#lith hawke

[screechingfromthevoid]

*clenches teeth and fists* it's fine no one comments on how Dorian is more "lithe" than before. It's fine that he's not "nearly as bulky". It's fine that he doesn't sleep well then has to wake up just to be the sunny optimist the next day. It's fine that his strings are wound so tight that he's ready to snap.

It's fine that Dorian's health is being ignored. He's the new guy, right? Fresh faced? Not burdened by the trauma of the last few months, right?

[greyswarden]

i have been pondering on this for a while and i decided to make the executive decision to switch ariel over to surana rather than amell simply because of the blank slate background and the freedom i can get from that 🫶

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Based on this amazing ask.

Dark Thraller - Part 1

Azriel x HewnCity!Reader, Arranged Marriage

Something darker than the night itself lurks within the Hewn City. Something dark and lovely and his. Azriel suddenly finds himself with a bride that he never wanted but when their marriage may be the one thing that saves their world as they know it, duty trumps all.

The female watched from shadows behind the archway connecting a granite corridor to the throne room of the Hewn City, peering into the busy room. She could smell the fear simmering within the room, it stoked at her own power, building as it fueled her senses. She shouldn’t be here, to be caught could mean death, perhaps worse, but this was her only chance to find the Seer.

Azriel stood cross-armed, hazel eyes honed in on Elain Archeron as she gracefully meandered through the throne room of the Hewn City. Its lecherous denizens ogling her as if she were nothing more than a whore in a pleasure house. Her dress was modest, a whispy train of tulle falling from her shoulders and trailing behind her, the perfect decoy for hiding his shadows as they listened in for tonight’s intended target. The gown hugged her slim figure just enough to give a tease of the lithe female form beneath.

He rolled his eyes as he took her in, reminded of Cassian’s insistence that black wasn’t her color but he was wrong - she was the ethereal moon to the Night Court’s midnight skies.

———

Elain knew she did not belong here. Not within the stone walls of this forsaken city. Not because she was too fragile. No, despite the fact that her sisters coddled her and the rest of the Inner Circle treated her like a delicate flower that would wither at the slightest touch, it was often overlooked that she had slain the King of Hybern. Sure, Nesta received credit for the final blow, but it was Elain who had been vital that day.

She didn’t belong here because of its own inherent darkness that mingled so well with the darkness within her own soul. She’d always tried to make the best of life, but years of poverty, being forced into the cauldron, losing Graysen, an unrequited mating bond, their fathers death, being held captive in Hybern’s camp, nearly losing Feyre during Nyx’s birth, the strife didn’t hold a candle to the pain she felt from being granted the so-called “gift” of sight and having no way to decipher it. Her visions were not light and airy, they were dark and inky, ominous at best.

The few times she’d visited this sect of the Night Court, her visions plagued her. Glimpses of gods and shadows, sacrificed maidens, life and death. And then, there was last time. The collision of an outside force greeting her own power, something fearsome and yet- gentle.

Azriel’s shadows gave a tug on the cape of Elain’s gown, working of their own accord. To Azriel’s chagrin, the last time they’d been here his shadows pushed boundaries, ignoring commands to stand down as they searched the space. They’d trailed Elain who had a particularly concerning vision of shadows upon water and whispers of death.

With the concerns of Koschei following the events with the Queens on the continent, it was enough to garner another visit. So, here they were. Azriel watching Elain like a hawk as she and his shadows searched the place.

Eyes diverted away from Elain as the main act arrived, Rhys and Feyre loosening the grip on their power as the doors flew open- their steps echoing throughout the now silent chamber as the High Lord and High Lady approached the dais. The crowd, having learned from previous reprimand, fell to their knees before their rulers.

It was then that Azriel’s shadows completely shrouded Elain, granting her cover as she dipped down a corridor that Azriel had very clearly lectured them NOT to go down. He wasn’t about to risk Elain’s safety, even if it meant failing the mission at hand of garnering more sight into these possible Koschei visions.

Elain took no more than ten steps down the corridor when a voice startled her from the shadows. “You.”

Elain gasped as Azriel’s shadows created a wall of shadow before her.

Not to protect her - but to conceal the source of the voice.

How very strange.

A lump formed in Elain’s throat as she mustered her courage for a moment, composing herself before squaring her shoulders and holding her head high.

“Yes?” She asked.

“You’re the Seer.” The voice spoke again. Feminine. Young, likely twenty or thirty but it was hard to tell with the fae.

“I am.” Elain spoke firmly. “And you are?”

The voice started before turning into a strangled gasp. The shadows cleared for Elain to find Azriel, holding the female from behind with Truth-Teller against her throat.

“I know what you are.” His deep voice spoke into her ear, his heated breath sending chills through the female.

“Azriel.” Elain spoke. “She was only curious. She didn’t harm me.”

Azriel didn’t move a muscle, only lifting his hazel eyes from behind the female to meet Elain’s gaze. “You don’t know what she is. The danger you were in.”

The cool blade pressed against the female’s throat and if it wasn’t for the obvious threat she posed, Azriel would have had a hard time missing the way her body fit so enticingly against his, the way her ass-

He growled. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?” The female puzzled.

Through gritted teeth, Azriel warned, “Your powers will not affect me, Dark Thraller.”

Elain kept quiet but she didn’t miss the smirk that rose on the female’s face at that. There was something about this female that resonated with her. She had a gentle presence, soft in all the right places to enhance her feminine appearance in a way that would leave most underestimating her, yet Elain knew there was more to this female, something deeper, something darker than her bright eyes let on.

Someone who could understand her.

———————————

Keir burst through the dungeon door first, followed by the general of his Dark Bringer forces and his second in command, Lord Thanatos.

“Keir, how nice of you to join us.” Rhys mused. Arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Rhys and Azriel had spent the past two hours with the female, named Y/N, in the dungeons of the Hewn City. She was a Dark Thraller. An incredibly rare power of ancient fae, until today, it had been thought of as myth. She could not only wield darkness and shadow on her own accord but she could steal it, borrowing directly from the source, hence Azriel‘s shadows obscuring her from Elain. It was fortunate that he’d taken her by surprise when he’d snuck up on her, able to pull his shadows from her thrall and regain them as his own. Though they weren’t particularly eager to return to his side. He was still pissed about that.

The fact that Keir had kept this female a secret was enough to chap Azriel’s ass too. Mor’s father should have reported the female the moment her powers manifested, yet, he’d hoarded her. And much like with Mor, Keir and Lord Thanatos planned to breed her, using her as a bargaining chip in an arranged marriage to some noble on the continent that she had never laid eyes on.

“Release my daughter, immediately.” Lord Thanatos boomed.

The female remained silent, still, but Azriel didn’t miss the way her skin paled at his command. Rhys let out a dangerous laugh, not the warm laugh of the brother Azriel knew so well, but the bitter laugh of a High Lord about to put a subordinate into his place, or the ground, depending on how generous he was feeling.

Both males froze in place, faces turning cherry red as they fought against invisible restraints. Rhys placed an errant hand into his left pocket, a cruel smirk plastered across his face. “It seems I have not given enough attention to the seat of my court in recent years if this is how its people choose to greet their High Lord.”

His violet eyes narrowed as he took a tone befitting of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. “Kneel”

And before they had a chance to do so on their own accord, Rhys forced them into a submission. A gentle - considering the force he was capable of - reminder that they were indeed the lesser males in the room.

Rhys released his hold on the males as they gasped for air, remaining knelt until their High Lord dismissed the formal stance.

“It seems, Keir, that you and Lord Thanatos have been keeping this little gem a secret.” Nodding his head toward the restrained female, who easily could have broken the shadows to her submission. A test, then. To see how impulsive she was with her power, what manner of control she practiced over it.

Azriel didn’t trust her. Thralling? Yes, a Dark Thraller typically attracted darkness and shadow with their thralling abilities but how far did her capabilities go? Could she work on the minds of those wielding darkness as well?

Azriel broke from his inner thoughts to find the female staring at him with wide eyes. She was nervous. He stepped closer to her, keeping his gaze firm and narrowed but to his surprise, the nervous energy surrounding her did not increase. In fact, she seemed to relax slightly.

That was certainly a first for him in these dungeons.

Azriel had been so focused on her that he missed the last bit of groveling from Keir and Lord Thanatos. His attention once again fixed on the males and his High Lord as Rhys summoned a large table and five chairs.

Keir scoffed. “This is a conversation for males, she-“ he spoke the pronoun with venom, “has no business in these affairs.”

Rhys waved a dismissive hand at the male. “I always forget what antiquated views you harbor. At this table, she has a place. In fact, she has more of a place here than you do, since you so rudely interrupted our-” interrogation “conversation.”

“Azriel.” Rhys nodded toward the bound female.

Begrudgingly, Azriel released his restraints on the female. She stood, slowly, maintaining eye contact with him as she smoothed her satin gown, the fabric clung deliciously to her curves but Azriel was most taken by those mesmerizing eyes of hers as they held his cold stare. No malice, or hatred lay in her own eyes, the emotion was something that made his heart lurch. The same look a snared creature would give a hunter that held its fate in their hands, the same look a young boy once gave his cruel half-brothers as fuel soaked his hands while they held the flaming match.

Y/N broke her eye contact and approached the table, holding her head high. To her- and everyone in the room not named Rhysand’s - shock, he pulled the chair at the table’s head out and motioned for her to sit. He kept the arrogant mask plastered on and waited until she accepted that he was serious, shifting uncomfortably for a moment, before seating herself. That nervousness once again returning as she looked to the two Court of Nightmares males to her right.

Truly, Azriel didn’t trust her but he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. He’d met her two hours ago and already knew she was too good to be intimidated by these pricks.

Azriel stepped to Keir, seated directly to next to her, Rhys seated to her left - and flatly commanded “move.”

Keir huffed an insidious laugh. “I don’t take orders from dogs.”

Azriel remained stoic, refusing to deign the pompous male with even a breath of irritation. He’d been called far worse

Rhys didn’t bat an eye at the command from his Spymaster, knowing Mor’s history, of course he would feel inclined to keep him distanced from a female stuck in a nearly identical situation as the one she was faced with all those centuries ago. “Keir, you truly are going out of your way to play the fool today. Keep it up and maybe we can reenact what happened to your arm the last time you disregarded the station of one of my Inner Circle?”

Keir bristled slightly before tucking his shoulders in a show of submission, pushing himself up, and swapping places with the Shadowsinger.

Azriel didn’t miss the slight ease of tension in Y/N’s jaw as he sat, though her heartbeat remained racing as indicated by the visible thrumming of her pulse in her neck and quickened breathing. His shadows gravitated toward her, intertwining with her ankles and then scurried away when she looked to them in a reprimanding manner.

By the rather adorable scowl furrowing across her brow, he had a feeling she hadn’t used her thralling abilities on them either. Interesting.

For all that they were excellent for spying, the things were incurably nosey to a fault.

Clearing his throat, Rhys began “It has been brought to my attention that lady Y/N is to be married to a male on the continent, not as a marriage of love but as one of title. Given her unique powers I propose that we arrange a marriage within our own court that will be both advantageous to the Night Court and to her in terms of power. Do you wish to elaborate on who you intend to marry her off to?”

Azriel noted the bead of sweat on Lord Thanatos’ brow as he glanced to Keir, vaguely-concealed concern flitting between the two.

Keir cleared his throat. “The male is simply a lesser-noble from a wealthy family on the continent. She is not worth the attention, your grace. Her power will be of no use to your court. They’re nothing more than an amusing party trick.”

Leaning back in his chair, Rhys held his chin between his thumb and forefinger in a show of consideration, before giving a grin. “I do enjoy parties. And it seems as if I could find a suitor that would be far more advantageous considering this unnamed lesser-noble is not even worth noting. Don’t you agree?”

Y/N seemed to shrink in her seat but what Azriel read on her face looked almost like “hope.”

What had she been put through for her future to be discussed as if she were nothing more than loose marks to be spent frivolously and still feel hope? He grit his teeth at the way Rhys carried on with the act, though he knew it was simply that- an act.

Silence filled the space and Azriel didn’t miss the way his High Lord’s gaze went vacant, communicating with someone. A small hitch in the breath of Y/N clued him in to exactly who he was communicating with.

“I’ve decided.” Rhys purred. “Lord Thanatos, your lovely daughter will wed my Shadowsinger.”

Outrage filled the room as the males let out shouts of disapproval before Rhys let his darkness fill the room. “Am I not High Lord? Do I not have final say in the affairs of my denizens?”

The males were silent. Rhys loosened his power further, a rumble sending loose dirt falling from the ceiling of the room onto the table before them. “I expect an answer.”

Lowering their gazes in submission, it was Keir who spoke first, “Yes, High Lord.”

Lord Thanatos let out a growl, shooting a violent glare in Keir’s direction.

“I expect an answer, Lord Thanatos.” Rhysand challenged.

After another moment, he finally caved in to the show of power. “Yes, High Lord.” The male growled.

