He gave you a huff and walked past you, cape gently hitting you in the shins as the wind from him walking pushed it out behind him. You stood there, slightly in shock with the door open, as he made himself at home in your new living room. You closed the door and turned around to see him with his head hanging off the back of the couch, eyes closed and arms crossed. He did just wake up, maybe he’s still tired.

The night was going well in your eyes. You and Ranboo were getting along well and you could see why he was saying Phil was very much like a powerful father figure. Techno joined in on some conversations occasionally when he thought he had something to say. You asked him some simple questions but he refused to answer anything. You chalked it up to him not trusting you at all so you let it slide and shrugged it off. Phil had nudged him or elbowed him a few times if he thought he was getting out of line, but you waved it off saying you weren’t bothered. Honestly you weren’t bothered. You had heard worse in your courts back at home, so little phased you at this point. Thinking about your home had apparently made you zone out, because you were brought back to real life when you heard your new name being called. Ranboo had shook your shoulder lightly, concern etched onto his and Phil’s faces, amusement and curiosity finally glinting in Techno’s eyes. You laughed lightly and put a hand to your face, feeling wetness on your cheeks. When had you started crying?

“Faer, are you ok? What’s wrong?” Ranboo’s hand retracted and he stared at you with intense focus, very clearly concerned. You looked down at your empty plate, long forgotten from the hours before during your conversations. You contemplated telling them the truth, second guessed yourself, then shook your head and covered your face with both hands, letting out a short sigh. You knew you would have to tell them eventually, and you supposed now was as good a time as any. You started off at your lineage, being born into a royal family, being sheltered since you were young, your training and lessons. Everything shortened into smaller stories to keep things simplified. Everything leading up to your parents inevitable deaths and you becoming the ruler of a whole kingdom.

Techno had perked at the words “royal family”, finally becoming invested in something and listening closely, asking questions every once in a while. Ranboo and Phil sat in shock as Techno had basically taken over the conversation, you pouring out details as he asked. You weren’t sure why exactly you were letting him get so much out of you, but all of them seemed to relax the more you talked about your past, until finally you reached the downfall of your oversized city. Ranboo had gotten more invested in this, and seemed to want to figure out how it happened as well. He said he was a fan of theories and small details that seemed to be hidden, so he agreed to helping you find the arsonist.

They asked for coordinates so you got up, grabbed all the plates to take them to the kitchen, found your journal, and brought it back to where everyone was sitting. Ranboo’s eyes lit up as he watched you flip through the pages and you caught onto his gaze and smiled. He opened his own bag and brought out a journal silently, smiling the whole time, mentioning how he kept his own journals. You made a mental note to try to ask about them at another point as he put his away. You finally flipped to the page holding info about your kingdom and pulled out a map from between the pages as well, flipping them to face Techno and Phil. They looked over everything and you watched intently as they pointed and flipped, exchanging words every few seconds.

“We can just make a portal,” Techno finally grunts out. “Most of our locations we stay in have portals to each and highways connecting to the main portal by the community house. The only thing we would worry about is having you out and about. Some of the people here… Aren’t so trustworthy.” You think back to your conversation with Ranboo and nod. “Yeah, Ranboo said something about an Egg? What’s that all about?” They all go quiet and you feel like you’ve asked the wrong question. “I’m assuming it’s nothing good, so I won’t press anymore, but if it’s unavoidable then you’ll have to tell me eventually.” Phil speaks up from his side of the table. “Well, all we should tell you now is to not touch the vines, and if you hear anything to let us know right away. Don’t trust any bad thoughts.” You were taken back by that but hesitantly croaked out an ‘ok’ and left it there.

You all spent the last hour together coming up with a plan to get you to your kingdom, what you could look for, and who else you might be able to trust. The date was decided to be set for a week from the present day and you would find two more people, Karl and Sapnap. Ranboo said you would get along well with them and they were people they knew could help that had a lot of knowledge. Karl was a master at problem solving and a time traveler (though he still didn’t know exactly how to control it and only used it when he had to), and Sapnap was born in fire so he knew it well, meaning he might be able to know something from the wreckage. After everything was said and done, you were waving goodbye as they all crossed the snow covered field to their separate homes.

You shut the door and sighed, leaning your back against the solid wood plank, your head also falling back to rest on it, eyes closing as you listened to your breathing and heartbeat. The gentle crackling from the fireplace and torches calmed your nerves more as you pushed off the door and made your way to the kitchen to extinguish some of the lights. After cleaning up and tidying everything, you looked over the living room once more and smiled to yourself, finding your way up the stairs and into your bathroom to wash off and get ready to sleep.

All this alone time gave you time to think about the plans, and the more you thought, the more you doubted this person named Sapnap. You were told he had some kind of fire ability, and seeing as most of your kingdom was set on fire, you didn’t think he was very trustworthy. No matter how far away this place was, he was still suspicious to you. I mean, what were you supposed to think when you got to a random location and on the first day upon arrival you were told that there was someone here with a fire ability? Were you just supposed to trust this stranger immediately, just like that? You didn’t like that thought at all, but you trusted Ranboo and Phil enough already that you figured you should give this Sapnap guy a chance.

And with those last few thoughts, you finished settling in to sleep, finally in a proper bed after three long days. The thick blanket and the flickering light of the last embers in the hearth helped you to drift off to sleep. You made a mental note to write in your journal when you wake up, since you were exhausted and could barely keep your eyes open.

Hot. Burning. Loud crashing. Your eyes snapped open and you were finally aware of your surroundings. Your kingdom around you, burning to the ground, craters dotted the ground. You were surrounded by fire. You screamed out in pain and searched for a safe way out. Why was this happening? No. You knew the answer, you just had to remember. Right? Right! Dreams. You could solve things using your dreams, being thrown back into the middle of situations to see what went wrong. To look over missed details. The only downside was the fact that all your senses still worked. It was like time travelling but without all the paradoxical consequences. Essentially just to play detective.

You ran through the blaze, trying to find a safe path while also looking for clues. There was nothing but destruction, burnt remains, and the smell of burning wood. You finally made it to a clearing where the plaza in front of the castle was, and there in the distance between all the red flames and black smoke, there was a flash of color. It was fast, so you almost missed it, but it was there. Who was that? With that thought alone, you were sprinting in the same direction, not caring about the flames that would kiss your skin or the ember covered logs that would catch your legs. You needed this lead, no matter what kind of pain you went through.

You spent what felt like hours running around. Your legs felt like they were being torn apart, your skin was burning and blistered in a lot of spots, and it was getting too hard to breathe. There was no sign of the green that you saw earlier, so you gave into your body and fell to the brick walkway under you, the rough texture stinging your skin. You closed your eyes, breathing heavily, hoping you would wake up soon. Then you heard it. The sound of feet on the pavement ahead of where you laid. Your body hurt as you lifted your head, vision going fuzzy and dark as the person neared. Green.

[frostahesmegabite]

DWC Day 1 - Reunion - Daily Writing Challenge Entry - Mega Goes Home

[ This scene takes place after a two year storyline between the FBC Guild that I’m the GM of and a personal storyline between Megahes and his Fiance, Naturasu. During this time, Megahes was cursed by a Cultist to slowly die from an agonizingly painful hex that was slowly killing him and all hope of its curing/removal was stripped away when this Cultist was killed during the conflicts. Ammaelin came to save Megahes (and acquired some ‘favors’ along the way) by using fractured shards of a Naa'ru to force Megahes into becoming Light Forged in a sense. This process took several years thanks to the manipulation of time via magic and while Mega felt the strain of three-four years of work, for everyone else it was roughly eight to ten weeks before his return. ] The Zeppelin ride to Orgrimmar was agonizingly slow, probably more than any other ride Mega had ever had on one before in his entire life. It was enough to drive him mad and the longer it took in combination with the closer it got to taking him home to Naturasu the worse it became. The goblin fidgeted, tugging at his clothes and making sure all the buttons on his shirt were done properly. His sleeves still crisp and the ironed lined still present. Hell, he even fought with the rolled up sleeves and their buttons that kept them pulled up to his biceps. The wait on returning home was killing him. What was Nat going to say when he walked in the door? This reunion between her and him played in his head a thousand times just today alone, he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he played out similar scenarios while he was away. “Nervousness does not become you Mister Frostbite.” The voice was formal and flat, its source coming from a blinding armor clad Blood Elf that stood several feet higher than himself. Crimson red hair blowing in the breeze thanks to their mode of transportation. Ammaelin, the Blood Knight who was responsible for the absence that proved to be a miraculous, and most likely a very heretical, healing process. If one could butter their bread with his smugness, one’d choke on it just from looking at him. “I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less. I been gone for three years now.” He quickly brings up a hand to stop the Elf, they’ve had this conversation several times before already. “And I know, I know. Months for her, for everyone else. Years only for You, Me and the others. But still years for me…” “We did what needed to be done, especially in regards to our agreement. You would have surely died otherwise.” Ammaelin’s head turns if but barely, just enough to cast a glance down upon the golden metal that was imprisoned into Mega’s flesh near his wrists. “You are lucky that you had those shards hidden away. Had any other Paladin known you held those, my brother's curse would have been the least of your concerns. I have no doubt the Church or the Draenei would have come marching on your doorstep…” Megahes’ face contorts as draws upon sarcasm to mock the Elf. “I have no doubt…” Mega blows a massive raspberry in the Paladins direction, which causes him to turn and look back upon the horizon, not giving in to Mega’s provocations. “Look. I know how risky tha thing was and I appreciate what you did and I get that I owe ya. But… all’a that aside. I’m just nervous man. What if…” He just stops and breathes, voice quivering a bit as his eyes begin to moisten, forcing him to stop and look back over the side of the Zeppelin once again. “If she doesn’t approve or she’s moved on due to thinking you dead or not coming back?” “I mean, I could have put that in better words, but yeah.” “I think perhaps you worry too much.” Megahes grumbles and sighs, running his hands up and down his face several times before they slide into his hair, where he just grabs hold of himself and pulls out of frustration only to realize he’d fucked it all up. His head shakes and he sets out to fix his hair as best he can, a nervous tick, to be sure. Mega was about to open his mouth to retort, but the Paladin stopped him by pointing to the horizon. Pandaria’s Jade

Forest. Pillars of tall stone began to rise and fall down into gorgeous forests, rolling hillsides and lily and reed filled rivers. The air was crisp and something about it just filled one's body with a rejuvenating sense of purpose and peace. “We’ll be at your domancile shortly, Mister Frostbite. I suggest you gather your things and we’ll drop you off directly.” If Mega wasn’t nervous before this, he sure as hell is now! His nearly trips… Well, he does actually, right over his own two feet and in a fluster, he looks about for something that wasn’t there before he speedily heads towards the cabins to gather his bag. He’d had this ready hours ago. It wasn’t much, he had no time to prepare for this little ‘retreat’ of his, which he was thankful for now as he threw it over his shoulder. He pauses and looks over at Ammaelin. “For as big of a pain in tha ass ya have been these past couple of years, thank ya. Truly. If it wasn’t for you and them Priests, I wouldn’t be makin’ this trip back.” Ammaelins’ face during this brief statement was a rollercoaster! Disdain and irritation appearing quickly was soon replaced with an oddly peaceful smile by the end of it. “Our time has taught us much, Mister Frostbite, about a great many topics. It has been… enlightening.” His choice of words being an intended pun and irony placed upon Mega. There were no hugs, no great exchanges of physical emotion. The two just look at one another before Mega turns and descends into the bowels of the Zeppelin so he can board the loading platform and get lowered down to his home. Their home. Gold, this was excruciating. The platform lowers slowly, painfully so, at least to him. Each inch makes Mega’s ears pound so hard that he can hear them in his ears and if it got any higher in his throat, he’d choke. “I’m gettin all nervous for nothin’, she probably ain’t even home. Probably in Orgrimmar havin’ some drinks or workin’ at the Knot.” He blows through his lips with enough strength to cause a slight whistle. Stress and worry, all self-induced of course, at how this was going to go. He was happy, no doubt, but worry came natural. The lift jerks as the ground makes contact, nearly sending him sprawling down to the floor of it just for him to look up in utter irritation, sending up a solid middle finger at the crew whether they could see it or not. “Ain’t no wonder these things fall out of tha fuckin sky so much…” He grumbles, straightening himself and clambering off before they end up actually managing to kill him somehow. Once off, the Zeppelin began to hoist the platform once more as it turned to head off towards its next stop. Mega’s red eyes watch it drift off for a moment, offering an overhead wave in case Ammaelin was on deck and looking down upon him. Given time, Mega turns away from it, looking at his pandaren styled home. The smell of the Arboretum orchids wafting through the air hit his senses and caused him to smile and for a moment, peace was welcome until he began to pick up his feet, swearing they are encased in lead the closer to home he became. Much like a scene from one of those cheesy romance books he kept hearing people go on about, he freezes at the door, hand up and ready to knock but nothing comes. No, instead he pats himself down and takes the key out of his shirt pocket and uses that instead. Quietly, creeping open the door slowly as if he expected to walk in and find his place full of cobwebs and everything cold and abandoned. The sight he gets is quite the opposite. Everything was nearly just as he left it. Albeit, more golden now. Naturasu loved her gold and it was a miracle that everything they owned wasn’t gold or khorium at this point in some facet or another. The sight brings a small smile to his face, sucking him into the house where he quietly closes the door behind him, fingers tracing over chairs and couch arms before he lets his pack slide down into the floor where it was quickly abandoned. Quietly, he walks through the house, almost scared to break the silence just to realize that that’s all there’d be