The darkness faded as Rhys clapped his hands together. “Excellent. This evening just became far more interesting. We shall wed the two tonight!”

To his credit, Azriel said nothing, not one single show of disapproval or questioning.

“You two may be dismissed. We will coordinate the details of the wedding.”

As the two males, completely dumbfounded, exited the cell. The female looked to the floor, avoiding Azriel’s stony gaze- the gaze of her soon-to-be husband. Which was for the best as Azriel sent her a glare reserved for the worst of traitors. He did not want this, he wanted nothing to do with the female. His heart was destined to belong to the middle Archeron sister. He was to share his life with HER, not this strange enigma from the Hewn City.

Moments later, Elain and Feyre entered the room. Elain’s expression unreadable as they retrieved the female, Cassian and Nesta flanking them protectively as they led her off to prepare for the ceremony.

————

Rhysand knew he was a bastard. He took the corresponding show of rage from Azriel in stride, unable to disagree with the cold words and show of opposition to his order to marry the female.

What Azriel hadn’t seen was the terror Rhysand had gleaned in her mind. Her power was not a party trick, in fact she’d been hidden away beneath the Hewn City and put through rigorous training from the first moment her powers emerged. This female was trained to be used as a weapon and treated as such, there was nothing humane or loving about the environment she’d grown up in. But far more concerning than even the abhorrent conditions she had been brought up in was the undiluted panic regarding her impending nuptials. She indeed did not know who she was to be married to but she had suspicions.

Not to be wed to an unknown lord from the continent, not even to the highest ranking of nobility, but to a supreme being of death and decay, to Koschei himself.

And if her suspicions were correct, a power like hers in his hands would bring immeasurable suffering, an end to the world as they knew it. She was the token Keir needed to barter for his own rise to power. Ruling just the Court of Nightmares was never enough for a greedy bastard like him.

“The only way we can get her out of here is by wedding her to you tonight. If she’s wed, they have no contest to-” Rhys bristled as he spoke of the female as anything less than her own entity “They cannot claim ownership of her if she is wed. We cannot risk another moment of her being in their hands, Az. This marriage does not have to last forever, just long enough to ensure she is out of their hands and that we are in her good graces. Your duty is to keep her happy and protect her, if she ends up in the wrong hands, Azriel- more than just our own rule is at stake, Prythian, the world, could be doomed.

Guilt pressed in on the High Lord. If there were any other way, he would take it, but for now this was the most humane route.

And as Rhys shared the female’s suspicions of Koschei with Azriel, he understood. He hated every moment of this but he understood. He didn’t have to love her, he didn’t have to like her even, but he could stomach her as he did with any other undesirable duty.

_________

Azriel stood on the dais before a crowd of sneering Hewn City denizens. For this, his leathers would do. He was to send a message of power to the Court of Nightmares and removing his siphons would not do. Rhys and Feyre remained seated on their thrones appearing bored as they took in the quickly thrown together wedding, little more than wine and night-blooming jasmine marked the occasion. Though Rhys would have loved watching Lord Thanatos have to hand his daughter over to the Shadowsinger, he didn’t want him anywhere near her. She had dealt with enough coldness from the male in her twenty-five years of life, never again would she have to suffer through her father’s unkind hands upon her.

So, Azriel waited, his eyes focused solely on Elain as the doors opened and music began to play. Cassian would escort her to the dais. Azriel spared no glance to his bride as the audience turned in her direction. Even Elain who had caught his gaze briefly, and Lord Thanatos and his equally hateful wife who stood behind her, turned to marvel at the bride striding up the aisle. Azriel’s heart raced. He wanted Elain. His shadows pulled on him. Coaxing him to divert his gaze from the Archeron sister. No. He wanted Elain. His heart beat wildly as a tug pulled at him. He would not look. This female was not who his heart belonged to. He belonged to Elain. Azriel’s shadows hissed in his ears to look as his heart urged him to spare a glance in her direction.

Finally, he shifted his gaze and time stood still. Before him was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. No longer did she appear meek, or nervous- she stood taller with her head held high. A cobalt blue gown hugged her curves, dipping down to reveal her ample cleavage, the fabric clung to the curve of her hips, caressing her upper thighs before flaring out toward the bottom. Her knuckles tightly gripped a bouquet of morningstar flowers and delphinium. Where the dress had been conjured from, Azriel had no idea. The flowers were likely Elain’s doing. He tried to turn his head back to Elain but he couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze away from the beauty before him.

His shadows left his side, flowing down the aisle and swirling around the bottom of her gown, giving the appearance that they were carrying her to him. The crowd gasped at the illusion and Azriel noticed the surprise on her face. Either she was an excellent actress or she truly didn’t have the control over her powers.

But Rhys had said that she’d been trained from the time they manifested. Surely they weren’t going to her on their own accord. Was her thrall that powerful?

Azriel nearly felt his shoulders slump in disappointment as her gaze shifted to Elain who awaited at the foot of the dais to retrieve the bouquet.

As Elain stepped forward, a tear was heard followed by a gasp. Azriel looked to see that the bottom half of Elain’s dress had torn. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with shock. Before Azriel could react, he felt loss of control over his shadows as Y/N flung her arms out commanding them in Elain’s direction. Azriel’s heart lurched, fury clouding him at this attack on Elain, he stepped forward only to halt in his tracks as two shadows darted out to restrain Y/N’s mother, and the remaining shadows shrouded Elain completely.

Y/N hurried toward Elain, stepping into the confines of the shadows, now shrouding the both of them. Azriel almost smirked as Y/N’s voice loudly echoed from the shadows “Don’t mind her. She’s even uglier inside than that sneer she wears on her face, which says a lot.” A soft giggle from Elain reached Azriel’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear. Can your sister bring some wine?”

The crowd parted as the shadowed females made their way out of the crowd, Nesta and Cassian following suit.

This female stopped her own wedding to come to the aid of a female she didn’t even know. Azriel didn’t know what to think of that but he did know that he couldn’t let himself fall for her. He wouldn’t let himself fall for her.

——————————————————

A/N: this will be a 2 or 3 part series! I am too tired to proofread so if there were a bunch of typos, no there weren’t.

Tags:

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Requested tags based on previous excerpt posted: @erikan809 @thalia-as-blog

[lentiku]

imagine him...

tongue deep inside your pretty pussy, groaning from the taste of you on his lips. you're tugging at the locks of hair on his head, begging for release from the stimulation and countless orgasms that he's put you through.

you can feel your wetness seeping into the mattress below you, a small puddle of your cum pooling between the globes of your ass cheeks. the slurping coming from him only makes your toes curl, and another moan leaves your hoarse throat as he sucks on your clit.

"such a pretty girl, your cunt is so pretty and wet, all for me," he groans, sending vibrations straight to your core as your legs start to shake again. his fingers are back inside you, prodding at that spongey sweet spot that you can never seem to reach on your own. his long, girthy fingers can reach it so easily compared to your smaller, lithe ones. his free hand moves up to toy with your nipple, making you whimper under his touch, back arching off the mattress.

"such a good girl for me. making such a big mess and clenching around my fingers," he speaks, making you tug on his hair harder as his fingertips make you see stars, "can't wait to have this pretty pussy on my cock later, you're gonna take me so well baby," his words go straight to your core, and your toes curl as you cum on his fingers, a loud moan of his name echoing around your shared room as his tongue dives down to lap at your sweetness before returning to suckle on your pretty clit.

characters imagined;

eren, jean, levi, erwin, diluc, alhaitham, neuvi, ayato, dain, dottore, pantalone, wrio, zhongli, blade, ratio, jing yuan, welt, tsuki, daichi, iwa, kuroo, oikawa, ukai, miya twins, issei, sakusa, bokuto, PRO HEROS bakugo, izu, hitoshi, kiri, tamaki, aizawa, hawks, your fav character <3

[kuroosdarling]

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ FEATURING ꒱ : virgin!kenma (&kuroo)

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI !! threesome (?), cuckholding, kenma bein a lil fucked out, kuroo on a power trip hehe yknow the vibes

check out the others here !

everything was so wet, so warm — so tight. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as good as this, no. he knows he’s never felt something as good as this.

hot pleasure swarms around in his head and the only thing he can feel is your cunt squeezing around his cock as if it was desperately begging for his cum already. but he tried his hardest to restrain from filling you up too soon.

“that’s it, you feel that kenma? feel how good her little pussy is?” kuroo coos from behind you. kenma’s eye flutter open just so he can glare at the older man who also happens to be your boyfriend. 

but he just ends up ignoring him. so instead, he looks up at you, perched up on his cock like a goddess. your fingernails dig into his chest and he lets out a soft groan. between you and kuroo, he didn’t know who was more dastardly. all he knew was he was thankful for kuroo suggesting he lost his virginity to you.

all kenma could do was hold onto your hips as you slowly start to rock against him. his grip was so tight, he almost felt bad. but judging by the way you started to move faster, he figured you didn’t really mind it.

“that’s it, nice and slow.” kuroo purred, circling around the two of you like a hawk about to strike. his eyes were glued to where you and kenma were currently connected, absolutely mesmerized by the way your drooling cunt was swallowing up kenma’s cock. “doesn’t she feel heavenly, kenma?”

kenma’s attention briefly cut over to kuroo, watching him as his hazel eyes were set on you, filled with so much adoration it only pushed kenma closer to the edge that he didn’t want to reach yet. 

but that had nothing on the way you looked right now. an absolute vision as you started to play with your breasts, teasing your nipples between your fingers as you mewled out his name. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a prettier sound than his name tumbling from your lips.

“ken-“ you gasp out when he finds your clit. or rather, when kuroo takes his hand and guides him to your neglected nub. kuroo whispers in his ear, telling him to start moving his fingers around in a small circle over the bundle of nerves. reluctantly, kenma listened and was instantly rewarded with your pretty moans getting louder.

“keep rubbing her there and she’ll be putty in your hands.” kuroo teases, reaching out to stroke your arm, watching how your tits bounce with each roll of your hips. “she’s even more insatiable after she cums, so if you need me to take over, i can manage.”

“like hell you will.” kenma hisses out, possessively clawing his fingers into your hips. the thought of kuroo fucking you right after kenma fills you with his cum sent him into a frenzy. there was a part of him that didn’t even want kuroo to look at you right now, wanting this memorable moment entirely to himself. but he’d be lying if he said the whole situation wasn’t hot — that fucking his best friends girlfriend in front of him wasn’t exactly what he had been dreaming of for weeks, if not months.

but kenma can’t string together another thought, completely lost in the way your velvety walls tighten around him, almost sweetly coaxing him for his release. and he wanted to give in — so, so badly. but kuroo hadn’t let him cum yet even though he could feel the overwhelming sensation shooting down his spine, ready to fill you up with everything he had in him. 

“come on, kenma, talk to me.” kuroo mockingly whines out the words as he takes his place behind you. he watches how you’re seated up on kenmas cock, slowly rocking your hips — much too slow for his liking but he doesn’t do anything to fix it. yet. kuroo kisses underneath your ear, looking down at kenma who can’t help but make eye contact again. 

“shut up kuro.” he spits out, bringing his lithe fingers to your sensitive nipples— just like how you showed him earlier. you moan at the contact, tossing your head back onto kuroo’s shoulder. kuroo laughs; a vicious sound. its harsh tone tickles your ear and crawls down your spine as your hips stutter.

“i think she likes hearing your voice.” kuroo purrs, kissing down your neck before gripping your hips, just below where kenma’s hands previously were. he starts moving you a bit faster, causing you and the man under you to moan in sync. “aw, you guys are just so cute.”

“tetsu-“ you gasp out, splaying your hands back onto kenma’s chest as kuroo sets the pace for you guys. you couldn’t help but to fall right into your boyfriend's hands, but kenma had other plans.

taken over by a deep need to fuck you harder or maybe just driven by the irritation that he got merely from kuroo being kuroo; kenma starts ruthlessly thrusting upward into you, tossing his head back to loudly moan your name out into the room. 

all you could do was keep your head locked onto kuroo’s shoulder, letting kenma set the pace and soaking in all the sweet sounds he let out. kuroo tried to combat it, whispering sweet praises in your ear and wrapping his arms around your waist as his best friend continued to drive into your cunt.

deep down, kenma knew that kuroo had to give the okay for both of you to cum, but it was quickly hurtling towards the end. by the pitch of your cries, kuroo knew it too. and he was eager to have his turn with you.

“you're making him feel so good baby, i can tell.” he nudged his head against yours, making sure he had a clear view of kenma, smirking down at the younger man. “go ahead and fill her up kenma, i know you’ve been desperate to.”

but once kuroo gave the okay, something else overcame kenma when he realized he wouldn’t be satisfied until you came first, trying to milk his cock for everything he’s worth.

maybe he wanted to see how insatiable you really got, or maybe he just wanted to piss kuroo off while he had another round with you. either way, he was just getting started and he didn’t care how much he wanted to cum; he knew he needed to have you begging him for more first.

[sethdomain]

more about the guys and special stats in read more

c!tommy

Member of the Republic of L'manburg, he quickly soared in rank and instantly became Wilbur right hand man and a commander in the ranks.

Wilbur really favored him and this caused a bit resentment growing toward Tommy because the member viewed his rise as 'unfair'

Strenght-> 5 -Average Joe / idk i think he would be normal

Perception-> 9 - Sniper Hawk/ He would be very very aware, because this bitch will literally die if his perception is so as much as lower than he is rn

endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail/ He was carrying Dream shit and run around across the desert

Charisma->6 -cheery salesman/ dude literally copied schlatt

Intellegent-> 4 -Knuckle head/ He is a bit dense sometimes and would made stupid decision without thinking through it(he made this often and still will not learn bruh)

Agility-> 6 -catlike/ I'd say with his built he have to adapt to a more lithe like base moveset

Luck-> 1- 13 pitch-black cats/ ironically, being alive gotta count as 10 luck but no. He literally almost die 24/7 i think dead itself might be a sparing from the current predicament he's being ensnared in contstantly, so dead would be considered a luck in itself /jokes.

C!Wilbur

The leader of L'manburg, an incredibly charismatic guy who managed to band together a set of people that supports his goals.

Strenght-> 4 -Lightweight/ I think wilbur dont do much in term of doing the heavy stuff, he just order people to be doing those

Perception-> 3 -Squinting Newt/ this guy doesn't gaf, he thinks he's invisible because he constantly has bodyguard looming over him and he tends to not be in the danger zone much

Endurance-> 2- Crumbly/Bitch need to run

Charistma-> 10-Cult Leader/ He literally managed to convince people to support L'manburg, which i remind you in this au is a shittier NCR

Intellegent-> 7-Know it all/ I would say he probably knows a little about medicine and weaponsmith, he's also very emotionally intellect

Agility-> 5-under control/ normal

Luck-> 9-21 leaf clover/ this guy is so fucking lucky and yet he doesn't appreciates it

these next session wont be as detailed cuz im yawnin g n tired

C!Dream

Leader of the Dream Legion, A group with the desire to end the suffering of the esempi wasteland.

Strenght-> 7 -Beach bully

Perception-> 7 -Big eyed Tiger

Endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail

Charisma-> 3 -Creepy undertaker

Intellgent-> 6 -Gifted

Agility-> 9-Knife Catcher

Luck-> 10-Two-Headed Coin Flip

C!Fundy

Member of L'manburg Wilbur son, ex-right hand man

S=5

P=6

E=4

C=5

I=9

A=6

L=4

C!Sapnap

One of Dream trusted men, he was a brotherhood Knight but joined Dream once he learn about his whereabout

S=8

P=4

E=8

C=6

I=3

A=3

L=7

C!Niki

Member of L'manburg, was a freesider but joined L'manburg with wilbur persuasion. She works as a medic and gunsmithing

S=5

P=8

E=3

C=7

I=7

A=6

L=7

C!Quackity

Schlatt fucking overworked casino worker he handles all his paperwork and feuds

S=1

P=2

E=4

C=9

I=8

A=7

L=8

C!Schlatt

control the monopoly in the las nevadas district

S=7

P=1

E=7

C=10

I=5

A=3

L=8

[thebluester2020]

[WuWa] Kinktober Day 7: "Hatefucking"

Summary: You hate everything about Scar! The fact he's clearly evil aside...you hate his stupid charming voice, his stupid voice, the fact he's taller than you...long lithe fingers you'd like to see fingering your—okay, you may have a bit of a crush on him.

Warning(s): Dub-Con, Fingering, Porn With Plot, Outside Sex (Reader + Scar fuck in an abandoned town), Name-calling, Rough Sex.

Side Note(s): Funny how this is coming out on the day that I have a test. I put all my frustration into this one 💀

(Sorry for the lateness, exam day meant that this was gonna come out later rather than sooner 😔)

You've been in a strange 'situationship' lately.

To be frank, you already felt like you were a traitor to everyone who had put their faith in you, being in such a tumultuous relationship with a member of Fractisidus. But it wasn't your fault, you felt! It was originally supposed to be one a one-time only, a way of getting rid of the obvious sexual tension that was threatening to boil over the pot.

And it all started so simply at first!

One day, you had just finished slaying a horde of Tacet Discords as a small commission, a simple job just to put some extra money in your pocket. And then...he came.

. . .

"Ah! Y/N, fancy seeing you out here." A familiar voice called out to you. A charming sound yet with a subtle undertone of slyness, like a fox closing in on its prey, tricking and luring its target into trusting it.

You wouldn't be so easily fooled.

"Scar," You greeted with an annoyed exhale. "Going to try to convince me to join your organization again? The answer is still no." You said with venom in your voice. After only battling him a few months ago, you were shocked at the audacity he had to walk up to you so brazenly! As if you weren't a second away from taking out your weapon and attempting to cut his head from his shoulders. Despite this, however, Scar continued to come up to you with a certain...look in his eyes.

What was his goal this time?

"Don't dismiss me so coldly Y/N..." He said, your eyes following him like a hawk until he eventually stood right in front of you with no regard for your personal space.

You immediately surveyed the area around you, did he have friends with him this time? In such an open field, he had the advantage if he was aiming to kill you this time...

"I simply wanted to hang out with you!"

"Hang out?" You scoffed. "You nearly tried to kill me last time we met you damn freak." You spat, your hand coming to rest on the hilt of your sword.

His eyes quickly caught it before he smirked. "Oh...don't tell me you hold onto grudges, last time I was just...teasing you! My organization really wants you in our ranks, there's still time to join."

"No chance."

"Ah...you'll join us one day Y/N." He sighed before turning on his heels. "This time though—" He turned around, casually placing his hands in his pockets before his attention then turned to the Tacet Discord you had just recently killed. "—I offer you something more...personal. A moment for us to get to know each other outside of battle."

Your brow rose at the offer. "What's your angle?"

"No angle, to show you that our organization isn't what you may think it is. We should take some time together."

Before you opened your mouth to immediately decline, you took a moment to truly think about it. You were still searching for the origins of your past, answers as to who you truly were, and still...you kept coming up with empty answer after empty answer. In the back of your head, you suspected that you would probably have to resort to other methods in order to get the results that you wanted but...so soon? And with a guy like Scar? He was unhinged, crazy was putting it way too lightly and he nearly killed you! You escaped with just the skin on your teeth and a whole lot of scars and bruises on your body.

But...Fractsidus seemed to have a lot of information on you.

More than other people seemed to.

Maybe...maybe this was the right decision.

"Fine," You eventually said.

Scar couldn't help the immediate grin that crept onto his features as he turned back to face you, his hands still in his pockets. "But if you pull anything, I'll kill you. I swear it."

He chuckled. "We'll see about that."

. . .

And the rest was history.

The spot the two of you would meet up at would be the same every single time. The abandoned town where you and Scar first met and he told you the story of the black lamb and the shepherd. Admittedly, when you first went, you constantly thought that those meet-ups would be your last. When you'd appear around a corner, he'd always respond with a grin that you failed to decipher whether or not it was genuine or if it was hiding a darker intention.

You would spend hours talking, nothing of Fractisidus or your search for your origins and who you truly were! Simply life, your friends and the likes. It was...comfortable, something that you knew you shouldn't have felt around the man but you just couldn't help it! Spending so much time searching, moving around and having exciting things happen to you day after day, it became tiring.

Suddenly you found yourself yearning for the time when Scar would suddenly appear to you from an alleyway or when you were by yourself, offering out of the blue if you would like to hang out with him once more.

And all too eagerly? You'd agree.

And with such eagerness...it wasn't your fault that you hadn't noticed that he was leading you into a trap of desire! All until it was far too late—

"Y-You disgusting scumbag..." You hissed to Scar as you were currently pressed up against one of the buildings in the abandoned town. Your chest was heaving as you struggled to keep a sense of your surroundings, the feeling of the white-haired man's slender fingers fiercely plunging themselves into your cunt making your knees buckle underneath you and your head become foggier and foggier with pleasure.

Scar moaned at your insult, parting his head from the crook of your neck to look you in the eyes with a smirk. "Aw..." He cooed. "Still calling me names, Y/N? How long will it take before you start saying nicer things to me~?" A sharp gasp escaped your lips when Scar suddenly pressed his lips against your own, his tongue prodding at your lips for entrance. When he gently nibbled down on your bottom lip, you unintentionally moaned, allowing him enough room to slide hi tongue into your mouth before he felt around.

"Sweet..." He moaned against your lips, his fingers speeding up in the process before you felt him start to rub himself against your front.

You shuddered at the idea of such a large thing being inside of you...wait. "G-Gross!" You hissed as you suddenly pushed his shoulders, too weak to actually get him off of you but strong enough to make him pause in his actions and take his lips off of yours. He crudely licked his lips with a hungry smirk. "Oh don't fight me like I'm some villain Y/N...you want this as much as I do. Don't think I've missed the way you've looked at me over the last couple of weeks."

A fierce blush rose to your cheeks. "You're so delusional..."

He laughed. "Am I?"

As if to remind you, he curled his fingers up inside of you, his knuckles rubbing along a spot inside your inner walls that made your toes curl and your eyes threaten to roll back inside of your head. Scar lewdly moaned at the sound of your squelching pussy, his eyes steadily trailing down from your gaze and to your soaked pussy, your slick starting to roll down your thighs.

Scar laughed mockingly. "Dirty...it's like you're nearly wetting yourself under this cute skirt of yours~"

"F-Fuck you..."

"Oh I plan to," He placed another kiss on your lips. "And I'm soooo certain that you'll enjoy it Y/N~"

. . .

"S-Scar—!" You practically screamed out as Scar fucked you while you were pressed against a building. His fingers dug into your waist as he pulled your ass back to his pelvis, creating a lewd symphony of skin slapping against skin as your lover's groans threatened to be heard all the way back to Jinzhou. Your red-eyed lover's eyes were entranced by your ass squishing repeatedly against him as he fucked you like a common whore.

He had been wanting you like this against him since the day he spotted you.

And his need for you only increased when you had beat him in your fight against him. The sight of determination in your eyes—the sheer hatred you had for him, it had him rock-hard in his pants.

The nights he fisted his dick at the thought of you with that same look in your eyes quickly grew unbearable, it was the reason why he approached you outside of the orders of his organization in the first place! And although he wanted you to look at him with that same vitriol in your eyes, as if you wanted to kill him...the reward of making you a cock-drunk slut on his cock?

He figured he could get used to this as well.

"Fuck...! W-Why is your dick so big—!?" You gasped as your hand flew to wrap around his wrist, both trying to pull him closer to your body while simultaneously trying to push him away. "Fucking... v-villain..." You continued, your words constantly interrupted by your moans much to Scar's amusement.

"Why's your cute pussy so tight?" He licked his lips as he suddenly pulled his dick out of your cunt until he was nearly all the way out.

He reveled in the way your moans suddenly died down, being replaced by gasps and whines of confusion before your head turned in search of him. "Why...why did you stop—" Your words were once again interrupted, replaced by a shrill keen as Scar suddenly plunged himself back into your needy cunt once more. A series of cocky laughter tumbled out from his lips as he started to curl over your body, feeling his orgasm begin to creep up on him.

"So fucking cute Y/N..." He whispered in your ear, lightly nipping on the shell of your ear, causing you to suck your lower lip into your mouth as your pussy clenched around Scar's dick. "Maybe this'll get you to join Fractsidus?" He continued to whisper lowly in your ear, his rough and harsh pace beginning slower and harder as he rolled into your cunt.

You moaned at the slower pace, his cock pressing threatening to press against your cervix as you turned your head to look back at him through blurry eyes. "I-In your dreams..." You tried to retain some sense of dignity, trying not to give in to your enemy any more than you already have.

"My dreams seem to be coming true then~" He moaned. "After all, I have you right where I want you, don't I?" Before you could respond, Scar's hand moved to roughly rub your clit, the sudden increase in pleasure practically tearing your orgasm out from your body as you wailed out in bliss. And those wails and moans of your enjoyment were the final push Scar needed before he pressed himself against you with a whispered 'Fuck'. The warmth that flooded your insides making you sigh in bliss as you hung onto cloud nine for a few seconds more before you started to come down slowly.

Your enemy was more dangerous than you previously thought.

How was his dick so addicting?!

And even more...why were you already thinking of when to come back to him for more?

[takami-takami]

I Think I Love You.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. fluff.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is in denial. tooth rotting fluff.

It takes Keigo eons to realize that he loves you.

As intelligent as he is, for every intuitive observation that turns the tides of his hero missions, he isn't the best at analyzing his own feelings. He prefers to put his emotions in a box, to scribble a smile on the lid, lock it with the heaviest brass he can find, and call it a day.

He's handling everything perfectly, thank you very much.