but a sudden clattering coming from the kitchen broke what he hadn’t dared. “Oh gold… what is she remodelling in there now?” It was a good question to ask! Not one that he had malice towards however, as the modifications they’d made thus far were phenomenal. His feet take him into the doorway where Nat can be seen in her usual home attire of thigh-high socks and underwear along with a set of tools, some powered and some not, as she was working on some of their retractable steps that allowed the two of them to cook shoulder to shoulder despite their obvious size differences. And it was this image that made him choke in silence and just stare at her. She was still here and all of his fears, irrational or not, just vanished and all he’s left being able to do is croak out a cough and throat clear. Nat’s voice calls out in irritation as the work clearly wasn’t going as planned. “Just leave tha rollers and frames there on the floor Sugah, thanks.” She must have thought he was someone from the Contingents Engineering or Supply Staff. Had this been any other time, Mega probably would have played into this mistake and taken up the chance to pretend to be said person and elicit some lewd scene, but, no, not today… Well, at least not right -now-. “Sorry, I uhh… must have forgotten them back at tha office. I can go back and get them if ya like.” Mega’s voice quivered in a nervousness that refused to leave his bones that were joining with both excitement and happiness. Naturasu on the other hand, froze entirely just to drop the wrench that was in her hand to the floor. Slowly, she wheeled about, perhaps not sure if she heard the voice correctly or if it was just her senses fucking with her. Whatever her reasoning, the moment her copper colored eyes hit Mega’s own crimson hues, time stood still for them both. No words came, they didn’t need them. Naturasu hit her knees and before she could even get her arms outstretched entirely, Mega was across the room, pinning himself to her and locking his own behind her in an embrace so strong that Titan Steel couldn’t have broken it if it tried. The two remained conjoined and just wept. [ Thank you again for reading my entry to the @daily-writing-challenge ! This is Day One (09/19/2021) and today's words were #Reunion and #Afterlife. I had the choice of using one or both, but decided to run with only Reunion today just in case I decide to pull out some deathly stuff later in the month. ] [ Edit Addition: I apologize if there's some formatting issues. I tried to implant a couple of images to help convey things but Tumblr just wasn't having it, so I had to remove them. I've tried to correct the errors I did find, but I may not have gotten them all. ]

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 21

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAY

THRYMR’S TOMB

“They’re here, my lord.” The messenger said from the doorway, awaiting his king’s response.

Kjotve chuckled and lounged in his chair, allowing his feet to rest on the war table before him.

“Of course they are. It was only a matter of time.” He went quiet for a moment, sliding a rock along the blade of his battle-axe. “...Is Gorm with them?”

The messenger’s gaze shifted to the floor. “N-No, my lord.”

The other man didn’t seem surprised. “I expected as much. That boy was dead the minute he allowed himself to fall into their hands. They’ve likely hammered his head on a pike already.” Kjotve sighed and set the rock down, leaning forward in his seat. “No matter. We’ll manage without him. How many people are we dealing with?”

“It’s an army, my lord. Both the Raven and Bear clans are here. They’re attacking the fort from the southern half of the island. Sigurd Styrbjornson is leading the charge. Dag is nowhere to be found though.”

Kjotve nodded to himself, quickly formulating a plan in his head. “He’s probably dead. I knew something was amiss when Dag’s reports came to a sudden halt.”

He rose from the chair and stretched his arms, resting the axe’s hilt on his shoulder. “Tell our men to prepare for war, and make sure everyone is ready. If Sigurd loses this battle, the power of the entire kingdom will shift, and his family will lose their claim to the throne. He won’t accept defeat easily. We’ll have to throw everything we have at him.”

The messenger bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Kjotve began striding towards the door. “In the meantime, I think I should get a look at this ‘army’ for myself. I’ve never known The Raven Clan to be a formidable opponent, but they’re not an enemy to be underestimated. Keep your eyes sharp, and your axe at hand. This isn’t going to end smoothly.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THRYMR’S TOMB, SOUTHERN HALF

“Heave!” Sigurd bellowed, his voice towering over all the commotion.

The Raven Clan let out a unanimous shout and rushed forward with the battering ram, gripping the mechanism so tightly that their knuckles turned white. The wooden planks of the bridge groaned underneath their weight as they charged towards the fort, trembling from the footsteps of a hundred warriors.

Meanwhile, the Bear Clan marched alongside them and formed a shield wall around their allies, taking the brunt of any arrows that came raining down from the battlements. A series of thunderous war chants echoed from the sea of raiders flooding the gates, and within moments, they were already bashing it down.

“Heave!” Sigurd commanded once again, urging them to charge. The warriors took a few steps back and pulled the ram into position, holding it in place before letting it swing.

The front of the mechanism immediately broke free from their grasp and soared into the braces holding the gate together, causing an array of splinters to fly from the surface.

A few of the supports could be seen bending in the face of the ram’s power, and by now, a unit of Kjotve’s men had gathered on the other side, preparing to welcome the incoming horde of enemies.

Before Sigurd could carry out a final charge however, the shadows of multiple archers blotted the ground beneath his feet like phantoms emerging from the night, drawing his attention to the line of arrows growing above. He gazed upwards into the sun’s blinding light, and yelled another command.

“Shield wall!”

Upon hearing the order, the Bear Clan instantly got into formation and locked their shields together, creating a shimmering shell above their companions. A wave of arrows came bolting down soon after, and rapidly buried the army below under a hurricane of metal.

A number of Sigurd’s warriors were shot dead within seconds despite their attempt to deflect the attack, and much to his dismay, the battering ram suddenly found itself short of some men. The surviving raiders pushed on with any energy they had left and stepped over the handful of scattered corpses now littering the bridge, bringing the ram one step closer to success.

Taking advantage of the opening that followed the archers’ assault, the Raven Clan drew the ram back to its starting point and awaited their prince’s command, keeping the mechanism raised with a Herculean amount of strength.

“Heave!” Sigurd ordered one last time, signaling his men to rush forward. They tightened their grip and practically hurled the ram into the gate, shattering the remains of the barricade into pieces. Shards of wood violently erupted from the site of impact, and shortly after, the Raven Clan was storming the entrance.

“Find Kjotve!” The prince roared. “And send that argr dog into the jaws of Garmr himself!”

Barreling into the fort with a symphony of war cries, the Bear and Raven Clans began tearing through Kjotve’s men like a legion from Hel, cutting down anything in sight as if the spirit of Thor had possessed their very minds.

The sound of axes clashing rang across the battlefield like the shrill voice of a valravn and colored the air with mayhem, drowning out the agonized shrieks echoing from Kjotve’s army.

Meanwhile, Sigurd took hold of his longsword and jumped into the tempest swirling around him, butchering foes left and right in a haze of fury. 

All of his bottled-up rage, grief, and pain came pouring out in every strike, and soon enough, he resembled the man who visited Ingrida in her dreams. His eyes practically glowed with the sparks of a vengeful flame, and it didn’t take long for the god of war to start shining through his actions.

He no longer felt any fear; any doubt. The only thing that guided Sigurd’s axe now was the desire to honor those who had fallen. Thora, Dag, Ulfar, Eirik -- this was for all of them. This was to ensure that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. This... was for his clan.

“Aarrgh!” A familiar voice shouted, causing Sigurd to glance to his side. 

In the distance, he spotted none other than Eivor himself burying an axe into the chest of an enemy raider, baring his teeth like a feral beast on the hunt. His eyes had been pried open by claws of adrenaline, and it was clear from the blood splatters staining his armor that he had already taken down his fair share of Kjotve’s men.

What the young warrior didn’t notice however, was the raider sneaking up from behind him.

“Eivor!” Sigurd exclaimed, dashing in his direction. “Behind you!”

The prince raised his sword in the air and slammed it downwards with an adamant amount of force, practically knocking the enemy’s head right off their shoulders. They dropped to the ground in an instant, and sank lifelessly into the mounds of snow.

Eivor took a moment to catch his breath, still processing the swift chain of events.

“...Thank you, Sigurd,” he said through labored breathing. The older man offered his hand and helped the blonde viking up to his feet, keeping an eye out for anymore men that may have been skulking in his blind spot.

“Don’t mention it.” He flicked his eyes around a bit. “Have you seen any sign of Kjotve?”

Eivor shook his head. “Not yet, and I doubt he’ll reveal himself anytime soon. He’s probably somewhere in the fort, using his men as a shield.”

“Then let’s make sure he has none to hide behind.” Sigurd stepped away from his lover, gesturing to the rest of the battlefield. “I’ll stay here and fight alongside our warriors. You focus on finding Kjotve. We cannot let him escape a second time.”

“Of course. Oh, and Sigurd?”

The prince paused. “Yes?”

Eivor’s expression softened with affection. “...Please, be careful.”

Sigurd returned the sentiment. “You as well, love. I’m not leaving this fort without you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

Sprinting across the reddened snow like a madman, Eivor charged through the war-weathered fort as he searched for Kjotve, trying to ignore all the chaos surrounding him. Everywhere on the battlefield, the young man saw nothing but men and women from both sides falling to their knees in defeat, quivering in the presence of death.

Their anguished cries blurred together in Eivor’s ears, and their bodies began to topple over like trees being cut down. Not a shred of honor or bravery graced the morbid scene before him, and instead of finding glory, he found no more than a desperate desire to cling onto life.

It reminded him of when he was a child. Everything was identical to that horrid night when his parents died, and the sound of Kjotve’s name only enhanced the vividness of the awful memories he carried. He felt like the exact same boy who had fled from that ruined village -- only this time -- there was no one to save him.

He was alone... and so was Kjotve.

Taking a moment to gather his composure, Eivor strengthened his resolve and firmly held onto Varin’s axe, marching directly into the hellish atmosphere ahead. Foes of all sorts blocked his path with a multitude of threats -- including arrows and fire -- but none were enough to scare him off. 

No matter how vicious their bite, or how large their shadow, Eivor refused to waver. He had spent so long trying to find Kjotve in this realm of ice and blood, that absolutely nothing would stop him anymore.

He came here to put an end to this war, and he would.

“Where are you, Kjotve?!” Eivor roared, prowling through the embers. “Come out and fight me! I know you’re there!”

Stomping through bedlam, the young warrior wildly swung his axe at the raiders standing in his way and struck them down one by one, stopping at nothing to find the man who had hunted him for all these years. His thoughts raced with the struggles he had endured to reach this point, and the voices of those he’d lost continued to sing in his head, urging him to keep going.

A primitive fear of death wracked the very core of his soul, but even then, Eivor couldn’t bring himself to retreat. A newfound defiance had been bred in his heart despite the dangers ahead, and in a strange way, his fear pushed him further.