But when he tries to put his friendship with you in that box, you keep opening the damn lid. You keep crawling out, perching yourself on top and blinking up at him. Frustrated, he attempts to shove you back down with frantic hands, using all his weight; but for the first time in his life, it just isn't working quite as it used to.

So after months of coughing and telling himself his chest aches around you because you're such good friends, of explaining he's obsessed with you like you're a goddamn love interest in a movie because you're just so platonically compatible, of practically scribbling your name in his notepad with little hearts around it during commission board meetings, he finally flops face first on his bed and groans.

He's got a crush.

Are crushes supposed to make you think about owning a cozy cabin somewhere quiet together, where he can listen to your breathing without any distractions? Do other men fantasize about what they'd write for their wedding vows at some flower-adorned, ivory altar when they think about their crushes? He hopes they do. Maybe then, he could write this stupid tightness in his chest away as some childish, grade-school crush. That's a lot easier to deal with than love.

Yeah, this is a crush. Everybody gets those, right? He can work with that.

It comes to a boiling point on a too-quiet Saturday evening. You're practically sitting in his lap as you watch some television show he's just a bit too distracted to follow. It's not weird that his arms wrap themselves around your front, and it's not weird that his chin finds its resting place on your right shoulder.

"Oh my god, I love this actor," you nestle back against him snugly. "He's so cute, it's not even fair."

Keigo's jaw clenches.

"Hmm. I don't see it."

Narrowing his eyes, he tries to soothe himself by analyzing the wretched actor's features. He already knows your type— he knows you so well, better than anyone could ever hope to, he seethes— but it helps to remind himself. He's blonde, lithe yet muscular, with a patch of stubble to boot.

Keigo does it better. His arms tighten around you as he places a platonic kiss on your shoulder to ground himself.

The next day, he decides to pick up an extra early patrol shift. He won't be sleeping, anyway.

If Saturday's the boiling point of the kettle that is his emotions, then Sunday's the fever pitch. The screeching whistle becomes impossible to ignore.

You slept over at his place that night— which is, again, not weird in the slightest— so he's greeted by the sight of you when he walks through the doors of his dimly lit bedroom after work.

But this time, it's not a comforting sight. His heart rate slams suddenly, nearly knocking him to his knees.

You're fussing over your appearance in the mirror, putting together the finishing touches on your look for the gala Keigo (should not have) invited you to tonight. Your jewelry clinks with your movements, echoing off the walls of his head and knocking each thought out somewhere he can't reach.

When you turn to meet his gaze, you don't mention the way his mouth is hanging open ever so slightly.

"Oh! You gonna get ready soon? We have to leave in—"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words spill from his lips before he even has a chance to cover them with his hands, to shove them back down his throat. The bubbles of regret start to well up in him, thrums of panic making him scramble to take it back. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, this isn't, he's not meant for, you're too—

You throw your arms over his shoulders as you honest to god laugh.

His hitched "mmph" when you plant your lips against him melts your heart. Shaky palms find their place against your hips, finally having the permission they've begged for all this time.

"Fucking finally," you sigh.

[stylesispunk]

Blades of Fate

marcus Acacius x f!reader / lucius x f!reader

Summary: Lucius and you are celebrated champions of the arena, each with their own unique force. Marcus Acacius returning from a victorious campaign, attends a grand gladiatorial event where he witnesses your bravery firsthand and something about you captivates him.

w.c: 4,4k

warnings: messy writing, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, and mentions of arranged marriage, tension

a/n: okay, I had two days off from work and I still have post london depression, but I finally wrote something and I had no idea what the plot of this was or is, but I was dying for writing something about this two characters and I out them both here. Okay I have no idea what plot gladiator II will follow so this is the only thing that came to my mind. Perhaps some events or details of the story will not fit with the history events of the Roman empire and gladiators, but still this is just for fun. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. I hope you like it and have fun reading 💌.

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

The sun hung high in the Roman sky, casting golden rays over the Colosseum's colossal structure. The massive stone amphitheater, a testament to Roman engineering and grandeur, was alive with the roar of the crowd. Citizens from all walks of life, from the lowly plebeians to the esteemed senators, filled the seats, their cheers and shouts blending into a symphony of anticipation.

The blood of past battles stained the sand in the heart of the arena, a silent witness to the countless lives lost for entertainment. Today, the atmosphere was electric with excitement, for the arena was set to witness a spectacle unlike any other. The gates on either end of the battleground creaked open, and out stepped two of Rome's most revered gladiators.

Lucius, tall and muscular, with a presence that commanded respect, raised his sword to the cheering masses. His sharp and focused eyes scanned the crowd before settling on his partner. You, a gladiatrix of unparalleled skill, moved with a grace that belied the brutality of your fate, matching the rage of your lover. Your lithe form was clad in leather armor, and your hair was braided back to reveal a face marked by determination and a fierce will to survive.

Seeing a woman fight wasn’t something common, but you had won your respect and reputation, and besides Lucius, you had become nothing but stronger, a team, as the two champions you were destined to be.

A hush fell over the Colosseum. The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe.

The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe, determined to bring down the beloved gladiators.

The battle began with a clash of steel and a flurry of movement. Lucius and you fought with seamless coordination; your movements synchronized as if you were one entity. Lucius's strength and brute force were complemented perfectly by your agility and precision. The two of you moved through your opponents like a tempest, leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in your wake.

High above, in the VIP stands, General Marcus Acacius watched intently. His stern face, weathered by years of warfare and command, betrayed no emotion. Known for his ruthless efficiency and strategic brilliance, Marcus had seen countless battles, but there was something about these two gladiators that intrigued him. Your skill was undeniable, but it was your unspoken bond, your mutual trust and respect, that caught his attention.

As the last of your opponent’s fell, the crowd erupted in deafening applause. Lucius and you stood victorious, your chests heaving from exertion, but your eyes were sharp and alert. You raised your weapons in salute to the crowd and then, as one, turned your gaze towards Marcus.

From his seat, Marcus leaned forward slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Arrange for a private meeting," he instructed his aide, his voice carrying the weight of command. "I want to see if their skills match their reputation."

The aide nodded and hurried off, while Marcus's gaze remained fixed on the two of you. There was something about you both—a spark that he couldn't quite place. He intended to find out what it was and how it could serve his own purposes.

As you and Lucius exited the arena, you exchanged a smile. Another victory, another day of survival in a world you didn’t choose but were destined to be part of. You reached out, gently touching his arm. “We are a team,” you said, trying to convince yourself that the love you had for him was bigger than the exhaustion you felt.

Lucius looked down at your hand on his arm, then back at you. “Yes, Dulcissima,” he said softly. He closed his eyes; there was a sort of pain evident on his face. “But I want us to be free from all of this," he admitted.

He opened his eyes, searching for yours once more. The anger had faded, replaced by a deep sorrow. "Dulcissima,” the nickname, slipped from his lips once again. “I want us to get married, and I want to make you happy.”

You stared at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in. “Lucius,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions.

Lucius took your hand in his; his grip was firm yet tender. "I’ve been thinking about this for a long time," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time we step into that arena, I fear it might be our last. I don’t want to lose you, not without having truly lived with you."

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known the dangers of your life as a gladiatrix, but hearing Lucius speak so openly about his fears brought a new depth to your own anxieties. "I want that too, Lucius," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. "But how can we ever be free?"

Lucius's eyes darkened with determination. "We’ll find a way. There has to be more to life than this constant struggle. We’ll fight for our freedom together."

Before you could respond, a group of soldiers approached, their stern faces in stark contrast to the celebration that surrounded you. The leader, a tall centurion with a scar running down his cheek, addressed you both. "General Marcus Acacius has requested your presence for a private meeting. Follow us."

You and Lucius exchanged a quick glance, both sensing the gravity of the situation. With a nod, you followed the soldiers through the winding corridors of the Colosseum, your minds racing with thoughts of what the general might want.

The soldiers led you to a grand chamber within the Colosseum, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries and bronze statues of Rome’s greatest heroes. General Marcus Acacius stood near a large table, studying a map spread out before him. As you entered, he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with keen intensity.

"Welcome," Marcus said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I wanted to speak with you both personally. Your performance in the arena today was nothing short of extraordinary."

"Thank you, General," Lucius replied, his tone respectful but guarded.

Marcus nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "And honor Rome you have. But I sense that there’s more to your partnership than just skill and survival. There’s a deeper connection, one that could be of great use."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. "What do you mean, General?" you asked cautiously.

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes piercing. "I’m offering you an opportunity—a chance to fight for something greater than yourselves. To serve Rome in a way that could ultimately lead to your freedom."

Lucius’s grip on your hand tightened slightly. "We’re listening," he said, his voice steady.

Marcus gestured to the map on the table. "Rome is expanding, but with that expansion comes the need for strong, capable leaders. I believe the two of you could be valuable assets in securing our borders and maintaining order. Prove yourselves in the upcoming challenge, and I’ll ensure that your skills are recognized. There could be a future for you beyond the arena, one where you have a say in your own destiny." He paused. "However," he continued, a glint of challenge in his eyes, "I propose a new test of their mettle. A special event, where our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a mock battle."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall. You felt a surge of determination at the general's words. This was more than a mere challenge; it was an opportunity to prove yourself further in the eyes of Rome and its most powerful figures.

You stepped forward, your voice clear and resolute. "I accept your challenge, General. I will show you and all of Rome what a true gladiator is capable of."

Marcus nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Very well. The event will be held in two days' time. May the gods favor the brave."

Lucius, standing beside you, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We’ve faced worse," he whispered. "You’ll show them all."

Your heart raced at the prospect. Could this be the chance you and Lucius have been longing for? Is there a way to escape the bloodshed and find a life together, free from the chains of the Colosseum?

"We’ll do it," you said firmly, meeting Marcus’s gaze with unwavering resolve. "We’ll prove ourselves."

Marcus’s smile widened; satisfaction was evident in his eyes. "Good. The challenge will take place in two days. Prepare yourselves, and may the gods be with you."

As the banquet continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this challenge was more than just a test of skill. It was a pivotal moment, one that could alter the course of your life and your bond with Lucius. And in the shadows, the ever-watchful eyes of Marcus Acacius followed your every move, already plotting the next step in his intricate game.

The next two days were a blur of intense preparation. You and Lucius trained tirelessly, refining your techniques and strategizing for the upcoming mock battle. The anticipation in the air was palpable, both among the gladiators and the spectators who eagerly awaited the spectacle.

On the morning of the event, the Colosseum was packed with spectators, their cheers echoing through the grand structure. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the excitement of the unknown. This was no ordinary battle; it was a test that would determine your fate and perhaps even reshape your destiny.

Marcus stood on a platform overlooking the arena, his presence commanding respect. He raised his hand, signaling for silence. "Today, we witness a display of courage, skill, and determination," he announced, his voice carrying across the Colosseum. "Our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a test of strength and strategy. Let the battle begin!"

The gates creaked open, and you stepped into the arena, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Across from you stood Marcus’s elite soldiers, their expressions hard and focused. You glanced at Lucius, who stood at the edge of the arena, his eyes locked onto yours with unwavering support.

"Together," you whispered to yourself, drawing strength from the bond you shared with Lucius.

The clash of steel rang out as the battle commenced, a whirlwind of movement and noise. You moved with a grace and ferocity that left your opponents reeling; your every strike was precise and powerful. Despite the odds, you fought with everything you had, driven by the desire for freedom and a future with Lucius.

As the battle raged on, you felt a surge of energy, pushing yourself beyond your limits. You danced around your opponents, using your agility and speed to outmaneuver them. The crowd's cheers grew louder with each successful strike, their excitement fueling your resolve.

Finally, as the last soldier fell, a hush descended over the arena. You stood victorious, your chest heaving, your body bruised and battered but unbroken. The crowd erupted in applause; their cheers were a testament to your triumph.

Marcus descended from the platform, his eyes filled with admiration and something else—something deeper. "You have proven yourself today," he said, his voice carrying a note of respect. "Your skills and determination are unmatched. You are a true warrior."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "Thank you, General," you replied, your voice steady despite the exhaustion.

Lucius rushed to your side, his eyes filled with pride and relief. "You did it," he whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I knew you would."

As you stood there, basking in the glow of victory, Marcus stepped closer, his gaze intense. "There is more to this than just a test of skill," he said quietly. "I see potential in you—a potential that could change the course of our future."

You looked at him, curiosity and apprehension swirling within you. "What do you mean?"

Marcus smiled a hint of mystery in his eyes. "All in due time. For now, rest and recover. We will speak again soon."

In the days that followed, you and Lucius were treated with newfound respect and admiration. The other gladiators looked up to you, and the soldiers who had once seen you as mere entertainment now saw you as formidable warriors. Yet, despite the praise and the promise of a brighter future, a sense of unease lingered in the air.

One evening, as you were returning to your quarters after another grueling day of training, a sudden commotion caught your attention. The sound of clashing steel and muffled shouts echoed through the corridors. You hurried towards the source of the disturbance, your heart pounding with a sense of impending danger.