“I will find you!” The Wolf-Kissed bellowed at the top of his lungs, lodging his axe into an enemy’s neck. “You think you can hide forever? You’ve taken my home, my parents, my sister, my honor! You no longer have any power over me!”

He carved his way through yet another group of foes and let out a ferocious shout, bashing his axe with so much force that sparks danced off the blade upon impact. By now, there was nothing but a trail of corpses lying in Eivor’s wake, and in the distance, he could see an all-too-familiar silhouette gazing down at him from the battlements above.

They didn’t move a muscle, nor did they say a word. They simply stood there in silence, watching as the tension in their kingdom finally reached a breaking point. The battle-axe on their shoulder was enough to tell Eivor who it was, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop when they made eye contact with each other. 

They both knew why the Wolf-Kissed was there. They both knew what he wanted. Even though they had spent decades straying from the fire Kjotve sparked all those years ago, they had finally found their way back to one another, ready to guide this saga to a close.

Strolling away from the battlements, Kjotve turned on his heel and began heading down the stairs, beckoning Eivor to follow him outside the fort. It didn’t look like he had any additional men in his company, and for the first time since their initial encounter, the younger man didn’t get the impression that this was a trap.

They were both eager to bid farewell to this lifelong rivalry. The Nornir had planned for this day all along, and soon enough, the ending to their story would be scrawled in blood. The only question that remained -- was who would provide the ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE THE FORT

THRYMR’S TOMB, NORTHERN HALF

Treading carefully through the gathering storm, Eivor approached Kjotve from behind as the older man awaited his arrival, quietly taking in the view of the crumbling fort. Despite being outside its walls, the two of them could still hear the sounds of battle seeping through the cracks of its weathered stone, howling from beyond the veil of snow.

It was like a different world out here. Not a single soul disturbed the barren landscape, and the merciless weather had almost wiped out the scene of the war entirely. Only Eivor and Kjotve stood on the icy plates of Thrymr’s Tomb, and if they listened hard enough, they could practically hear the gods calling out to them, whispering in a tongue that evaded their comprehension. They were alone in this place, and somehow, the idea of that brought comfort to Eivor’s nerves.

They had an arena all to themselves, and that was just the way Eivor liked it.

“Here I am.” He announced, stopping in his tracks. The island’s river lay not too far away from him, filling his ears with the sound of rushing water.

Kjotve turned around at the greeting, giving his opponent no more than a glance. “...Here you are.”

The Wolf-Kissed took a few steps closer, careful not to provoke him just yet. “You waited for the enemy with your back turned to them? I can’t tell if it’s courage or hubris that drives you.”

A chuckle fluttered from Kjotve’s lips. “For all your flaws, Eivor, I know how much you value honor. You wouldn’t attack a man from his back.”

Eivor’s brow furrowed in anger. “...But you would.”

“A trait of mine that many look down on, no doubt. And yet, here I am, one step away from conquering the entire kingdom. There is no honor to be found in war, so I don’t bother with it.”

Kjotve took hold of his weapon. “But enough. We didn’t come here for idle chatter. You’re here for one thing and one thing only. Aren’t you, Varinsson?”

Eivor felt something spur inside him at the sound of his father’s name. “...Let’s bring an end to this, Kjotve. Enough running. Enough fighting. Just you... and me.”

“Eager as always. So be it. You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough. I’ll gladly send you to the Corpse Hall. It’s just a shame that you won’t be able to see your father again, isn’t it?” He displayed a small smirk. “The price of honor, I suppose.”

Gripping the hilt of his axe with both hands, Kjotve slowly readied his stance and locked eyes with Eivor, watching him like a beast studying its prey. Meanwhile, the younger man began circling his opponent and held his weapon out in front of him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The world around them was still with a deathly silence. 

It seemed as if the very heavens had come to a halt to witness the grand spectacle, and even the ocean itself had fallen into a trance-like serenity. There was nothing to distract them, or divert their senses, and the battle at the fort had long since departed from their minds.

The gods had finally granted Eivor his chance to reclaim Varin’s honor, and he didn’t intend to waste it.

Lunging forward with a sudden surge of vigor, the young warrior landed a number of blows on Kjotve’s armor before springing back and evading the counter-attack that followed, forcing him to roll across the ground.

He pushed himself off the ice and quickly returned to his feet, whirling around to face the giant striding towards him.

In the blink of an eye, Kjotve heaved his axe above his shoulders and slammed the bearded weapon down onto the snow, missing Eivor’s head by no more than a few centimeters.

The blonde viking jumped to the side and used the opening to swing his axe at Kjotve’s face, causing the blade to slice straight through the lobe of his ear. Blood instantly came pouring down from the wound and onto the fur of the king’s cape, painting the hairs with a vibrant layer of red. A handful of droplets also plummeted to the ground beneath, marking Kjotve’s every move with a fresh trail of blood.

As for Eivor, he carried on with his assault and relentlessly threw one attack after another, refusing to give his enemy the chance to breathe. Unfortunately for him, a man of Kjotve’s stature was not so easily bested, and the Wolf-Kissed soon found himself on the receiving end of a direct hit from the other man’s weapon.

The gargantuan axe bludgeoned Eivor in the stomach and sent him soaring backwards, causing the wind to be knocked out of his lungs. Thanks to his armor, the blade didn’t make contact with his flesh, but he had still been struck with enough force that his abdomen now writhed in pain.

He stumbled for a moment due to the sensation and attempted to regain his footing, only to be kicked back down when Kjotve jabbed the tip of his boot into his gut. The king then proceeded to bash Eivor’s axe out of his hand by punting it from his grasp, allowing it to slide across the frozen terrain.

“Heh,” Kjotve said with a laugh. “Is that the best Varin’s son has to offer? All these years of tracking me down, and you’ve already been rendered defenseless.” He tilted his head in a patronizing manner. “I almost pity you.”

In spite of the soreness now spreading throughout his body, Eivor simply responded to the taunt with a feral war cry and yanked a dagger from one of the sheathes on his back, plunging the blade into Kjotve’s foot.

The king instantly roared in agony and toppled to his knees, unable to ignore the newfound pain now clutching his leg. Eivor tackled him to the ground as soon as he was staggered and climbed on top of him, desperately trying to press the dagger into his throat.

Due to his lighter physique however, Kjotve easily shoved the weapon away from his neck and pushed Eivor off of him with a punch to the cheek, creating a small distance between them. Eivor took this opportunity to retrieve his axe and returned to his feet, assuming his original stance. Not too far away from him, Kjotve did the same -- only now -- he had been cursed with a limp.

“...You won’t kill me that easily.” Eivor panted out, his breath turning into mist. “I’ve fought for too long to let you walk away now. Even if I die for it, this war will end today. You won’t leave this island alive.”

Kjotve sighed and approached the wounded viking, using his axe as a support.

“Ah... just like your mother. Fighting til the very end. An admirable mindset to have, but one doomed to end in futility nonetheless.” He straightened his posture, clenching his jaw in pain. “You’ll fall, Eivor. You, your clan, your king... you’ll all join Varin and Rosta soon enough. And then, Norway will be united under one crown -- mine.”

Trudging in Eivor’s direction, Kjotve carried on with his pursuit despite the injury he had just sustained and prepared to finish the other man off, prowling towards him with bloodlust in his gaze.

Just as the two of them resumed the fight however, a sudden growl reached their ears, leading them to come to a pause. They diverted their attention to the blizzard surrounding them and fell silent, trying to peer through the wintry fog.

For a while, there was nothing. No footsteps, no figures, no movement. Not even a shadow. 

The environment appeared just the same as before, and after a few moments of waiting, Eivor began to wonder if the disruptive sound had just been a trick of the mind.

Before his doubts could fully settle in though, the sound of a raven’s caw abruptly pierced through the air, echoing across the land like a summon from the gods. Synin herself emerged from the sky and started gliding down towards her companion, rescuing him just like she did when he was a child.

Perplexed by her arrival, Eivor stared at Synin in shock and watched as she soared over his head, vanishing into the storm beyond. At first, he didn’t understand the meaning behind her intervention or what she hoped to accomplish, but once she departed from the island, it all made sense.

Out of nowhere, a pack of white wolves leapt out from behind the fog and charged towards the barbarian king, allured by the scent of his blood. Their fangs glimmered viciously with ropes of saliva, and their eyes swelled at the sight of their next meal.

“What the--?!” Kjotve exclaimed in surprise, brandishing his axe at them. “Where’d you come from? Stay back!”

Pouncing on Kjotve, the wolves overwhelmed the colossal king in spite of his attempts to fend them off and immediately started tearing at his flesh, thrashing him around like a rag doll. The growing discomfort in his foot caused him to collapse to the ground, and before he knew it, the feral beasts were feasting on him without mercy.

Initially, Eivor felt a sense of relief upon seeing the wolves finish his job for him, but after a while, there was a certain emotion building up in his chest that he just couldn’t suppress. The sheer amount of agony behind Kjotve’s screams was enough to shake him to the core, and surprisingly, he found himself beginning to pity the man.

Eivor hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be attacked by a wolf. Despite the fact that he had carried his scar for over a decade, the terror of that night still remained vivid in his head. 

He may have hated Kjotve with every fiber of his being, but even then, it was difficult for him to condemn someone to such a torturous death. Humanity was a trait often lost during war, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to lose his own.

He had come here to reclaim his father’s honor. To restore peace. 

The suffering of others was something he wished to end -- and it all started now.

Rushing towards the wolves, Eivor waved his axe at the beasts and threatened them with a series of shouts, hoping to distract them from Kjotve. At first, they merely challenged his actions and growled in response, but were easily scared off once it became clear he wasn’t backing down.

Waiting for them to clear the area, Eivor guarded Kjotve until the wolves disappeared from his sight completely, and kept his eyes sharp for any other animals that may have been roaming around. The wolves didn’t show any signs of coming back to finish their meal, and for the time being, it was just the two of them again.

As for the fallen king, he had been transformed into nothing but the mauled scraps of an abandoned feast, and left in a pool of his own blood. Bits of bone could be seen peeking through his skin, and his hands trembled both out of shock and pain.

Eivor gazed down at the ghastly sight, unable to hide his disgust.

“Your breath hasn’t faltered yet.” He said, admittedly impressed by Kjotve’s survival.

The other man whimpered, croaking out a short reply. “...You... you saved me. Why? D-Didn’t want the wolves... to claim your prize...?”

The young warrior shook his head. “You mistake my mercy for malice. I may despise you for everything you’ve taken from me... but it is not my place to carry out your judgement.”

Kjotve scoffed. “...Then... whose is it?”

Eivor knelt beside his enemy, looking directly into his eyes. “Wherever you go from here, it is the gods who will determine your fate. The only thing I can do... is send you to them. You’ll die as you lived. Without honor.”

He positioned his axe under Kjotve’s chin, eager to finish this once and for all.

“Goodbye, Kjotve. This world will be better off without you.”

Yanking the blade across his throat, Eivor executed the king in one swift move and freed him from his suffering, watching as the life drained from his soul. His body fell limp soon after the killing blow, and a final breath escaped from his lips.

...Eivor could scarcely believe it.

Kjotve was dead.

Kjotve was actually dead.

After countless years of grief, loss, and sacrifice... the war had finally come to an end. Just like that.

There were no cheers of excitement, or horns of fanfare. There was only the deafening silence that had been left behind by the dead.

Was this truly what victory felt like, Eivor wondered? Was this that glorious moment that had been spun in so many tales, and sung by every bard?

He didn’t feel like a hero, nor did he feel any pride. All he felt was a blossom of relief like none other, and the crushing weight of endless regrets. 

A beam of contentment was starting to shine in his heart now that Kjotve had officially been slain, and Eivor didn’t wish to spend anymore time on this forsaken island. The only thing he longed for was the warmth of Sigurd’s embrace... but he didn’t even know if the man still lived.

Wandering away from Kjotve’s corpse, Eivor left the king buried in the ice and allowed the gods to take him from Midgard, not even sparing a second glance. A wave of memories flooded his head as he drifted back to the fort, and for just a second, he could’ve sworn he saw his parents watching him from across the river.

Eivor had no doubt that their appearance was merely a result of the battle’s ordeals, but even in his dazed state, he was able to make out the faint figures of both his parents.