As you rounded a corner, you were met with a chilling sight. Lucius was engaged in a fierce battle with a group of unknown assailants. His movements were swift and deadly, but he was outnumbered. Without a second thought, you drew your weapon and rushed to his aid, your determination burning brighter than ever.

Despite your best efforts, the sheer number of attackers overwhelmed you. You fought valiantly, but the odds were stacked against you. A sharp pain exploded in your side as one of the assailants landed a brutal blow, and you fell to your knees, your vision blurring.

Lucius's voice echoed in your ears, filled with desperation. "No! Leave her alone!" But his cries were in vain. The attackers overpowered him, and as darkness closed in, you felt yourself being dragged away.

When you awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit cell, your hands bound with a rough rope. The cold stone walls pressed in around you, and the air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay. You struggled against your restraints, but they held firm.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. The door to your cell creaked open, and Marcus stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

"You’re awake," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. "Why did you do this?"

Marcus sighed, his eyes dark with emotion. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this," he said, stepping closer. "But there are forces at play here that even I cannot control. I had to act quickly to protect you."

"Protect me?" You spat, your anger flaring. "By taking me hostage?"

He knelt beside you, his gaze earnest. "Yes," he said softly. "There are those who see you as a threat and who would stop at nothing to eliminate you. I couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way to keep you safe."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "And what about Lucius? What have you done to him?"

Marcus’s expression tightened. "He’s unharmed for now. But there are conditions. You must stay here, cooperate with me, and in return, he will be spared."

Your heart ached with the weight of his words. The future you had envisioned with Lucius seemed to slip further away with each passing moment. "What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I want you to trust me," Marcus said, his tone sincere. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to believe that I’m doing this for the greater good. Together, we can change the course of history."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. Instead, you found only a deep, unyielding resolve. Despite your anger and fear, a part of you wanted to believe him and trust that he had your best interests at heart.

"I’ll cooperate," you said finally, your voice steady. "But if anything happens to Lucius, I swear I will make you pay."

Marcus nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "You have my word," he said. "Lucius will be safe.

The next evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the cell, Marcus arrived with a tray of food. He set it down on a small table and took a seat across from you. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You shrugged, picking at the food. "As well as one can feel in captivity," you replied, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Marcus sighed. "I understand your frustration," he said. "But believe me, this is the only way to ensure your safety."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching for his. "And what about Lucius? How long do you intend to keep us apart?"

"Until it’s safe," he answered, his gaze unwavering. "There are those who would see you both dead. I need to neutralize that threat before I can reunite you."

You frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "And how do I know I can trust you?"

“Because I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, leaning forward towards you, his expression earnest. "I have given you my word. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“And Lucius,” you said.

“I don’t care about Lucius.” He confessed, “But if you ask me to protect him, I will.”

You recoiled slightly at Marcus's confession, his words echoing in your mind. "You don’t care about Lucius?" You repeated it, disbelief coloring your tone.

Marcus hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "Not in the same way I care about you," he admitted quietly. "But I understand how important he is to you. If protecting him means protecting you, then I will do it."

You took a deep breath, trying to process the storm of emotions swirling within you. Marcus’s honesty was unexpected, and it stirred something in you, something you could decipher.

"I appreciate your honesty," you said finally, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "But my loyalty lies with Lucius. He’s... he’s a part of me."

Marcus nodded slowly, his expression somber. "I understand," he said softly.

You looked your gaze with his; an electric feeling passed through the both of you, but you ignored it, not wanting to commit treason towards Lucius.

“I don’t like this life, you know?” Marcus began, his voice carrying the weight of the weariness of years and sincerity. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze searching yours as if seeking understanding.

You nodded slowly, feeling a surge of empathy for the man before you, the man who seemed to be different from his strong exterior. "I can imagine," you replied softly. "The burden of command, the weight of decisions that affect so many lives..."

Marcus sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It’s not just that," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I’ve seen too much bloodshed, too much senseless violence. In these gladiatorial games, they glorify death while the people cheer on."

His words resonated deeply with you, stirring up memories of battles fought and lives lost in the name of entertainment. "I never wanted to be a fighter," you confessed quietly. "I wanted... I wanted a life of peace, of freedom."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "Yet here we are,” he murmured. “Bound by duty, by the expectations of others.”

You nodded, the weight of shared experience forging a fragile bond between you.

"I’ve spent my life in service to Rome, sacrificing countless lives for its glory. But lately, I find myself questioning the cost."

You nodded slowly, sensing the weight of his words. "I understand," you said quietly. "I’ve felt that way too, at times. I never wanted to be what I am now—to live and die by the sword. But I grew up with Lucius, and we shared the same resentment and anger at the hand life dealt me."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "We’re more alike than you realize," he murmured. ”

"I never imagined my life would turn out like this," you admitted, a pang of vulnerability in your voice. "But every battle, every victory—it’s shaped who I am."

Marcus reached across the table, his hand resting gently on yours. "You’re stronger than you know," he said earnestly. "And you deserve more than the chains of the Colosseum."

You met his gaze, seeing a depth of compassion and empathy that surprised you. "What about that?" you asked softly. "What do I deserve?"

“To be caressed and protected,” he replied, not taking his eyes from yours.

His words stirred something deep within you—a yearning for tenderness and safety amidst the chaos of your existence. "And you?" you pressed gently, your heart racing with uncertainty and anticipation.

Marcus’s expression softened further, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "To find redemption," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To make amends for the lives I’ve sacrificed.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his confession settling between you. "We both seek something more," you said softly, reaching to cover his hand with yours. "Perhaps we can find it."

The touch of your hands and the electricity were enough to make you guilty of sin.

"One of my men has uncovered a plot against you," Marcus confessed while holding your hand. "There are those who believe you and Lucius pose a threat to the stability of Rome. They’re planning an attack."

You drew in a sharp breath, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. "Who would want to harm us?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern and disbelief.

Marcus shook his head grimly. "Enemies within the Senate, rivals who see you as a symbol of defiance," he explained. "They fear the influence you hold over the people, over the rebels.”

You glanced at him, a mixture of fear and gratitude swirling within you. "What do I do?" you asked quietly, realizing the gravity of the situation.

Marcus’s gaze hardened, a flicker of determination crossing his features.

"What do you propose?" you asked, a sense of foreboding creeping over you.

Marcus took a deep breath, meeting your gaze with resolve. "An arranged marriage," he said quietly. "Between you and me."

You stared at him, stunned. "What?”

"Think about it," Marcus said, shifting closer. "As my wife, you would have the protection of my name and my position. It would make it much harder for our enemies to harm you. And it would give us the legitimacy and power we need to navigate the political landscape of Rome."

"But what about Lucius?" you demanded, your heart aching at the thought of betraying him.

"I would ensure his safety," Marcus promised. "He would be free, and you could see him. But we must present a united front to the world. This is the only way."

You turned away, struggling with your emotions. The thought of marrying Marcus, despite your growing bond, felt like a betrayal to Lucius. Yet, the logic of Marcus’s proposal was undeniable.

"Please, think about it," Marcus said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You spent the night wrestling with conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to Lucius and the pragmatism of Marcus's proposal. As dawn broke, you found yourself standing before Marcus once more, a decision forming in your mind.

"I've thought about it," you began slowly, meeting Marcus's intense gaze with determination. "I... I agree."

Marcus's expression softened with relief, yet he remained composed. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern for your well-being.

You nodded, steeling yourself against the ache in your heart. "Yes. It's the best way to protect both of us, and Lucius too. We need to do this."

A weight seemed to lift from Marcus's shoulders, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. "Thank you," he murmured, stepping closer to take your hands in his. "You won't regret this. I'll make sure to be the best husband.”

As Marcus took your hands in his, a sense of finality settled over you. The decision was made, driven by a combination of necessity and the undeniable connection you felt with him. Despite the pang of guilt for Lucius, you knew this was a path you had chosen for the safety and future stability it promised.

"I need you to know that my heart belongs to Lucius," you replied softly, meeting Marcus's earnest gaze. "But I’ll believe you’ll prove me right."

A faint smile touched Marcus's lips; relief and determination shone in his eyes. "We'll face this together," he said, his voice steady with conviction. "I'll ensure that you're protected and that we navigate these turbulent times with strength and unity."

Marcus nodded solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he listened to your heartfelt confession. "I understand," he replied softly, his voice tinged with both acceptance and a hint of sadness. "I will do everything in my power to earn your trust and respect."

You felt a surge of gratitude towards Marcus, appreciating his understanding despite the complex emotions involved. "Thank you," you murmured, squeezing his hands gently. "For being so understanding."

A sense of mutual respect and determination filled the space between you, a silent agreement to face the challenges ahead. Marcus's commitment to protect you and navigate the political intricacies of Rome gave you a measure of reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"We'll announce our intentions and make preparations," Marcus continued, his voice regaining its usual resolve. "Our marriage will be more than just a shield; it will be a symbol of unity and strength."

As you nodded in agreement, a sense of resolve settled within you. Despite your heart belonging to Lucius, you knew that this alliance with Marcus was necessary.

When Marcus left your side, you looked up at the sky, promising heaven and God that Lucius would be your only love, just as the weight of your decision settled in your chest—a blend of duty and sacrifice for a greater cause—for your freedom. Despite the practicality of your alliance with Marcus, your heart still yearned for Lucius, a truth you held onto in the quiet moments.

Unbeknownst to you, Marcus observed you from a distance, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound sense of purpose. As he watched you under the vast Roman sky, a resolve hardened within him. He had made a commitment to protect you, but now he harbored a deeper ambition—to win your heart.

[loquaciousquark]

when will eppie hawke and fenris meet tavish and astarion? (:

"And anyway, it won't be that bad. One last little Fade rift. We'll barricade it up as best we can, send a message to Skyhold, go home, and—"

One of the craggy footholds crumbles away beneath Hawke's foot, and it's only Fenris's quick hand that saves her from a plummet back down the side of the barren mountain. "Hawke, please."

"Please yourself. I said you didn't have to come."

Fenris throws her a longsuffering look, the flickering green lightning of the rift casting weird shadows over his eyes, but he doesn't let go of her arm until she's got both feet on solid ground again. "Just seal it and let this be done."

"My heart's only desire, lover," Hawke says, smiling, just as another pair of voices rises from the other side of the rift.

"Careful—careful! It shocks like the entire Hells are in there. Where's Gale?"

"Wherever Karlach dropped him, I suppose, with that little sprained ankle of his. No, I see them, they're almost here. Come away, darling. No need to get so dramatically close."

"This, from you?" says the woman, just as she and her fellow voice round the far edge of the rift. "Oh!"

"Well!" Hawke says almost at the same moment. Two of them after all: a short, slim woman with auburn hair pulled back in a low tail, and a tall, lithe man with hair as white as Fenris's and eyes that gleam like rubies. The man has a dagger drawn already, a thin smile playing over his face; the woman's fingers rest on her sheathed rapier, but her gaze is open, friendly. Hawke plants her staff on the rocky ground in as welcoming a gesture as she can manage. "Fancy running into someone like you up here of all places."

"I could say the same," the woman says. The green rift, still hanging between them and stretching a good twenty feet into the sky, gives an ominous rumble. "Our wizard's been fretting about magical disturbances along the city's borders for weeks. He finally traces the source to this location, and here you are at the heart of it. I'd like to believe it's coincidence."

"Alas," Hawke says, "one of my greatest faults is a terrible habit of being around when things begin. Fenris can attest to that better than most." She lays a hand on Fenris's shoulder, but he's stiff as iron, eyes glued to the man's dagger, and he's reached back for the hilt of his greatsword. "I'm Hawke, by the way."

"Call me Tav."

"And I'm Astarion," the man says grandly, accompanied by a wholly unnecessary flourish of his dagger. "We're here to steal the world."

"Save it," Tav says sharply.

"Of course, my dear. Save the world. What did I say?"

Fenris makes a short, disgusted noise, but Hawke's pleased to see he's let go of his own sword. She doesn't think this Astarion is going to kill them—not easily, anyway—and she likes the look of Tav despite herself. Both of them quick on their feet, she thinks, both moving gracefully with an innate, self-assured balance. As Tav steps around the rift Astarion moves with her like water, without even needing to see where she's gone. It reminds her a great deal of Fenris and herself, actually, though Hawke would give an arm to trust her own feet that much.

Fenris, it seems, has come to similar conclusions, and he rolls his shoulders as he releases their tension. Even his voice has lost its nascent fury, which for Fenris is practically friendly in situations like this. "The rift is dangerous. We will guard it until the Inquisitor can seal it permanently. Be on your way."

"Inquisitor?" drawls Astarion with that same, thin-lipped smile. "Sounds like someone from dear Shadowheart's former enclave, don't you think?"

"I don't think they're Sharran," Tav says. "Are you?"