They were standing side-by-side, wrapped in each other’s arms and observing Eivor as he made his way back to the clan. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak -- all they did was gaze at him from behind the curtains of snow. 

It was almost as if they wished to tell him that their spirits were finally at peace. They had endured a lifetime of torment trapped in Helheim’s depths thanks to Kjotve’s betrayal, and now, they could sleep, forever in each other’s company just as they were in life.

Eivor’s job was done at last, and he could move on from the grief that had burdened him for so long.

“...I did it, father.” He whispered, watching as the mysterious figures faded from his vision. 

“You’re free.”

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[thotful-writing]

Invasion Ch. 14

Description:  A planet conquering race of Saiyans invaded Earth and deemed it worthy of habitation. After bringing the humans to their heels, they set up a new society where humans had one role, to serve. You found yourself in the unlucky faction of being bought and sold as a human pet. With absolutely no interest in owning a human but no way out of having one, Kakarot made a bid on you at the urging of his brother. It was only a matter of time before you were either killed or forced into obedience.

You can find previous chapters in this link: Ch. 12 and Ch. 13 or you can read it here on my AO3

Note: Sorry about the delay in updates on stuff. Sweat is in it’s final chapter now and will be posted soon. Thank you to everyone who is still reading our fics, we really appreciate it!

___________________________________

Vegeta’s grip around your throat was harsh, “you made a deal with me, woman.”

“Forget the deal. Send me to the Arena.” You weren’t scared of the prospect anymore.

He smirked, “you act as though you have a choice here. I paid for you. I put myself on the line more than once and I fully expect to be repaid.”

“What do you want?” You stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how scared you were.

“I can still smell him on you. Kakarot. His scent seeps from your pores.” He inhaled close to your ear.

You couldn’t hide the pounding of your heart against your chest at his closeness and how unnerving he was being. You knew you could take down another human, but fighting off a saiyan was something completely different.

Suddenly he released you and stepped back, “I’ll make this short, I know about your little trips to the Arena with Gine.”

“H-How-“

“Doesn’t matter how. I’m taking over your training and your placement at the Arena. You’ll fight and win until I’m satisfied you’ve paid off your debt.”

You weren’t sure you were actually hearing him correctly, “you want me to fight? And what happens once I’m free of my debt to you?”

“You’ll never truly be free, of course, but you can come and go as you please. No expectations or questions from me.”

The offer sounded too good to be true. You wanted to continue fighting anyways, but having him take over was a little worrisome.

“I do this and I’m free from any obligation? That includes being mated with?” You didn’t care about being blunt at this point.

“If that’s what you want.” He said.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Train me and I’ll fight in the Arena for you.” You had no hesitation after hearing that you’d have free reign over your own interest in being mated with.

“We’ll start tomorrow. Dawn.” He pushed past you and left your room without so much as a glance at you.

You closed your door and collapsed on the bed, the ache in your chest returned when thoughts of Kakarot flooded your mind again. You wondered where he was and if he was even still alive at this point. You knew you’d have no access to anymore information about him. You hated that you loved him, that you convinced yourself you could have a decent life with him. Never again would you trick yourself or let yourself fall prey to such childish notions.

The next day came and you dragged yourself out of bed after spending most of the night obsessing over Kakarot and switching between crying and being angry with yourself. When you finally found Vegeta he was in one of the many training rooms in the palace that he had built, of course, Bulma had the walls reinforced to withstand his anger and power.

“Late.” He snapped.

“Would’ve helped if you’d told me where the fuck you were going to be.” You said without thinking about who you were talking to, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Kakarot’s mother has trained you, right? Show me.” He stood firmly in the center of the room as you walked towards him.

It was odd seeing him without his normal saiyan armor, he seemed almost approachable for a split second.

“You- You want me to hit you?” You were a little hesitant as you’d been informed previously that any slight against the Prince would end with your head being removed from your body.

“Yes. Now get on with it.” He said impatiently.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly as you prepared for what would be a rigorous training session or the last few seconds of your life. You attacked him quickly, aiming to almost land a hit somewhere, but of course you missed. He was quicker, nimble, barely moving himself out of the way. He moved with ease as if you were moving at a slowed down speed, which compared to him you probably were.

“Again.” He said, hands behind his back as he waited.

You attacked again, launching yourself at him, trying your hardest to hit him at least once. You aimed for his chest, missing. Again, aiming for his abdomen, missing. You fought harder, fist coming close to his cheek, but again falling short. By the time you were done, sweat was dripping from your brow and he had barely moved an inch.

“Pathetic. How are you winning fights like this? Are the other saiyans really not training their humans?”

“Turles is. His human fights like him.” You panted, trying to catch your breath.

“Then you should have beat her in your first fight.” He said.

You furrowed your brow, “how much do you actually know about all that?”

“Enough to know you fight like you’re not trying to win, just get the life beaten out of you.” He explained.

It wasn’t that he was wrong, but you didn’t realize it was that obvious to other people.

“Bruises feel better than the other shit.” You shrugged.

“Winning will feel even better. You lose a fight and I add more to your debt.”

“That seems unfair. There are some really good fighters at the Arena.”

Vegeta scoffed, “then it would be wise to be better.”

It seemed like a simple thing to him, to just be a better fighter, but it wasn’t that easy for you. He knew why you started fighting, what was driving you, but he expected you to just flip a switch and fight to win instead of trying to numb the other pain you felt.

Over the next few months Vegeta trained you. Each day you left feeling like your body was just going to dissolve into a puddle. Your muscles ached, bruises covered you from head to toe and he refused to let you use one of the med pods. He wanted you to remember where the bruises and cuts came from. He pushed you, pushed your limits, pushed your body until you begged for him to stop, but even then he pushed more.

“Pathetic. Kakarot actually saw you as a viable mate?” He paced around you as you lay motionless on the floor.

“Don’t.” You sneered breathlessly.

“I’m just trying to understand what he saw in you. It couldn’t have been your fighting skills because those are non-existent. Bulma could kick your ass at this point.”

You felt your anger raging inside, unfurling in your stomach as you pushed yourself up off the floor on shaking limbs. You wiped the blood from your lip, sweat stinging the wounds that covered you.

“I’m done. Fuck this.” You pushed past him.

“Quitting already? Not surprising for someone so spineless. Don’t know what I expected when you didn’t even try to save him.”

You stopped in your tracks, “what?”

“You made no attempts to stand up for him, to break him free. You had all of the resources at your fingertips, Bulma, Gine, but you just let him die.”

You turned around quickly, “are you fucking serious? I had no way of saving him. The second I would have tried he would’ve stopped me or some other giant saiyan fuck would’ve intervened.”

“At least you would have tried instead of cowering like the weak human you are.” Vegeta snapped.

With clenched fists and rage burning in your throat, you launched yourself at Vegeta. He narrowly blocked your attack, but that didn’t stop you. You were determined to make him eat the words he shoved in your face. All of the pain and aches that had forced you to your knees previously, were now driving you forward. The pain pushed you, the rage fueled you. Vegeta smirked in your face at the failed attacks he continued to avoid, until you landed one hit across his jaw. The second your fist made contact with his face you felt it, that jolt of accomplishment, pride that you’d actually done it.

An expression of pure astonishment was etched across his face and your own, “you little-“

With a hand around your throat instantly he shoved you back against the wall, fingers digging into your skin. Your chests heaved, fighting to regain control over the rage you both felt in the moment. His gaze burned into yours, heat radiating off of both of your bodies.

“Am I still pathetic?” You asked breathlessly.

“Yes, but a little less now,” he said with a rare smirk, “use that anger first next time.”

There was something in that moment, something that had changed the dynamic between you. You couldn’t place it, or maybe you didn’t want to admit it, admit the building bond between you. Despite his callousness, roughness with you, it was there, drawing you in to something different.

“You should be ready for your first fight soon.” He released your throat, ignoring whatever look you were giving him.

“I’m not ready, I got my ass handed to me last time. Gine had to put me in one of those pods for like hours afterwards.” You shook your head.

“Don’t get injured as badly and you should be fine. I’ll arrange it for next week.” He walked by you without giving you a moment to argue your point.

You didn’t feel ready, hitting Vegeta once didn’t exactly seem like a great qualifier to fight in the Arena, although it did feel amazing. Training with Vegeta had given you something to focus on for the last few months, almost daily, for hours, you spent time fighting him. His snide remarks pushing you further, using your anger and hatred to boost your strength. Never in a million years did you think you’d look forward to spending time with him, but it was the perfect distraction and a pure carnal release to fight with him.

The next week came and your anxiety was unfurling in your gut as you stood at the sidelines in the Arena. Vegeta was next to you, but made no move to give you any support or last words of encouragement.

“Remember, you lose, I add to your debt.” He said just before you entered the cage.

“Thanks. That helps.” You said sarcastically.

You came face to face with your opponent, clearly an unfair match, which made you wonder if Vegeta had hand picked her. She was at least a good two feet taller than you, built like a fucking truck. Her biceps alone were bigger than your head.

“You both know the rules. Tap out, knock out, or death. Those are your only ways out of here.” The referee saiyan said.

You nodded and looked up at your opponent, her gaze set directly on you as if she was thinking about all the ways she was going to eat you after she dismembered you.

“Fight.” He said and stepped out of the cage.

You readied yourself, getting into a fighting stance and preparing for a direct attack, but she didn’t move, not even a little. She stood still, almost like a statue.

“Um, are you okay?” You asked when she just stood there.

She stared at you but didn’t answer. It felt weird attacking someone who showed very little brain activity.

“What are you waiting for? Attack her!” Vegeta yelled from the side.

You turned to look at him, “I can’t, look at her, she’s-“

Suddenly you were being lifted off the ground by a harsh grip around your throat. You gasped and grabbed at her arm, but it did nothing to keep her from basically tossing you across the cage. You landed with a thud on the ground, the air knocked from your lungs. She was trudging towards you, looking even angrier. You pushed yourself up off the ground and brushed yourself off before running headfirst at her.

Attacking her abdomen did nothing, landing punch after punch was basically useless as she showed no signs of even feeling it. With one swift slap, she knocked you down again, almost burying you into the ground.

“Fuck. What are you?” You struggled to stand back up.

She came right for you again, not slowing down or showing any signs of stopping until you were either unconscious or dead. You wiped the blood from your lip, trying to refocus on how you were going to defeat this mountain. You looked around your surroundings, trying to find something to take her out with, but the cage was devoid of anything. You had nothing on you either, but she still had her collar, which looked to be digging into her skin. That was your out. Your key to winning.

You stood still, waiting for the right moment to attack. She lunged at you, giving you an opening. You moved swiftly around her and grabbed the collar from behind, jerking it back as you used all of your weight to hang onto her by it. She tried to grab the collar but it was too tight around her neck for her to get any leverage. She turned around, trying to sling you off, but you wrapped yourself around her like a vine, determined not to die. She fell to her knees, gasping for air as her face turned red, hands still trying to grab onto something to get you off of her.

“I’m so sorry.” You said as she fell face first on the ground, consciousness fading from her.

A significant amount of complaints and boos were thrown out by the saiyans, most of whom had probably bet against you. You climbed off of her and headed for the cage door.

“See that? I took that monster down by myself.” You panted as you approached Vegeta.

“Nothing more than luck for you. There’s no way you would’ve been able to defeat her without it.” He rolled his eyes.

“Still counts though, right? My debt?”

“Sure. Let’s go.” He sighed.

He was silent for the time it took to get back to the palace, clearly annoyed with the way you’d won. It was annoying how nothing was impressive or good enough for him, he was a stark contrast to Kakarot, which was irritating.

“You know a little positive reinforcement goes a long way.” You said as you followed him back to the training room.

“Oh, you want praise for using a trick to win a fight? How noble of you to avoid using any actual strength.” He snapped.

“You said win, you never said I had to explicitly fight with my fists.” You argued.

“What honor is there in what you just did? How do you have any pride after that?” He turned to face you.

“The fuck do I care about honor and pride? I just want to live my life.”

Vegeta was on you in an instant, hand around your throat once again as he shoved you back against the wall, “what kind of life is it if you take the coward’s way out every time?”

“I’m not a coward.” Words you didn’t fully believe yourself, but you said them anyways.

“Prove it. All I see is a weak, little human whining about how unfair her life is, refusing to take it back for herself.” He sneered, eyes burning into yours.

With adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you made a stupid decision. You grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back as much as he allowed.

“Let me go.” You said through gritted teeth as his hand tightened around your throat.

“Maybe you would be useful for something, a feisty little mate. Sell you off to the highest bidder?” He grinned, sharp fangs on full display.

You pulled harder on his hair, trying to keep him from moving closer, but it did nothing. He leaned in, lips ghosting against yours. You snapped at him, biting his lip and drawing blood.

“Insolent little-“ Vegeta squeezed your throat.

Everything in your mind was telling you it was wrong, the sudden feeling of attraction was nothing more than the adrenaline left over from your fight, but you ignored it. You needed another release, something else entirely taking over you. You leaned forward as much as he would let you and flicked your tongue over the blood on his bottom lip. His eyes were wild, matching your own with the need you both felt in that moment.

As if you both knew what the other was thinking, you released the hold you had on one another and attacked. He pressed his lips to yours, biting you harshly just as you’d done to him. You repeated in your mind that it was nothing more than a release, something you needed.

You grabbed the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, “this doesn’t mean anything. I’m not your fucking mate.”

He turned you around and slammed you against the wall as he jerked your pants down, “I’d never take someone as feeble and useless as you for a mate.”

Before you could make another comment, he shoved his cock into you, forcing a loud yelp from your lips. You pushed back against him, refusing to give him any satisfaction or notion that he was the one fucking you. His fingers dug into your hips, pinching the skin harder by the second. He took out his full frustration on your body, grabbing, biting, fucking, all of it as hard as he could without breaking you completely.

Every doubt, feeling of guilt, you pushed from your mind while he drove into you over and over, each thrust harder than the last. It wasn’t like you had anyone to worry about, Kakarot was long gone by now and it was just you at this point.

A silent, mind numbing haze fell over you as you walked back to your room, a ghost of his harsh grip lingered on your skin, sweat sticking to your clothes. The vast differences between him and Kakarot weighed heavily on you. Over the last few months you’d worked so hard to push every memory of Kakarot out of your mind, forget the feeling of his tail wrapped around your thigh, the heat that radiated off of him in the night. One desperate release with Vegeta brought all of it flooding back to your mind at once, the good and the bad.

Kakarot was rough with you, but caring at the same time. His touch was firm, but gentle, filled with all the emotion he held back. Vegeta was all surface, harshness with nothing beneath it for you. You’d noticed the way he was with Bulma, how he took such care with her, but for you it was different, lacking. It was evident you were nothing more than a release for him as well. You weren’t complaining, you didn’t want anything more with him, but it made your chest ache at the thought that you wouldn’t have that with anyone again.

[dimigex]

This piece was commissioned by @sayurinomoe (commissions info) for my story Healing Hands. I’m in love with it. Thank you so much. 

I wanted to share the scene with you guys, even though it’s part of the second arc. There are some slight spoilers but nothing major. This is early edit stage so it might not look this way when we finally come to to the scene in story. 

Ignoring Sakura, Tenzo dug through the pack at his feet and pulled out a sealing scroll. She arched one eyebrow skyward as he opened it to study the seals on the ground between them. He frowned, then channeled a flicker of chakra into one of the seals. The kanji glow golden for a moment, then a pile of clothing appeared in a poof of smoke.

Tenzo picked up the bundle and offered it to Sakura. “If you’re going to complete Anbu missions, you should look the part.” 

Sakura fingered the black and silver fabric, surprised that Tenzo had considered the uniform. The black compression fabric of the shirt concealed something. Sakura shifted the garment aside and found an Anbu mask tucked into the folds. Laughter bubbled from her lips when she pulled the porcelain free. The stylized creature could only be a mouse with the pink whiskers spreading from its tiny nose. A blush of pink behind the whiskers and inside each ear were the only colors on the mask. "Seriously?" 

"Go on, little mouse," Tenzo teased, sounding more like himself than he had in days. The early anger evaporated in the heat of the moment. Sakura felt like she could draw another full breath. "We all need our rest, and you most of all."

Sakura wanted to argue that Tenzo had slept less than she had over the past two days, but arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere. Going deeper into the forest, Sakura swapped her jonin uniform for the Anbu. The top made her feel uncomfortably exposed, but the freedom of movement that it provided could be life saving in combat. Long gloves were made of the same tight material, providing additional protection beneath the armguards. The pants weren’t much different from her normal ones, at least. 

Eyeing the flak vest, Sakura rocked back on her heels. She knew from experience that the material was lighter than her jonin vest. If she hadn’t seen Tenzo put on and remove the same garment half a dozen times, Sakura wouldn’t have known where to find the hidden zipper that released the sides. Even so, it was more difficult to close than she’d expected. Much like the shirt, the silver armor fit snugly against her chest. She adjusted the fit a couple of times, tugging up and down until she felt like she could almost draw a breath. 

Content that everything was in place, Sakura sealed her old armor away as easily as Tenzo had made the new one appear. She tucked the scroll away and stood, dusting stray grass from her pants leg. Next, she tried on the mask. The world shrunk around her, the hard porcelain narrowing her vision to pinpoint focus. Sakura couldn’t help but wonder if her peripheral vision would be limited by the mask. She supposed that someone smarter than her had figured out a way around that. 

Content that she was as ready as she’d ever be, Sakura walked back toward their makeshift campsite. The cool air that brushed across her bare shoulders felt foreign as she spied Tenzo kneeling beside his bedroll. “Well, how does it look?”

Tenzo glanced up at the sound of Sakura’s voice. His eyes widened as they took in the sight of her in full Anbu uniform. “I-uh-I-”

“I look stupid don’t I?” Sakura reached up and removed the mask, hooking it on the belt with surprising ease. “I’m not Anbu. I look like a little kid playing dress up. This vest is too tight--”

“No,” Tenzo interrupted the slur of words that Sakura didn’t seem to be able to stop. Her cheeks flushed at the tirade, trying to stop herself from babbling. An almost smile played across Tenzo’s lips before he looked away. If the man started laughing now, Sakura was going to hit him, consequences be damned. Warmth colored Tenzo’s cheek as his eyes returned and traveled up to Sakura’s face. “You look nice.”

Nice? The adjective seemed to be the least fitting one that Sakura could imagine. Fierce, deadly, or powerful she could have accepted. But nice? Tenzo busied himself with his blanket, folding the fabric one way then the other to smooth out the wrinkles. Sakura huffed under her breath. “Nice? What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Just that it looks to fit,” Tenzo answered almost as soon as the question left Sakura’s mouth. He glanced up again, pink deepening toward red on his face. “I wasn’t sure that I got the measurements right.” 

“Oh.” Sakura hadn’t considered that Tenzo had guessed her sizes perfectly without asking. “Thanks.” 

Tenzo raised his shoulder in one of his depreciating shrugs without looking up. “It was necessary for the mission.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” When Tenzo didn’t respond, Sakura knelt and unrolled her blanket beside his. Tenzo continued preparing himself for bed, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He was angry at her and had been since they left Konoha. The uniform had been planned, even when he was furious at her for refusing to sign his unconditional mission release. Sakura exhaled and pulled her knees up to her chest. She knew better than to press Tenzo when he was angry. She’d learned that much at least.

Tenzo had the final watch of the night, so he slipped beneath his blankets without looking back at Sakura. She could have responded with a petty huff at the way he was acting, but she saw the war inside that he tried to hide. He wanted the mission to go well, to prove that he could go back on the Anbu roster. He didn’t want Kakashi to know how bad things had been the past few weeks. He didn’t want to look weak. Maybe he was afraid that she saw him differently now, after everything. 

Recalling the nights spent curled up in Tenzo’s bed, Sakura waited until his breathing took on the steady cadence of false sleep. She crossed the space between them, resting two fingers on his shoulder. Tenzo shuddered, a movement so brief that Sakura almost missed it. The tension bled from his back and his breathing eased just enough for Sakura to know he appreciated the gesture. That was good enough for her.

[thevindicativevordan]

Metallo

I wanted to talk about one of my favorite DC villains, a guy who I’ve always thought was incredibly cool. A guy who I’ve thought makes a really awesome contrast for Superman. A guy who has never been in stories that have utilized his potential in my eyes:

Let’s talk about Metallo.

Metallo’s Background

He’s one of Superman’s oldest Rogues, and also one of the Rogues who has gone through the most revamps. The Golden Age Superman fought a guy called Metalo aka George Grant who created a suit of armor made out of the strongest metal on Earth (something that would resurface in the Grant Morrison revamp during the New 52) and a super strength serum that made him Superman’s physical equal. In an odd way he was an evil proto-Iron Man/Post Crisis Lex Luthor:

The John Corben take wouldn’t show up until the 1950s, created by Robert Bernstein and Al Plastino. This was the foundation for the modern conception of Metallo:

Right off the bat Corben was positioned as an Anti-Superman, predating Bizarro who wouldn’t show up until later. Corben worked as a journalist to cover up his real activities as a murderer and thief. An accident that nearly killed him and crippled his human body, forced him to accept a deal with a scientist to transfer his mind to a new artificial body. The scientist transferred his mind into an android body covered in synthetic bulletproof skin, gifting Corben with super strength. The synthetic skin idea would be used in Byrne’s revamp and the DCAU incarnation. He was initially powered by uranium, but was told he would need Kryptonite to fuel himself permanently. Corben would also act as a romantic rival for Clark via wooing Lois with his pretense of being Superman’s secret identity.

Ultimately John Corben would die in his debut issue, after mistaking a museum prop for the actual Kryptonite he needed to power himself. I often wonder if the character might have been better off if he had not been killed off in his debut, similarly to how the Joker was saved from dying in his debut by editorial. There were many intriguing ideas present in Corben’s creation: He was a romantic rival for Clark Kent, he used his journalism in a similar if villainous way as Superman did, and he was powered by the very thing that could kill Superman while still possessing enough raw strength to stand on equal terms with the Man of Steel. If they had kept him around, fleshed him out more, might Metallo have enjoyed more long term respect?

 Regardless, Corben’s death paved the way for the third Metallo: His brother Roger Corben.

Roger likewise had a lot of interesting ideas that would eventually get folded into the modern Metallo. He was not a petty thief, but had a personal vendetta with Superman over the death of his brother. Superman accidentally caused the very accident that crippled Roger, adding to the man’s feud. Roger was also a leader within the Skull organization, rather than the small time criminal his brother was. This Metallo’s design would form the basis for the Geoff Johns/Gary Frank revamp during Secret Origin, and I suspect the Johns conception of Metallo as a member of a wider organization and whose transformation was caused by Superman has it’s roots here.

Sadly the take on a more fleshed out Metallo would not last. The Roger Corben version of Metallo would meet his end with the rest of the Pre-Crisis Superman Rogues Gallery in the seminal Alan Moore story Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?

Enter John Byrne:

During his Post-Crisis revamp of the Supermythos, Byrne returned to the John Corben take of a petty thief injured in an accident, who is rebuilt by a mad scientist Professor Vale. Byrne added his own twist though, with the scientist believing Superman to be the first scout in a full blown Kryptonian takeover of Earth, and specifically crafted Metallo to be an Anti-Superman weapon powered by Kryptonite. Metallo was to be humanity’s defense against the threat of Superman, an idea that would be revisited in Johns’ and Morrison’s revamps. Unfortunately petty thieves don’t make for great heroes, and Metallo killed Vale, ultimately coming into conflict with Superman not over any desire to protect humanity, but to simply eliminate a thorn in his side.

This incarnation of Metallo has basically served as the basis for his appearance in outside media, with a design that blatantly draws on the popular Terminator films.

This version of Metallo would also acquire a variety of powers thanks to making a deal with Neron that included the ability to transform parts of his body into weapons, transfer his consciousness into any technological or mechanical device, and manipulate his size:

Personally I’ve always loved that powerset upgrade, and think it’s crucial it sticks. It let him kick the shit out of Superman AND Batman in Loeb Superman/Batman, which basically solidified for me that this dude was a badass you didn’t want to mess with. Shame he’s never come close to matching that initial impression since.