"What a speculative look you've put on," Hawke says, delighted. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Unless you'd like me to be Sharran, in which case, I most certainly am and in fact have always been."

Both Fenris and Astarion roll their eyes—hilarious in its own right, but heightened by the clear antipathy still remaining between them. Fenris sighs. "Hawke—"

The rift explodes.

Green lightning shatters over the rocky cliff. The rumble bursts into a deafening roar; the faint breeze that had been dancing around them sweeps up into a hurricane. The air cracks and snaps with a sudden smell of ozone.

Hawke throws her hand over her eyes. She can't see—the wind tears her hair from its bindings and she can't see past the brilliant flashes of blazing green and she can't hear— "Fenris!"

Someone's fingers wrap around hers. She wrenches up her staff, calls for fire—for ice—for anything—but the rift has become a maelstrom and every scrap of magic sucks into the raging whirl before she can shape it. Her boots skid on the stone as she tries to brace against the inexorable pull, pebbles and rocks rattling along every step. She can't—the hand wrapped around hers has seized tight as a vise, but she's slipping anyway, and Maker, she can't—

A man's echoing voice, stripped bare of all artifice, wild with fear: "Tav!"

The wind dies. Not slowly, not gradually; it falls off like someone's upturned a glass over the rocky cliff, and Hawke's ears roar in the sudden silence. The wind is gone, and the rift is gone with it as if it had never been, the thunderous clouds that had been swirling above it already dissipating to glimpses of blue morning sky.

"Andraste preserve me," Hawke says, loud in the quiet, and she looks over to see Tav still crouched against the face of the mountain. One of Tav's hands clutches a dagger she'd wedged deep into a stony crevice; the other is still wrapped tight around Hawke's wrist where she'd pulled her away from the tempest.

No sign of Fenris. No sign of the other one—Astarion. A long white scrape in the stone marks where Fenris's sword had sought and failed to find purchase, disappearing at the precise place where the rift had torn itself open.

Gone. Gone, gone. Her heart hammers in her throat, and she indulges in thirty seconds of agonizing grief before she sets it aside, turns, and pulls Tav to her feet.

"Well," Hawke says at last. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. Ready for an adventure?"

"Yes," Tav says, her grip on Hawke's hand like steel, and her eyes blaze. "You and me. Let's get them back."

—

Everything hurts. Everything godsdamned hurts, and Astarion lets out a pained groan as he rolls to his back and drops his arm over his face. His ears ring like bells, and something twinges painfully in his left hip, and the inconvenient sun has decided to blaze right in his face and gods damn it, he'd known they ought to wait for Gale. Wretched wizard and his weak ankles. Wretched Tav and her complete inability—

"Tav," Astarion says, and sits bolt upright.

No Tav. Not even the dark-haired sorcerer with the wide smile. Just that taciturn warrior in leather and half-plate seated on a rock a few feet away, watching Astarion get his bearings, his greatsword slung across his knees and a deeply sour look on his tattooed face. The skies above them are clear and blue as a song.

No Tav. No Hawke. No rift. No plan, and no company besides an irascible stranger with the same sudden look of dawning horror.

"Venhedis."

"Shit."

[wordy-little-witch]

Plus size Buggy will always be my favorites headcanon for him because it just makes SENSE. Not gonna get too much into negative stereotypes here, but genuinely Buggy’s sixpack in the manga is mildly hysterically to me, given what we know about him. He’s not unfit by a mile, he is too talented of an acrobat for that, but look my square in the eye and tell me Buggy would be the kind of guy to do the kind of restrictive(and in many cases DESTRUCTIVE) eating that’s required to keep a sixpack like that. Anyways: Buggy being the most full figured out of Crossguild and him and Crocodile actually teaming up against MIHAWK for once, who’s naturally a pretty thin guy but also „forgets to eat“ at times Yes / No? Mihawk feels like the kind of guy who would forgo eating when he feels it’s inconvenient or not actively for nutritional sake (save the wine 🍷) and Buggy and Crocodile both being the type of men who can not understand why you would put yourself trough that type of torture when you are rich enough to have all the food you want. Mihawk muses that it’s baffling that they are now discussing important Crossguild news at…."brunch" , regarding them in the afternoon has worked well for them until now, not yet completely realizing that his husbands have actually bonded together to make sure Mihawk actually at least eats something before midday. They would have pushed for breakfast, but there simply was no way for them to get to Mihawk before his morning training session.

Okay yes this, so much!!! I'm gonna project on Buggy here, bro can't eat first thing in the morning, so he Gets It to an extent with Mihawk - but he's also gonna be ADAMANT on SOMETHING for the other if only a light brunch. He's the type to keep small snacks on his person while out and about, and he's not above some mild manipulation tactics to make sure his loved ones are okay and healthy.

Mihawk's natural build is pretty lithe. He's tall, thin, but frankly absolutely RIPPED when it comes to muscle, and Buggy is simply SWEATING when he sees it. It's not even in a That's So Hot way, it's in a Oh My Gods That's Not Safe way.

Crocodile isn't exactly as hard-corded-muscled as Mihawk, but also not as full figured as Buggy, and even he's like "o h" when the goth abs flex.

Buggy tries to be subtle at first, then when they doesn't work ((and after a fairly sharp tongued call out)) he just explodes with waving hands and teary eyes about general health and the way that that stuff can negatively impact people current and future, then he winds up rambling about the beauty industry and media pushing for such unsafe expectations when it ISN'T SAFE.

Just. Buggy levels of meltdowns because if there is one thing he'll go feral for, it's the people he loves and the chances of losing them.

It also helps that he's a pretty good cook and gives Croc and Hawk both the clown baby doll eyes to beg them to have something light with him.

[djcarnationsblog]

THANK YOU WONDERFUL AND EVER SO ELDRITCH @chessman-protocol FOR LETTING ME DO THIS, IT'S BEEN SPIRALLING IN MY BRAINCRACKS SINCE THIS MORNINGS XD

Introducing the Covert Iteration of my Rottmnt oc: Jesse Burnham!

Jesse, in both the og and Covert Aus, is a scientist who works in the fields of bioengineering, zoology and robotics! In the og Au, her main goal as a scientist was to create robot animals so life like that you couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was fake.

In the Cover Au, she achieves this goal earlier than expected, but instead uses them to work as spy-bots for the times where a mission has to be done discreetly, undercover. They're also mainly used for outside data collection as well!

The main bots that people will witness lurking around the organization are:

Eleanor the Ginger Cat: She's the one used the most for spying besides the incredibly amount of rat bots and Ant Queen bots, as there are very few people in the world that don't like a playful ginger cat. Out of her entire arsenal, she is the most indistinguishable bot from the real thing, so much so that even other cats will mistake her for being one of them, if only for a minute.

The only way you can really pick up that something is off about her is the lack of blinking, and the way other cats will avoid her like the plague.

Hunter the Jaguar: Hunter is less of a spy-bot and more of a combatant bot on the very, very (and that's two very's) few times that Jesse will be sent out onto the field.

He's the heavy hitter, agile and lithe. Not to mention the fact that he is entirely vantablack-the deepest black in the world- save for the soft gold glow between his plates, so it makes it frighteningly easy to lose him in the night or in dark, shadowy places.

Phoebe the Hawk: Phoebe is the most important one, being Jesse's most trusted companion and confidant, she is basically Jesse's right hand bird! She is the bot that does the most arial sweeps, mostly in order to locate any target who might be in broad daylight, but she also can be used to update any joint-tasked sectors on the status of the field from above.

Not to mention, Phoebe was Jesse's first successful project of life-like robot animals, so she holds incredible sentimental value to her.

Even though this isn't even half-not even a quarter-of all the robots she has manufactured, these three bots are by-far the most important ones to Jesse, tactically and emotionally.

One very important fact about Jesse, as well, is the fact that he's bigender!

His masculine days aren't as frequent as his feminine days, but either way he certainly uses it to his advantage! Switching between the two genders (whether or not he feels like one or the other at the time) has always been a reliable disguise for him if Jesse needs to get out and do some personal investigation himself that his animals are incapable of.

Jesse is a natural smooth-talker and liar, which helps with his job especially well!

Another important thing to mention, is that I'm not entirely sure if Jesse would be in any sector himself, or if he's a solo act within the organization. What I do know, is the fact that you are able to request the use of his spy bots no matter what sector you are in, but only at a certain price. (What the price is yet? Not sure, but it's not money, that's what I know XD).

It's very, very, VERY (that's three very's!) rare for sector 5 to ever need his spy bots, as most often than not their missions are combat based (I think??? Correct me if I'm wrong qwq), but I like to think on the very rare times they do need it and DON has to get it from him? All I gotta say is that Jesse shows no fear when it comes to the turtles.

There's a medical reason for that-

AAAAAANYWAYS I THINK THAT'S ALL I GOT'S TO SAY RIGHT NOW??? Other than the fact that I wanna make a few lil' comic pages of Jesse and Don interacting cause I wanna see how accurately I can display Don's personality. I just think they'd be neat :]

AAAAAND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME DO THIS MAN OF THE CHESS OF THE CHESS CHESSMAN, YOU WONDERFUL BEING OF MYSTERIES-

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #22 - Warning

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #22 - You Pick - Warning

Note: The Black Knights are based on a very cool breed of chicken called the 'Liege Fighter' if anyone is curious.

Briar's head jerked up from his gardening when he heard the sharp warning cry from Henri, his oldest rooster. The bird gave a loud squawk, wings flapping as he rushed toward the hens foraging in the grass. His older hens immediately echoed the call and shot across the grass, heading for the safety of the cottage and coop. They were no strangers to predators and knew what to do.

The ones that worried Briar most were his little silkies. Smaller, plumper, and short-legged in comparison, they were not near as quick and wary as his other hens. With their soft, almost fur-like feathers, they couldn't even fly for short stretches like the other hens. Vulnerable little golden balls of fluff, the silkies waddled as fast as they could after the others, giving their own chirps and squawks of distress.

The half-Elezen rose, sucking in a worried breath as he noticed the lean shape of a hawk circling nearby. He couldn't blame the predator for wanting to eat, but he didn't like it eating his chickens. Grabbing his staff, he started to jog toward the meadow, hoping his presence would be enough to dissuade the hawk.

Unfortunately, at that moment, the hawk dove in a quick flash, aiming for the slowest of the silkies. Briar sucked in a breath, starting to run, wishing he could just shout at the damned hawk. He made a noise of frustration, glancing around for something to toss that might spook it but not hurt his poor hen.

Briar hadn't needed to worry though. A streak of black feathers shot from the nearby bushes and crashed into the hawk just before its talons reached the hen. She still shrieked loudly, stubby wings flapping as she bolted as hard as she could toward the safety of the flock. The hawk gave its own cry of alarm as it crashed into the ground with a mass of striking wings and claws.

Briar slid to a stop, startled for a moment at the mass of angry birds rolling around on the ground before the dark form bounced away lithely. Gareth, one of his 'black knights' as they were affectionately known, gave a savage hiss of warning, long hackles rising as he mantled at the hawk. The hawk flailed to its feet, giving indignant hisses, threatening the rooster back. At least until another hiss joined the chorus and Gareth's brother, Kade, stalked out as well.

The two roosters were a different breed than his others. Reaching nearly three fulms tall and powerfully built, one could be forgiven for thinking they were small raptors. Long legs with huge feet and spurs along with sleek heads and short combs only made the two 'black knights' look more predatory as they hissed and mantled, moving closer to the hawk.

Now outnumbered, the hawk's bravado faltered. It hissed but started to back up. Kade lunged forward, striking out with both feet viciously, slamming into the hawk's chest. The hawk shrieked again, flailing wildly and scrambling away far enough to get into the air. As a final insult, Gareth lunged again, tearing out a tail feather before the hawk managed to get itself out of reach.

The two large black roosters watched the hawk until it was out of sight before ruffling their feathers and starting to groom, sauntering back toward the flock casually. They gave a few little chirruping calls to let the hens know it was safe, although none appeared until Henri had come out. The old rooster studied the skies intently before giving the all clear and the hens eased back out under the watchful gave of the roosters.

Briar breathed a sigh of relief, moving toward the flock and gently picking up the hen that had nearly been grabbed. Luckily, she was one of the sweeter girls and didn't mind being held. He examined her briefly, finding no worse than a tuft of feathers lost. Nodding, he set her back down and went into the shed, grabbing a handful of some treats, various little bits of dried fruits and such that the chickens loved.

He went to the Black Knights, who always lingered respectfully near the edges of the flock. It was strange in a way because normally roosters were rather aggressive toward each other. Briar suspected it was because they had grown up together and grown up when Henri was already an adult. Henri had established dominance when they were very small and kept it now, even though both Gareth and Kade were nearly twice his size. Or perhaps the two black roosters were fond of the older one. Briar was never sure.

As a reward, Briar knelt to gently toss some of the treats near the black roosters, reaching out to gently stroke Kade's back. They certainly weren't as cuddly as some of the hens, but they were respectful to the half-Elezen, even affectionate. Gareth came forward to delicately take a dried strawberry from Briar's hand.

Briar gave a silent laugh as Gareth moved toward the silkies, chirruping at them as he laid down the offering, encouraging them to eat first. They were very good roosters, as Henri had taught them, and all behaved gently with the hens and called them for treats. Gareth had a particular fondness for the silkies that Briar found charming. They ate a few bites themselves, but in short order, the roosters had summoned the hens for treats as well. Now more focused on food, the flock was relaxed and happily foraging again.

Henri came up to Briar, jumping with a few flaps to land on the half-Elezen's bent knee. He regarded Briar with bright yellow eyes, clucking at him. Briar smiled and gently scratched his neck as he liked, humming his approval. Even if Briar couldn't say it, he had warned the hens first and he was a very good boy, deserving of praise just as much as the Black Knights were.

Thanks to @calico-heart for giving me the idea for Briar to have 'Black Knights' forever ago. I just finally got around to writing it!

[jakud]

The rebuilt Tarantula Hawk 02, from my comic MODERN CARAPACE. Built to be more lithe, and more formidable in combat. Probably won’t be seen for a while, but excited to reveal it!

[ell-vellan]

A bunch of my random, non-story initial opinions of Veilguard, with the knowledge that I do and will love this game no matter what, because I need somewhere to put them all:

I kind of hate the color customization system?? I cannot figure out the brightness and saturation levels to make the colors I want. Am I just dumb?? What am I doing wrong here that all the blonde options look green

I do love the stylized look of the game, it's different from DAI but it has a unique flavor and the colors are very lush (for once in a DA game lol)

So far, rogue has been more fun for me than mage. Haven't tried warrior yet.

i wish we could have customized Inky's arm/prosthetic even a little

It's so cool that we get body tattoos and scars and we can customized which ones go where. Would have loved to be able to mix and match but I know we can't have everything (sigh).

It's pretty apparent as someone who has background with the games, but it would've been cool to have the tattoos labelled "Dalish," "Dwarven," "Lord of Fortune," "Crows," etc for story reasons (even though I'm sure it only matters to the small percent of us who are into the fanfic side of things lol)

Elven ears are huge again and we can't change that. lol it's whatever i guess

The thing about customizing heads based on 3 different heads is...hmm. It's difficult to get the hang of, but I'm glad that you can customize it so much? Still, it's been hard for me to figure out how to make that look good.

they let us check our character in different lighting and with different armor!! great idea

terrible idea: only 3 previous worldbuilding choices. I got spoiled to this so I was prepared. but what the heck was the point of the Keep? why did we waste our time with all of that if none of it was carrying over? Way to flush the previous 15 years of story down the drain. Who's the leader of Orlais and Ferelden? Who's Divine? Who got left in the Fade? Guess it doesn't matter at all! I'm okay that we don't know where our Hero of Ferelden is, it's been long enough in game that their part is done, but Hawke? boo.

At first I was so excited about the "random" name generator! But it's literally just like 15 pre-made names not sorted by race naming conventions that you cycle through. Could've been cooler. oh well I know most of their demographic just wants to kill things I guess

The elves look like dwarves to me for some reason? like they're stockier now, not lithe like DAI. Just takes some getting used to.

While I kind of miss the open world a tiny bit, just for the sake of feeling like we're truly exploring and less "point A to point B," it's also nice not to feel like i'm wasting hours of my time just walking through open nothingness and getting a million meaningless fetch quests

The voices are all so good

Rook's moves are cool, they're fun to play

Speaking of, why do we walk so slowly?! I'm sprinting 100 percent of the time.

Miss the search function for items, even the highlight/glimmer is faint enough with the lighting of the maps I missed a bunch of stuff the first ten minutes

I wish we had a teensy bit more unique dialogues/reactions based on our background/race, so far it's been quite a small amount

I'm undecided on the whole...armor system thing

the maps are gorgeous

I love how many settings we can customize, it's great. I don't care about combat and I can make that part so much less annoying and save myself a bunch of time spamming attacks to get back to the story, which is what I care about, lol

Solas is so hot like this. wow

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post #4: Say goodbye to the old me

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by dindooku

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 5.6K (fourth post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

_______________________________

IV. “Hey! Watch it! I–oh…I, um…” the Trandoshan’s words died on his lips the moment he looked up to discover who he’d bumped into.  

The Mandalorian hated working on Coruscant. It was noisy, crowded, and endlessly labyrinthian. Most of the filters in his helmet were rendered useless due to the sheer number of life forms in such close proximity. Continuous vehicle traffic across every level of the city overloaded his motion sensors. 

The frenetic energy of the megalopolis set him on edge.

But what Mando really hated, what he absolutely loathed, was visiting the Uscru District. It was all the worst parts about a place like Daiyu—gambling dens, night clubs, garish neon lights, vendors shouting, the flashing, stochastic holograms—made somehow worse because it was repacked for gawking tourists. 

Acrobats hung from cables crisscrossing overhead, their lithe bodies shimmering, while street musicians played for coins. Instrument cases littered the walkway, and goods were hawked on the pavement.   

He felt uncentered. The next idiot who tripped over him to stare slack-jawed at some fucking juggler was getting bodied. 

Luckily, it didn’t come to that. Mando couldn’t afford the delay.

The Mandalorian turned onto Daring Way, toward the sky bridge that would take him to the Floating World. Tourists liked to keep to well-lit thoroughfares, so the foot traffic here was sparser, and he made better time. Soon, the soft, glowing lights of the pleasure quarter came into view. 

Music spilled out from decadent parlors where the doors and windows had been flung open to lure passersby. Beings of every gender and species could be seen lounging, sprawled out on display, wearing little more than scraps of fabric and gaudy jewels. 

Each house catered to a different clientele, their specialty made known by the facade of the building or else the costumes worn by hosts welcoming their clients inside. 

Most tourists never entered the brothels of the Floating World. They just came to take in the scene and watch the crowd, which was a sight in itself. Amongst the extravagant fashions and decor of the houses, many visitors donned elaborate masks or robes to conceal their identities.   

So the Mandalorian was surprised to discover that the Dark Garden had no hosts waiting in the doorway and nothing on display in the windows. Instead, they were closed, sealed tight behind intricately carved black shutters. 

The whole building was black. Its gleaming stone exterior looked more like a palatial mansion than a pleasure house.  

The woman stationed behind the desk in the entryway was also dressed in black. It was a stark contrast to her pale pink skin, white-blond hair, and nearly colorless gray eyes. She looked up at him from between two onyx vases overflowing with vibrant red blossoms that matched her painted lips. 

“Welcome, sir. We appreciate your business. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m not in need of your…services. I’ve come to see Mistress Anassa. She’ll know why I’m here.”

“Mistress Anassa is very busy,” she smiled apologetically. “Her clients book months in advance. I cannot promise she will have time to—”

He slid several gold peggats across the highly polished surface of the reception desk. 

“Tell her a Mandalorian is waiting. I’ll be here until she finds the time.”

“Very well, sir. Please come with me.” 

She led him through a dark passage to a lounge filled with curved sofas and circular ottomans, where clients–some wearing masks, others with their faces bared–sat huddled in conversation, drinking from elegant carafes or smoking ornate water pipes. 

The hostess directed him to an alcove beneath a cluster of illuminated, floating orbs. 

“Can I offer the Mandalorian anything while he waits? Company, perhaps?” She lowered her voice as she leaned in to place a pillow behind his back. “We cater to every desire here.”

“My desire,” he said evenly, “is for solitude.”

“As you like,” she smiled again, leaving him to wait for Mistress Anassa. 

But he was conspicuous sitting alone, and it wasn’t long before another hostess dressed in black strode toward him. She walked over on towering heels he imagined Thuli would have loved to see if the Mandalorian needed attention.

She artfully placed one of the gilt carafes onto the lacquered table beside him and poured a drink. “May I offer the gentleman anything else?” 

Her voice was as supple as her corsetted leather dress. 

“No. Thank you, I–” 

The sight of two luminous violet eyes caught him by surprise, and his heart stuttered. He turned sharply to see a woman entering the parlor. On second glance, she looked nothing like Thulindhara. But the eyes were unmistakable—their iridescent sheen, how they glowed bright like full moons. She was Hapan. 

“Perhaps the Mandalorian sees something to his liking?” 

It wasn’t her, yet the thrill that rose inside him didn’t ebb. It clutched the breath from his lungs and twisted his stomach into knots. 

Mando knew he would miss her, but he hadn’t expected to feel her absence as a physical pain. 

“No,” he said. “Thank you. But, no. I’m here to see Mistress Anassa.”

He watched as the woman who wasn’t Thuli walked up to a Keshiri couple at the bar, gesturing them to follow her down a long corridor hidden behind a pair of lush velvet curtains.

Beside him, the hostess offered the drink she’d poured, and he accepted it. Not for the sake of politeness but because he felt compelled to hold something in his hands. Sensing his discomposure, she looked meaningfully towards the curtains as they fell back into place and whispered, “They say to lie with a Hapan is to open the doorway to heaven.”

The Mandalorian had heard that said many times and always dismissed it as a self-serving rumor. He didn’t pay for sex, but mercenaries loved to talk about how they would spend their take on Hapan courtesans. The most expensive pussy in the galaxy, they said. Once you’re between her thighs, you’ll forget your own name.  

Now, Mando understood the truth of these stories. Well…he hadn’t forgotten his name, but she did taste like heaven. 

For most of his life, sex had been about release. Lust was simply another physical need. Like hunger or sleep, he met those needs for the sake of his body. When a woman felt so inclined, he obliged—helmet sealed, armor intact—to let her take what satisfaction she could find.

With Thuli, he learned that sex could be something beyond physical pleasure. They shared a connection unlike anything he’d experienced. Real intimacy. Mando hadn’t kissed a woman since…he’d barely been a man. Still a child, really. 

To be with Thulani, naked and vulnerable as he had never been before, was not about release. It was fulfillment. Satisfaction of body and soul. And, yes, part of that was being between her thighs.

In the abstract, he’d been a little intimidated, but in the moment, it had felt entirely natural. He wanted to linger over her every curve, to put his mouth over every inch of her body, and he had loved all of it—the way she tasted, her fingers tugging at his hair, how her hips lifted with his touch.

It made him feel powerful in a way he hadn’t expected, drinking her in until she was soaked and breathless under his tongue. 

Then, a door had opened—a door between their consciousness, when he’d felt her pleasure cresting through his body, rippling over his skin in waves that matched the stroking of his fingers. She’d lost all control, and his whole being was suffused with her ecstasy, so intensely passionate that he saw stars behind his eyes. Maybe it was heaven? 

Thulani’s trick was making people believe in her openness, yet Mando recognized how rigidly she held herself in check. He sensed the wild, fierce nature in her heart that she constrained. It made him feel both immeasurably powerful and deeply gratified to be the one who made her unravel.  

“The Mandalorian asked for me?”

A woman in a crisply tailored black suit stood before him. He did not immediately recognize her species, but the horns that spiraled around her long, folded ears and convex nose reminded him of a dray goat.

“You’re Mistress Anasssa? The proprietor of this…establishment.”

“Mmm, the Mandalorian is polite for a mercenary,” she sat beside him on the bench and reached out with slender fingers (no hooves) to take the glass from between his hands. It struck him at once how artfully the gesture was both sensual and dominating. “In answer to your question…” she drank deeply. “Yes. The gentleman would be wise not to let the crystal and chandeliers fool him. This is a dungeon. And I am its master.” 

“I see.” It was all he could think to say. “Boss Set’ki said you’d be expecting me.”

“My apologies. I was otherwise occupied when the Mandalorian arrived.” She looked at the untouched carafe on the table. “I am sorry my vintage is not to his taste. And none of my ladies, either, I hear. If it is males he prefers, the gentleman need only—”

“That is beyond my purpose, Mistress Anassa. I’m here on business.”

“I doubt the Mandalorian would burden himself with such formality if he intended to capture me,” the mistress smiled curiously. “What is his business?”  

“I’m interested in one of your clients.”

She scoffed. “The gentleman must realize discretion is an essential tenet of my profession. Why would I betray my client to help him?”

“Because Set’ki owes me a debt. And while you may be the master of this dungeon, your master is Boss Set’ki.”

Her features became resolute. “Then let us discuss this matter in private.”

The Mistress rose and walked toward the velvet curtains. Mando followed her down the long corridor until she stopped before a door with gold flowers embossed along its hinges.

She placed a tasseled fob against the keypad. “I hope the Mandalorian will appreciate that it is to everyone’s benefit if he appears to be another of my clients?”

“Very well,” he said and stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. The black walls did not surprise him, but the abundance of those same red flowers, blooming from vases and wall hangings did. They matched the illuminated floor tiles that pulsed with crimson light. 