The DCAU mostly used the Byrne revamp’s take, but they did change a few aspects which would end up carrying over to the mainline version. Most important was the replacing of Vale with Lex Luthor as the mind behind Metallo’s creation, something that would be incorporated in both Johns and Morrison’s later revamps.

One aspect that they introduced that didn’t carry over, that was still utilized to great effectiveness in the show, was that Corbyn’s transformation had robbed him of most physical sensation. He couldn’t taste, smell, touch, all the little things that made us human, and that drove him nuts. Ultimately he would learn that Lex was responsible for what happened to him, and he would swear a grudge against both Lex and Superman. Malcom McDowell was a fantastic choice to play Metallo, and is still the guy I “hear” when I read Metallo’s dialogue.

Now we come to the guy who crafted the next big revamp of Metallo: Geoff Johns.

This version of Metallo incorporated a ton of aspects from the multiple revamps that had preceded it, in much the same way Secret Origin did to Superman as a whole, while also adding a few new twists that I consider essential to the character now.

Like the DCAU, Luthor was the one who transformed Corben into Metallo. Like the Roger Corben take, this John Corben was accidentally crippled in a fight with Superman that gave him a personal vendetta against the Man of Steel.  Similar to Byrne, this Metallo was created to be an Anti-Superman weapon. Corben and Lois had had a brief romantic relationship, similar to the original debut of Corben. Johns even incorporated some of the Golden Age Metallo by having Corben suit up in a mech suit made of “Metallo”, the strongest metal on Earth to fight Superman before the accident. Johns also added a key bit of lore that I love, that Corben served as a soldier under General Sam Lane, and became the man’s surrogate son, the child he always wanted as opposed to Lois and Lucy. Here Corben is motivated to fight Kal-El by a mix of xenophobia, need to impress his father figure, desire to impress Lois, and a simple dose of blood lust.

The last major revamp came from Grant Morrison during the New 52:

Morrison kept a lot of the Johns revamp: Corben was a soldier serving under Sam Lane, he had a brief romantic relationship with Lois, he was distrustful of Superman’s heroics, and his transformation into Metallo was connected to Lex. However Corben was a much more sympathetic figure under Morrison than under Johns, genuinely believing Superman to be a threat, he volunteered to be merged with the Metal-0 superweapon (another callback to the original Metalo) to defend humanity, but Brainiac hijacked his cybernetics and turned him into a weapon. 

While Metallo would get another visual revamp for Rebirth, posted in the first image, Corben has more or less stayed within the confines that Byrne/Johns/Morrison established.

How I would use Metallo

I said earlier that Metallo is a guy I loved that I’ve never thought has lived up to his potential. He’s a villain with a lot of cool ideas, he’s a villain who has been continuously used by a lot of my favorite writers, but he’s never lived up to the Anti-Superman characterization that’s baked into him. Too often he’s just been a glorified henchman, or a petty thug, rarely if ever challenging Superman except in the most basic physical sense. I think that’s a great disservice to the ability of the character to be a much more important Rogue. That writers so often refuse to focus on him or any of the Rogues beyond Lex also hasn’t done him any favors. Instead of creating countless new OCs that are tossed aside by the next writer, someone needs to come on board with a passion for revamping the classics.

A lot of Superman’s Rogues suck not because they aren’t cool or don’t bring any interesting ideas, but because the ideas don’t do a good job in contrasting with Superman’s attributes. Metallo is a great example of this, look at all the interesting ideas creators have crafted around him, yet none of them have really been able to push those ideas as a way to explore and contrast Superman, so we get basic “Metallo tries to kill Superman, fails, Superman sends him back to jail” stories. That’s a failure of creativity in my eyes. I think that by choosing from some of the revamps listed above, a better, cooler, more interesting Metallo can be crafted.

The basics as established by Byrne/Johns/Morrison are great! The essential ideas that should be incorporated from all of the revamps listed above are:

1. Corben needs to have a military background as in Johns/Morrison. The petty thief origin is too dull, there’s nothing really to be mined there from a characterization standpoint. As a soldier Corben can serve as an interesting critique and contrast of Superman as an icon of America. The “American Way” has always been a dicey add-on to the original “Truth and Justice” motto. Often it’s been used to cast Superman as an obedient stooge of the government, as he was in The Dark Knight Returns, a characterization that has dogged him ever since. I think Corben can serve as an interesting character to explore Superman’s relationship with the American military-industrial complex. I would have Corben be what said complex wants Superman to be, at least in the beginning: A human WMD they can aim and fire, who will always follow orders no matter how reprehensible they are, who has a firm “America First” mindset. That way you can contrast the mainline Superman, and show that Superman is not that while also establishing what “The American Way” means in his eyes. Or you can have Superman drop that aspect of his motto in-universe, out of disgust for how his government perverts it. Either option is fine with me, I didn’t mind when Superman renounced his American citizenship.

2. If Lois often has to end up working with Clark’s exes, whether it’s Lana, Diana, or whoever, I think it’s only fair that Clark has to end up facing down an ex from Lois’ past. It’s important to show that Lois had a life before Clark showed up, and I think Corben is a good way to explore some of that. He’s the possessive ex-boyfriend who doesn’t respect Lois’ personal space and is convinced he can “win her back” via sheer determination. You can also compare and contrast the way Clark courted Lois, did Clark occasionally make the same pigheaded assumptions as Corben did? Corben debuted as a romantic rival for Superman, and I think that aspect still has merit. I also like his status as Sam’s surrogate son, it adds for some nice tension with Clark’s father-in-law that the guy he actually wanted to marry Lois was transformed into a weapon to kill the guy who ended up being his son-in-law. 

3. Corben is a true believer in the threat Superman poses, and is willing to take on the transformation into Metallo to protect humanity. It’s xenophobia yes, but with all the Evil Superman stories going around, it’s hard not to sympathize at least a little bit with Corben’s viewpoint, which tie into a deeper attribute of Corben’s I think needs to be brought up: Corben should be a sympathetic villain. I wouldn’t make him a bloodthirsty psycho, Superman has plenty of those. Corben should have villainous valor, willing to tackle on whatever threats to humanity are out there, whether Superman or others. I would make Corben instead someone who has the genuine desire to protect humanity, but lacks Superman’s concern for collateral damage. In that way you could contrast the two’s brand of “heroics”, Superman’s loyalty to humanity as a whole over one nation, and concern with protecting lives first and foremost, Corben’s desire to protect humanity’s future for the “greater good” even if it costs a few lives in the here and now and loyalty to America above all else. 

4. I like the idea of Superman being inadvertently responsible for the accident that cripples Corben and mandates his transformation. It adds to his sympathy, helps justify why Superman might continue to believe Corben could find redemption (he wants Corben to change and also wants to find a way to earn Corben’s forgiveness one day), and provides a good personal reason for why Corben would hate Superman, blaming Supes for his current state. I would also have him blame Sam and Lex as well, but he would subdue those resentments for as long as he remained working for the military. Only after he finally snaps would he target those two.

5. Finally I would keep the ability to shapeshift his body into weapons, and to manipulate technology. I would have Corben emulating Adam Jensen from Deus Ex, able to “hack” tech around him for his own purpose, armed with a variety of weapons that make him a huge threat not just to Superman but to everyone. Finally I would get rid of the Kryptonite heart. I’m tired of every battle with Metallo going the same way: He shows up, blasts Superman with kryptonite radiation, Superman lies on the ground gasping in pain, Metallo stands around gloating like a moron instead of finishing Supes off, Supes beats him by tricking him or by someone else intervening. I want to see Metallo as an Anti-Superman weapon realized beyond jus the Kryptonite. How about incorporating the DCAU version’s lack of feeling, so that Metallo doesn’t feel pain from Superman’s blows or his powers? How about giving him an internal temperature controller, so he can’t be melted by heat vision or frozen by arctic breath? How about an invisibility cloak that hides him from Superman’s vision, sound mufflers that let him sneak up on Supes even with his hearing, basically go WILD with his Anti-Superman status, let us see a real fight between someone who can counter each of Superman’s powers! You have Kryptonite Man and Lex for the villains who mainly make use of Kryptonite against Superman, I think Metallo should go in a different direction. Morrison making it so that “Metal-0″ was already powerful enough to hurt Superman is all the justification you need as to why he still poses a threat in my opinion.

I’ll go over the basic arc I’d want to see him undergo and the kinds of stories I think he’s positioned to tell in another post.

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 7. Random thoughts.

I swear Goblin Slayer looks like he's blushing through his armor on that cover. I don't blame him, given it's Cow Girl, but that's what it looks like.

I always get a laugh out of Goblin Slayer's completely unwillingness or inability to remember any type of monster outside of goblins. I think he only knows what vampires and dragon are because they're the most popular monster adventurers want to beat and thus the ones he'd hear about the most. He repeatedly can't remember what an ogre is despite dropping an ocean on one, nor the dark elf or troll, and I think last volume he needed a long minute to remember what giant rats are. No surprise he can't remember what the Loch Ness Monster's name was in this book, or what an elephant is. Mokele Mubenbe. It's hard for me to even pronounce that.

Lizard Priest was in the process of bringing each of the nuns upstairs into the chapel from the basement storehouse. “Stay strong, now. When dawn breaks, we can take you somewhere less upsetting.” “Thank you... Truly...” “Think nothing of it. We may revere different deities, but monkeys came from lizards, in the end. That makes us cousins.” “Heh-heh... You lizardmen...say the strangest...things...”

I don't say this often enough but Lizard Priest is just kind of the best, you know? He's like a big, scaly, green teddy bear. He's a very comforting presence and such an easy person for everyone, including those of different faiths like Priestess and the elves, to be friends with.

At first I was disappointed Priestess didn't get a cure poison miracle, given how often goblins come at the party using poisoned weapons, but her Purify miracle has certainly proved its usefulness, both for cleaning water and air as well as helping psychologically by cleaning up the victims of the goblins. Doesn't restore their stolen virginity but at least leaves less marks and filth for them to be constantly reminded what the goblins did to them. Plus, Goblin Slayer is no stranger to using smoke or poison gas, so Purify is probably good to have on hand to keep such methods from harming the party themselves.

In the middle of this flood of stories, Goblin Slayer said, “So this is your home.” “That’s right.” “That’s good.” “Well—” High Elf Archer’s eyes narrowed like a smiling cat’s. “It’s where my heart is.” Goblin Slayer nodded. Cow Girl blinked at him for a moment. Then he said, “And there are goblins near it.” The note of anger in his voice was unmistakable.

I love all the members of the party, so naturally I'm enjoying all the bonding moments between Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer in this book, as well as the parallels he keeps drawing between them, especially in regards to their sisters. Their interactions are fun because their personalities contrast so much but in a different way than his and Priestess' or her and Dwarf Shaman's.

Then she went on, “Actually, even a lot of elvish adventurers act like that, especially if they’ve just left the forest.” It’s not that they have no sense of danger, just a poor grasp of scale.

That last bit is a good way of describing a lot of this series. There are people ignorant of how truly dangerous the goblins can be but outside of porcelain ranks it's usually not deliberately so. They just live in a world of other insanely large threats that don't like being ignored, with the elves in particular having members of their species whom lived through the old battles of the gods. Goblins are basically pests and goblin slaying pest control. They're a problem but barely a blip on the radar when you're comparing them to freaking Sauron, whom it feels like you just recently finally got rid of.

There is something absolutely hilarious to me that this man in dirty leather and steel armor, coated in faded red stains, who refuses to ever take his helmet off, barely talks, frequently walks in a manner that's described as violent, and who's sole obsession it is to wipe out every last goblin in existence, is known as The Kindest Man on the Frontier. But I still love it because it makes sense. Most villages on the frontier can't get help with their goblin problems because there's not a lot of fame or money in killing goblins and bigger threats are given more the priority, so they're just left on their own. But then Goblin Slayer comes in, doing the job without any thought to reward or praise. He's saved god knows how many kidnapped women prevented the destruction of countless villages. From the outside, yeah, it looks like just simple kindness. Get to know him a little better and you see that it's obsession. And when you get as close as Priestess and Cow Girl, you agree that it's kindness.

It's so cool that the elf adventurer the party saved on their first quest together made a reappearance, even if it's a small one. Like with Wizard's little brother wanting to avenge her, it's good to show that the people brutalized by the goblins aren't just props to show how serious the situation is. They're real (albeit fictional) people, who had their own lives and people who loved them, so having them still matter later in the story and them trying to get at least some closure is good writing.

I was talking with someone before in my vol. 6 post that something I really like about Goblin Slayer's character is his immaturity. Not that he's whiny and bratty like a kid but rather his trauma stunted him in a few ways. He likely had nothing to do with his village being attacked by goblins but to this day he blames himself for what happened to his sister, from him hiding and doing nothing to save her to in this volume believing she would have long moved on from their village if she didn't have to take care of him. Taking on all that blame and guilt, it's such a childish way of thinking and his trauma (and Burgler's training) meant he never was able to grow out of it. I can just see that little boy under the floorboards, thinking everything that's happening around him is some divine punishment from the gods for something bad he did, like not listening to his sister or getting mad at Cow Girl or literally anything else a kid would normally do.

This world has freaking elevators?! What?! When they first mentioned it I thought it was going to be something involving water or magic or gears, but no! Control panels, keypad, entering a code. It even goes bong when it arrives at its destination. I mean, they say it's not clear whether it operates magically or mechanically but this still feels like a big jump in this world's technology level, considering the most high tech thing I remember prior was ice cream making, and that was a chemical process. I just love the image of Goblin Slayer's party patiently waiting in the elevator as it's going up and soft muzak is playing.

By the time he noticed the change, it was too late. The goblin shaman’s blood had been turned to pure water.

WHOA! Priestess! What the f**k?! Was this her version of strangling the goblin champion with a bundle of hair?! That was awesome!

Also not good for her, given her beliefs. It's a good little conflict for her character and sets up some worry about what'll happen if she does something like this again. The Earth Mother spoke directly to her to warn this was a one-time deal. Would Priestess lose the ability to use Miracles or would the goddess outright smite her for such gross abuse of the powers she gave her? There's also the added conflict that Goblin Slayer praised her for what she did. He's not as important as the Earth Mother but he's still someone Priestess respects and is attached to more than anyone else, so she's going to be conflicted if his life is on the line again.

I've never played DOOM. Still love the reference with Hero.

...Is that why there was an elevator? Is this world some odd combination of DnD, Lord of the Rings, and DOOM?

Even though they showed his image, with everyone else all dressed up for the wedding I'm enjoying imagining Goblin Slayer in his normal armor, just with the addition of a bow tie.

Damn that bouquet tease. Who caught it?! Priestess?! Cow Girl?! Sword Maiden leaping in through the window?!

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/fzwykz/read_through_light_novel_vol_7_random_thoughts/

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 5.5)

(IMPORTANT A/N PLEASE READ: oh boy am i nervous to post this,, hello everyone!! this is my first time ever writing smut!! this chapter is basically a continuation upon the previous chapter of the series that I have been working on. You could consider this chapter to be an OVA chapter of sorts... I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether or not this chapter is cannon to the story or not. With that being said, this chapter has very little to do with the story of the series. But, I still tagged all my normal people in the list since it is technically part of the series (if you don’t want to be tagged for things like this, please tell me and i’ll remove you!!). I also wanna give a big shoutout/thanks to @hxldmxdxwn​ (pls dont be mad for me tagging you,,) for giving me some advice for writing smut and being a huge inspo for me!! Thank you so much :)))) Anyway, if you are not interested in smut or don’t like smut, feel free to overlook this chapter!! Our regularly scheduled programming will be continued soon. However, if you do read on, I do hope you enjoy what you see!! have fun ;) ))) 

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x]

Chapter Four: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

WARNINGS: SMUT!!!! light dom/sub references, usage of titles, fingering, force-bonding, inappropriate usage of the force, cursing, otherwise none!!

Key: (F/N) = first name

Word Count: ~4700

~~

Much to your dismay, the song that you and him had danced to eventually met it's inevitable end. 

The pair of you stood a moment longer in each other’s arms as you heard the music slowly fade into the muffled chatter of nobility and officers saying their adieu as they left the venue, the tiredness of the night creeping its way onto their bones. You felt a quick wash of sadness swim overtop of you as your ears confirmed that the song was over, making you frown slightly. Lingering your head upon his taunt chest for a moment longer, your face assumed a soft smile as you looked up at him, laced with a hint of nervousness and awkwardness as you tried to figure out what to say to him This task proved difficult, however, since you knew you had to say something, but you had no idea as to what that something would be. 

Hey, that was pretty neat? No way. There’s no way you’d be able to sleep at night if you said that. 

Thanks? No! That was just rude. 

Hey I really like you even though you are kinda intimidating and could totally snap me in half right here and right now but hey at least you would have touched me? This one was pretty self explanatory. 

“I… I never took you for such a good dancer.” You eventually settled on saying, your cheeks reddening as your eyes twinkled up at him. It was a decent thing to say, you figured. It was in no way a lie, and you had even thrown in a friendly joke. A fine performance.

“And I have never taken you as one to accept such things.” Lord Vader responded to you, his grip upon your tiny frame not faltering for even a moment. His hold was strong, stable, supportive, solid, and a plethora of other things that started with s. Some of which, however, lingered on the… indecent side of things. 

Letting a small giggle escape your lips, you made no attempt to quip back at him as you stared into the eyes of his mask. You had wished that the lenses were at least somewhat transparent within that moment. You craved to see his eyes as they burned into your own, letting you see every emotion that lingered in them as he looked upon you. If you were a braver person, you would reach up and take off the plate of metal yourself.

Alas, you were not. 

After a moment of looking upon him, you let your gaze fall to the panel of buttons upon his stomach, a small smile painting your lips as you snaked your hand from behind his back to let your hand rest upon the armor of his chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the square of buttons. 

“I should…” you began, your eyes still locked  upon the panel of buttons before you, “I should probably start getting ready for bed. We still have to… mingle in the morning, and-” 

“No.” He spoke quickly, almost too quickly, as he cut you off, his voice a touch louder than it should have been.

“(F/N)...” he began, his voice sounding so much deeper than normal to you, “please… stay here. Stay with me.” 

Before you could even think, you felt his arm that was wrapped around your waist slowly retreat and the hand that was in yours unlatch itself. His large hands eventually found their new home upon your ribcage just below your armpits, his grip as strong and sturdy just as before, perhaps even a touch more. Lord Vader’s hands were quite big as they rested upon your tiny body, the expanse of his palms nearly engulfing you whole. Feeling the sheer size of his hands around you, your cheeks flushed deeper pink as you bit your lip, trying to control your indecent thoughts. 

“O-Okay…” you stammered out, still refusing to meet his intense gaze upon your face. Not knowing what else to do with your hands, you rested them gingerly upon the underside of his muscular, leather-bound arms, your thumbs roaming the surface of the material for any feeling of flesh you could make out below it. 

After a long moment of the sith lord holding you in place in silence, you heard his breathing hitch in his respirator as his hands started to travel down your body. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, his strong, gargantuan hands made their way to rest upon your hips, his thumbs starting to rub the bone below your skin.

This in no way helped to coax your blush down or to stop the scandalous thoughts that plagued your mind. 

Without even telling yourself to do so, you lifted your hands from their position on his arms to rest upon the large expanse of his chest, the tips of your fingers hiding underneath the plate of metal that adorned his shoulders in order to get even a fraction closer to the skin beneath. You felt your inner temperature rise at the thought of seeing the man underneath the familiar armor. 

“(F/N),” He rumbled out from behind his mask, a distant purr within the depths of his voice, “Have I ever told you how breathtakingly... alluring I find you?” 

You swallowed thickly at his words, your cheeks nearly reaching a boiling point in heat. You paused for a moment to make sure that you were still alive before you could respond, your hands tensing upon his chest. 

“I-I find you alluring too, Vader…” you responded, still refusing to make eye contact with the dark lord. What you had said was in no way a lie. From the very first moment that you had lain eyes upon Lord Vader, you had always held an odd attraction to him. You had always wondered what it would feel like to have his hands upon you, what it would sound like to hear his voice call out your name. 

This was the perfect time for you to feed into your curiosity. Never in a million years did you expect to be there in that moment, locked tight in the sith lord’s grasp, his hands on your hips. Your body was so very hot, so very in need.

“(F/N).” You hear Lord Vader say, the usage of your name sending a shiver of cold down your heated spine. Before you could register what was happening, you felt the grip on your hips tighten as he pulled you closer to his much larger body, your frame now flush up against his. Beneath your soft skin, you could feel the faint warmth of his body underneath the suit drawing you into him, beckoning for you to merge into one with the dark lord. The feeling of the leather bounding his body rubbing against your skin made the hair stand up on your arms, your legs almost wobbling at the amount of power and authority that radiated off of him. 

It was intoxicating. 

Exasperating.

Thrilling. 

Nerve-wracking. 

You craved more. 

But… 

“V-Vader we…” you began to say, your eyes still trained on his chest before you, “We can’t-” 

“Do not try and shy yourself away from me, (F/N).” said Lord Vader, the grip he had upon you tightening in case you tried to push your body away, “I sense your desire… Your desire for me. Do not try and fool yourself.” 

You bit your lip again as you nodded, still unable to look up at him. You were embarrassed, but you didn’t exactly know why. 

“Besides…” he continued on, removing one of his hands from your hip. You would have been sad at the absence of his touch if he did not replace it so soon after. Finding it's new home upon your chin, Lord Vader wrapped his fingers around the bone firmly yet gently, lifting it up to make you look at nothing but him, right in the eyes. 

“Are you in any position to tell your superior what he can and can not do with his subordinate, Miss (F/N)?” he asked you rhetorically, the purr in his voice rattling you to the core. Your face, as well as your entire being, was on fire at this point. You swallowed thickly but silently as your eyes were forced to look into his, your want of seeing his real ones growing and growing the longer you searched for them. 

“N-No, my Lord…” you were able to whisper out as you felt your mind go blank with nothing else but need. 

Pausing to inspect your face a moment longer, Lord Vader eventually removed his hand from your chin, using it instead to stroke a lock of your hair on the side of your head. 

“Good girl…” he purred out, making your breath stammer as it escaped your lungs. 

With this, he took his hands off of you in order to stand up fully straight, his figure looming over you as his gaze bore into your eyes. The absence of his touch upon your body making you feel cold, you looked up at him with pleading eyes, a small frown painting your lips. He was so much taller than you, making you feel so, so small by comparison. His frame engulfed you whole, and you bathed in every moment of it. 

“Now, allow me to take care of you, (F/N).” 

He nodded his head slowly to his side. 

“Get on the bed.” 

With barely a moment’s hesitation, you followed his order to the mark. Keeping your gaze down, you bit your lip as you kicked off your boots and rolled onto the bed, sitting such that your knees were slightly bent at obtuse angles and your back was rested against the headboard of the bed. Your face still flushed, you looked over to the tall, looming sith lord across the room, waiting for him to come and take you. 

Sensing that you were in a good position, Lord Vader turned to face you, taking his sweet time making his way over to the bedside. 

You wanted to whine and scream about how slow he was being. The worst part about it, you knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

How cruel. 

Unable to keep his gaze off of you, he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, the metal and wood of it's frame groaning beneath his weight. 

“(F/N),” he said, his tone deep yet somehow patient, “Are you scared?” 

The question took you aback for a moment, making you stir in place. Pursing your lips, your gaze dropped for a moment before you stammered out your response. 

“A-A little… It's… been a long time, since I…” 

“I see.” Lord Vader responded without you having to finish. 

He knew exactly what you meant. 

“You do not need to worry, my sweet… I promise that I will not hurt you.” he rumbled out as he slowly shifted his weight, earning another groan from the bedding beneath. His size making you slip down so that you were laid on the bed, you noticed how his cape draped over his shoulders as he pinned you to the mattress, acting as a veil to shield you from the outside world. 

A curtain of him. 

The sheer size of the man on top of you made you realize just how large he was. You felt so tiny, so small compared to the mass of his arms and chest. Feeling the heat radiate off your face as you looked up at him, all you knew to do with yourself was to look dumbly into this mask, eager for his next move. 

It came in and took your breath away. 

“Undress yourself. Don’t stop until I say so.” 

Maker, he had barely even touched you, and you were already so in need of him. 

Following his command, you lifted your hands from resting on either side of your head to find their place upon the seam of your uniform’s coat. Your fingers trembling slightly, you undid the buttons of your coat, slipping it off as best as you could while being pinned underneath Lord Vader. Your eyes focused on taking off your uniform, you could feel his gaze upon you as you slowly exposed more and more of your skin to him, your ears filled with nothing but the rustle of cloth and his breath. Biting your lip, you slid your tank-top off of your torso and threw it to the side, leaving you in nothing but your bra to cover your top half. You shuddered as the cold air around you crept it's way upon your body.

With another faint moment of hesitation, you slid your hands downwards to the him of your uniform pants, curling your fingers to ready yourself to take it off. 

“No.” You heard him say before you could finish the job, “I will do that part myself. You may stop.” 

Obeying his wishes, you returned your hands to rest of either side of your head, your gaze returning to meet his mask. Without him even doing anything, you were already a mess beneath him. Your skin was glossed from the dew that expelled itself from your person as you heated up, your breath coming out in soft, silent pants. 

Maker above did he drink in the sight of you. 

You were so pretty beneath him, looking at him like that. 

The best part? 

You were absolutely, unquestionably, undoubtedly, undeniably, his. 

And his only. 

Shifting his weight over to one of his arms, he lifted up his free hand, resting it upon your stomach. Of course, his hand was humongous as it laid upon your skin, nearly stretching the entire expanse of your middle. The feeling of the cool leather made you let out a silent gasp, a twinge of embarrassment bubbling in the back of your mind. Lord Vader trailed up and down your stomach and side for a good while before traveling up further, your eyes fixated on the movements of his hand. 

Feeling his fingertips poke their way under the wiring of your bra, you couldn’t stop yourself as you lifted up your hands to your face, hiding yourself underneath them as a result of your inexplicable embarrassment. 

Lord Vader did not like this. 

“No.” Lord Vader demanded. Without warning, you felt the ghost of a pull upon your wrists, forcing them back into their original position by your head no matter how much you fought against it. Your mind confused for a moment, you quickly deduced that it must have been him. His power. 

“You will not hide yourself from me.” He continued on, stopping any movements of his hands, “Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes… Yes, I’m sorry.” you gasped out in between your pants, your legs squirming for him to keep going. 

Even though he said nothing in response, he must have been satisfied with the answer since he continued his movements. Through the sheer strength of his fingers, Lord Vader pushed past the wiring of our bra, cupping your breast in his large hand. 

Just the feeling of his engrossing touch upon your breast made you let out a soft moan, causing you to bite your lip in surprise. You were beyond turned on at this point, wanting nothing more than for him to just keep going. 

Letting out a few more soft, quiet moans as he begun to knead your breast in his palm, you finally mustered enough courage to look up into his mask. Of course, the metal offered you no way of telling what exactly he was thinking, but offered you a source to give your needy, lust-laced gaze to. 

You felt so good. 

You felt so good because of him. 

You knew that you would want him for the rest of time. 

You knew that only he would ever make you feel like this again and again. 

Eventually deciding that enough was enough, Lord Vader removed his hand from your breast and out from under your bra, his removal causing the fabric to go back onto your body at an odd angle. The absence of his massages made you whine, looking up at him pleadingly to touch you again. 

Your requests were eventually met as he trailed the tips of his fingers down from your breast to your stomach to the hem of your uniform pants, the gentle touches earning themselves another shudder out of you. 

Wrapping his fingers around the hem, the dark lord stopped himself for a moment to look upon your face. Satisfied with your expression of want and need, he pulled down the cloth wrapping around your legs, discarding it without any ounce of care about it or where it landed. This night was surely full of surprises. You had never thought that  you would ever be sprawled out underneath Lord Vader in only your bra and panties.

But, there you were. 

You barely had any time to react before he made you gasp out another moan, his leather-bound fingers rubbing up and down the cloth that covered your aching, dripping core. Continuing his actions, you began to squirm and whimper for him to remove your panties. Your legs kicked and shuffled as moans and whines left your throat, making you sound so pitiful as you gripped onto his cape, the fabric soft in your fingers. 

“Quiet.” He rumbled out as he stopped him movements, focusing one hard press against the cloth that covered your clit. Opening your mouth in a silent gasp, you quickly shut it as your forced yourself to stay still, not wanting to find out what would happen were you to disobey him. 

Satisfied with your submission, Lord Vader must have decided that you were ready for him fully. Reaching his fingers up, he latched the waistband of the fabric around his large digits, so very achingly slowly pulling it down past your thighs, knees, and feet. 

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you felt your panties fall off your person, earning another shudder from the cold. Lord Vader’s breath had started to pick up the pace as he loomed down over your body. 

He was… pleased. 

So very pleased. 

Never had seen such a beautiful sight sprawled out underneath him. 

Wanting him. 

Needing him. 

Deciding to be so gracious as to entertain your needs, he swiped his leathery middle and pointer finger up the length of your folds, the slick coming from them coating the digits instantly, earning another low, shallow moan from you. Amused by this, Lord Vader brought his soaked fingers up closer to his mask, inspecting how the liquid shined in the soft glow of the dim lighting surrounding the pair of you. 

“I am most impressed, Miss (F/N),” he said to you, turning his attention back to your reddened face, “Already this in need, and I have barely even begun.” 

Cue another whine to escape from behind your lips, your hands gripping and kneading on his cape. 

“Vader… please... “ you whined softly, your eyes full of pitiful gleam, “I need you so badly…” 

Returning his hand to rest between the folds of your core, he pressed his middle and pointer finger against your entrance, another moan shooting out of your lungs. 

“As you wish, Miss (F/N).” 

Slowly but surely, Lord Vader pushed the tip of his leather-bound middle finger into your core, your walls fluttering in your excitement. A flurry of moans and gasps left your person as he continued to push inside of you, only stopping once you were filled. He paused for a moment to let you get adjusted before he began to push his digit in and out of your core, the sounds of this action downright sinful to hear. 

You were a mess beneath him. As he gingerly started to increase his pace, your mind started to go blank as the pleasure overwhelmed you, a flurry of moans, gasps, and pleads escaping from your lungs. All you could think about was him, how good you felt because of him. 

You wanted him for the rest of time. 

You wanted him to keep going for the rest of time. 

Deciding that you in no way have had enough, you groaned as he pushed his pointer finger inside of you, right alongside his middle one. The stretching of your walls almost made you scream in pleasure, your nails digging in to the fabric of his cape. You could have sworn that you had seen stars. 

“So eager…” You heard him say in between your moans and quiet pleads, “So ready to receive me…” 

Leaning down to get closer, you unconsciously reached up and wrapped yours arms around his broad shoulders the best you could, your fists bunching up the fabric of his cape. 

Turning his mask to rest near your ear, a ripple of pleasure ran through your body as you heard Lord Vader speak, his tone deeper and darker than ever before. 

“Such a good girl.” 

Before you could blubber out a response, you felt his fingers curl themselves inside of you, hitting right on the spot that made your whole body shake with pleasure. The rate of your moans picking up, the pace of which the finger-fucked you did as well, eventually leading him to add a third finger to the mix. Every single noise that was coming from your body could have made the filthiest porn star ever blush. Your moans were so very desperate, and the sound of your core’s juices being mixed with the rapid pace of his fingers filling the space the pair of you shared. 

Reaching up with his thumb, Lord Vader started to rub circles into your clit, making you moan out his name almost too loudly. He seemed to be pleased by this, since you had noticed that his pace had started to quicken as his breathing became more and more rapid. Seeing a way to maximize the amount of pleasure you could get, you continued to moan out his name, sometimes even accompanied by his title. The usage of Lord Vader would cause him to rumble out quiet groans from behind his mask, the bass making your chest rattle. 

His pace reaching a feverous state, you could feel the knot building up in your vagina grow tighter and tighter as it promised an up-coming release. This promise only made your already over-stimulated body shake and shudder with more and more pleasure, the sounds escaping your mouth proof of such.

“I sense that you are close.” Lord Vader said to you, your mind barely able to process the words. 

You nodded your head quickly, a mumble of strings of pleases and don’t stops falling from your lips in place of a sentence. 

“(F/N)...” he groaned, his gaze boring into the fiber of your being. 

Without any warning, you began to feel a buzz from inside of you. This was different from the knot you felt growing tighter and tighter, but it felt as if it came from no where. It felt as if it came directly from your soul, the very source of your existence. Your brow flexing in fuzzy confusion, you were perplexed until you felt a new sensation. It felt as if your very soul was reaching out, making branches to do as such. 

Reaching out to him. 

And you felt his own reach back. 

The sheer rush of it all was too much to bear. The feeling of his fingers force themselves in and out of you so quickly. The feeling of his thumb circling your clit. The feeling of his force bonding your energy and his together. 

It was euphoric. 

It was pure bliss. 

“That’s it, my sweet,” you heard him call to you, “Let go. Let go for your lord. Let go for me.”

Your orgasm raked itself over your body in waves, making your legs shake and the grip you had upon his cape tighten, turning your knuckles white. You almost screamed out his name as your walls fluttered around his digits, coating them further in your fluids. 

Oh, how he loved it.

Eventually coming down from your high, you laid there for a long moment beneath the dark lord, his fingers halting to a pause inside of you. His breath was quite ragged as he remained still, almost matching your own pants for air as he gazed upon your body. 

Once you had stopped shaking from pleasure, he slowly slid his fingers from out of your core, sending one last wave of euphoria through your nerves. 

You looked up at him with glossy eyes and a dumb, open-mouthed smile as the back of his knuckles brushed against your cheek, moving any stray hairs out of your face. 

He would never admit it, to anyone, but the sight of you beneath him, with that big, dopey, loving smile on your face, your souls freshly bonded together, was the most beautiful thing that he had ever witnessed. 

After a long pause of simply admiring your face and body, he finally spoke. 

“Get some rest, my dear. We have matters to attend to in the morning.” 

You were confused for a moment as you felt his weight lift off of you, the bed creaking in relief as he stood. A pang of weary sadness rippled through you as you watched him start to leave, walking over the pieces of your uniform that littered the floor. Eventually able to process what was happening, you reached out to him, grabbing on to the fabric of his cape to keep him from moving away any further. 

“W-wait,” you said, your lungs still panting for air, “please, d-don’t go… Will you please stay? With me? At least until I fall asleep…?” 

After a brief pause, Lord Vader turned to  you, pointing the face of his mask down to your face. 

Seeing the emotion in your eyes as you reached out to him rustled an old feeling that he had not known for a very long time. In a moment of self-reflection, a reel of his life prior to this moment flashed inside of his mind, reminding him of his past self, alongside every mistake he had ever made

Watching his actions play back to him, he decided something. 

Even though he had left everyone he had ever loved before behind… 

He would not leave you. 

He would stay. 

“Yes.” He said simply as he took your hand into his, holding it as if it were made of the most fragile material in the world. Walking back over to you, he slowly slid down into a seat position upon the bed, earning another groan of protest from the wood beneath. His back against the headboard, he watched as you slid your body close to his own, your warmth reaching his skin beneath all the layers of armor and leather surrounding him, a foreign feeling to the dark lord of the sith. Lord Vader draped his strong, heavy arm over your shoulder as you draped one of your own over his waist, pulling yourself closer to him. 

Nothing was said as you lulled yourself off to sleep, a feeling of security overtaking you as you were held within the arms of the most feared man in the galaxy. 

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666​ , @soullesstaco​ , @arsonistvoyager​ , @robin-obsessed​ , @glitter-rian​ , @captainrexstan​ , @easterncryptid​ , @deviatedwinter​ , @roseangel013bf​ , @danicalifxrnia​ , @dartheldur​ , @finest-trashbag​ , @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ , @elongatedmusk-rat​ , @shads121​