Otherwise, the room was sparsely furnished to accommodate the…equipment. There was a saltire cross with a rack of whips and paddles positioned beside it and a polished steel beam with manacles chained to its post. A length of rope dangled from one of the ceiling beams overhead. Instead of a bed, a quilted leather couch sat in a far corner of the room. 

Plastered across one of the walls was a diagram of knots with cautionary notes about circulation and nerve damage. 

“I’m sure the Mandalorian must be very accomplished at tying knots,” Mistress Anassa said from over his shoulder.

“I prefer cuffs.”

“Mmm…” He felt her eyes rake over him with heightened interest. “I have never met a Mandalorian before, but I begin to see why you inspire so much fascination. The armor, the brute force, stalking, capture, imprisonment—all potent themes for bondage role play.”

“I am Mandalorian. Violence is my trade. Weapons are part of my religion.” Mando turned to face her. “I’m not playing a game, Mistress.”

He could tell Anassa enjoyed hearing him call her that. 

“Of course. Though I’m sure someone has offered to suck your cock in exchange for their freedom. Can you honestly say their begging has never aroused you?”

Her tone was frank, not seductive. A businesswoman appraising a commodity. 

“I think the Mistress has a false impression about the sorts of people I’m sent to collect.”

At that, she laughed. “Still…I see the appeal. If you’re ever interested in a new line of work, I believe the Mandalorian and I could make a great deal of money together.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mando recalled that Thulani had said much the same thing. A Mandalorian would make good coin at one of those Keyorin brothels.

He suddenly wondered if this was something Thuli might enjoy. Bondage? Role play? The clamps and paddles didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he wouldn’t be opposed to tying her up if that’s what she wanted.

Mando looked at the steel beam, and his mind couldn’t help but stray towards fantasies of throwing her over it and fucking her senseless. 

“About your client, Mistress Anassa.”

“What is it you wish to know?”  

“This man, Ronan Carr,” he said, taking the holo-puck from his pocket and activating its profile. "I’m told he makes use of your services when his wife is out of town.” 

Mistress Anassa schooled her features, but it was too late. He’d seen the look of panic cross her eyes the instant she recognized the man’s face.

“The Senator will be leaving on a diplomatic mission. Does Carr have an appointment scheduled for her departure?”

The Mandalorian suspected that Ronan Carr had an appointment booked for later that day. He’d been following Carr for the past week. Yesterday, the man had reserved an entire hotel floor under a false name and given his personal assistant the night off. 

“He does,” the Mistress confirmed. “But I won’t help you. Boss Set’ki may kill me for my refusal. I will accept that punishment. A political assassination would condemn every soul under my care. That I will not accept.” 

“I have no intention of killing Ronan Carr,” he assured her. “It’s information I want.”

“I suppose that is his trade,” her eyes weighed the Mandalorian, and she dropped the artful persona. “You won’t harm him? No kidnapping or torture?”

“If those are your terms, then I will agree. I only want to talk to him.”

“What if I have other terms?” The Mistress asked shrewdly.

“Name them.”

“I don’t want any of my people harmed.”

He nodded. “Do you know who you’ll send?” 

“Yes, there are a few he favors.” 

“Then give me some token or signal. But tell no one of this.” 

She paused before coming to a decision. “I will go with them tonight. To ensure all will be as you promise.”

“These are your terms?”

“He’s a good client,” she waved her well-manicured hand vaguely, “And if word got out? If he thought I’d helped you?”

“Ronan Carr won’t risk the Senator discovering his…hobbies.”

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Here,” he pulled out a folded wallet and handed it to her. “To compensate for your loss of business. Though I expect a man with his proclivities should be back before long.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a curt bow. “You know where to find him?”

“Carr has gone to great lengths to conceal his plans, but yes, I know where he’ll be tonight.” And without really intending to, the Mandalorian said, “His desires make him weak.”

Mando was surprised at the scorn in his voice. Surprised to hear himself say that. Did he believe desire made him weak? His desire for Thuli?  

It certainly made it difficult to concentrate. How many times did he think about her each day? 

Maker, if he was being honest…he woke up thinking about Thulani, and the thought seemed to last all day. He worried about whether she was safe. He’d make some stray observation and imagine her reaction. He saw something beautiful in a window and wondered if she would like it. 

When he lay inside the sleeping compartment alone, surrounded by her scent, he thought of Thuli’s mouth on him, those delicate fingers stroking his cock, and his body ached. He could not bring himself off without thinking about her. 

Mistress Anassa looked at him with genuine sympathy as though she could sense his turmoil. 

“Shame is Ronan Carr’s weakness,” she said. “If he were honest about his desires, you would have no power over him. His wife might even oblige. But shame feeds arousal. Maybe you can understand that?”

“Excuse me?”

Shame. Was that at the root of his sudden anger? The Mandalorian was not ashamed of his relationship with Thuli. He did not believe she made him weak.

But he did feel shame about his own selfish cowardice. That in her absence, he’d realized how deeply he cared for her, and it killed him knowing he could never say those words. 

Why? Because they gave her power over him? No. Whether he said the words or not, didn’t change his feelings. But to say them aloud would be a promise. One he couldn’t make.   

She’d met him on those terms, yet he felt ashamed he couldn’t give her more. She deserved better than a man who could not share his name or his face or his life with her. It would always come back to that.

“Shame is one of the most effective tools of repression,” Mistress Anassa shrugged. “But repression simply fuels temptation. Temptation transforms into desire. Desire generates more shame.” 

Anassa opened a hidden panel in the wall and beckoned him forward. Lightly placing her fingers over a wooden slat, she slid it open, and a pinhole of light pierced through the room. The muffled sounds of moaning grew louder.

Gesturing toward the peephole, she said, “It’s only when we embrace our desires that we become free of this endless cycle.” 

Curiosity getting the better of him, the Mandalorian looked. What he saw was the Keshiri couple from the parlor. The man was fully clothed, on all fours, his hands and knees braced against the ground. His partner was naked, splayed on his back, while the Hapan woman fucked her roughly with a strap-on.

“They were honest with each other about their desires. Now, it creates a bond rather than a wedge.”

Mando hadn’t anticipated that visiting a sex dungeon would prompt so much soul-searching. His eyes strayed back to the peephole, towards the Keshiri in the throws of climax, eyes shut tight as though she might die from ecstasy. 

While he felt ashamed that he could not tell Thulani he loved her, he could at least ensure she felt loved. When he worshipped her body, when he fulfilled her desires, when he made her unravel—she would know the depth of his feelings.     

“I’ve heard it said that true Mandalorians do not remove their armor. Perhaps the gentleman prefers to watch?”

He pulled the slot closed. “I’ve seen enough.”

**********

One thing the Mandalorian did appreciate about Coruscant was the simplicity of bribing government officials. As with any vast bureaucracy, front-line New Republic workers like the port operatives were overlooked and underpaid. 

Flush with cash from Ryun Vos, Mando was able to dock under fake tabs at a shipyard centrally located in a safe and discreet area. Money made all things possible on Coruscant.

“Please tell me something in that bag is fried?” Nito moaned as the Mandalorian stepped inside the Razor Crest. 

“I got some of everything, so your odds are good.”

The Ardennian was sitting at a makeshift table of stacked cargo containers with the Child seated in his lap. He had his mechanic’s apron on while the kid was stripped to his breechcloth. And they were both covered in paint.

“There better be a bath planned for after this,” Mando growled, reaching to wipe the Child’s talons clean with a take-out napkin.

“What? Yeah. Sorry,” Nito said dimly. “Yes! Oil bread. And rice balls! Fuck yeah!” 

The Mandalorian thought vaguely that Thulani would try to curb Nito’s swearing, but he only had so much paternal energy left in him today, and he needed it for the baby.

Mando pulled the fried bread out of reach and replaced it with the box of bean pods. “Hey, kid, you need to eat at least five of these.” 

His enormous ears wilted in disappointment.

“How’s the programming going?” Mando asked, searching for the sweet and sour broth.

Nito shoved a rice ball in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “Do you have any idea how complex a unified operating system for an industrial plant—with residential facilities can be?”

“No,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m paying you.”

“Paying me in more than dumplings, I hope.” Nito laughed cheerily. “Assuming it’s the Imperial coding language, I think it is…”

“We’re going to find out tonight.”

“You got Carr?”

“I know how to get to him,” Mando said. “We leave in three hours. Spend at least one of those cleaning up the kid.”

“Okay. Okay.” 

The Mandalorian was relieved to have such a tidy solution for Ronan Carr. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for reconnaissance or planning. He was a blunt instrument—brute force, as Mistress Anassa had said. But Nito proved that hacking the man’s communicator could be useful. Coruscant was not the Outer Rim. Best to be cautious here. 

Months ago, he would have stormed the hotel, shoved a blaster in Carr’s face, and broken the man’s fingers until he talked. Now, when Mando considered this approach, the crew from Dark Garden weighed on his conscience. Not everything needs to end in a shoot-out, Thuli had chided him. She wasn’t even here, yet her memory was wringing these little bits of decency from him.

Nito snapped his fingers in front of Mando’s viewplate. “You in there?”

“What?” He shook his head.

“You’ve been staring at those dumplings for an eternity. I want to eat them.”

Mando passed the container. 

“I was telling you about this utter stroke of genius I had.” The Ardennian lifted the kid onto the table and pulled something out from his apron pocket. “So, he’s green, right? Well, I painted his face. And when I put on the bonnet…See! He’s Mirialan.”

Underneath the paint splatters, Mando recognized the geometric facial markings.

“That’s–sure, that is pretty genius.”

Nito beamed. Thuli told him things would be easier with the kids if he put in a little effort. So far, it was working. 

“I mean, he hates having his ears tucked, but it’s only temporary, buddy. Just to keep you safe.”

The Child squirmed and pounded his fists against his thighs. 

Mando had to suppress a laugh. “Bean pods and bonnets. Guess you got it pretty rough, kid.”

The baby stopped mid-tantrum to glare at the Mandalorian.

“Anyway,” Nito went on. “We had the paint out, so I found some packing paper…and look what he made.”

Mando tilted his head and squinted, “It’s a…bantha?”

“It’s the Razor Crest,” Nito snorted.

“If you say so.”

The kid squealed until Mando handed him a meat pie.

“I miss her too, you know.” 

“What?”

“Fish dumplings are Thuli’s favorite,” Nito said quietly. “It’s hard not to miss her when she makes everything so…” he shrugged, “cozy when she’s around.”  

The Mandalorian nodded. “You heard from her today?”

His heart twisted painfully in anticipation. It did every day when he asked that question. But he knew she must have checked in that morning. Nito would be inconsolable if she hadn’t.

“Yeah, I got the signal.”

Good. She's alive. Hopefully safe. “We’ll see her soon,” Mando assured them. “We’re stocked up on supplies, weapons, equipment. Once we get what we need from Carr, we can make a course for Lakaran.”

“Did you get a gift to bring her now that you guys are, you know, sleeping together?”

The Mandalorian choked on his soup. The steel jaw of his helmet caught him painfully on the lip, and he had to pound his chest a few times before he could breathe again. “Did she–ahem–did she say something…about…?”

“Didn’t have to,” Nito waved a furry hand. “For months, you’ve both just wreaked of longing and frustration. Then you came back and smelled…satisfied. Pretty logical conclusion.”

“You can smell that?”

“Oh yeah! It’s kind of funny that humans can’t since all of your emotions get communicated through hormones and sweat glands.”

Mando shook his head again. “I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this,” he sighed. “But while we’re on the subject, there are some…things I should…we should probably…discuss before we leave to find Carr.” 

“What? Like, sex stuff?”

The Mandalorian groaned. Where do I even start…? 

**********

The hotel Ronan Carr had booked was elegant enough for his aristocratic tastes while also offering the assurance of privacy. There was a separate entrance and elevator for the penthouse floor so he could avoid bumping into anyone from his social circle—or his wife’s senatorial colleagues—in the lobby. 

Mando opted to gain entry from the roof. 

“You hear something?” One of the bodyguards asked. 

But just as their partner began to answer, the Mandalorian slipped behind him and placed a blade to the man’s throat. In an instant, he had grabbed the guard’s wrist and raised his blaster. Mando shot the other bodyguard before they could cry out in warning. 

To stage this right, the knife needed to go in at just the right angle. But the man continued to struggle under Mando’s grip, trying to break free from his hold. The guard tried everything—stomping on the Mandalorian’s foot, slamming his head against the Beskar, thrusting his shoulders against Mando’s arm around his neck.

The bounty hunter might as well be a statue for all the give there was in his frame. The guard’s death was inevitable, but he refused to make peace with it. 

Mando hooked his leg around the man’s ankle and sent them both hurtling toward the ground. The force of impact drove the knife into the guard’s throat.

A wet splatter hit his view plate when the man coughed blood onto the Mandalorian’s helmet. Yet he still fought. Hands flailed blindly until Mando drove the blade deeper, severing the spinal cord. And finally, the fingers clawing at his wrists fell limp.    

He rolled the bodyguard onto his back and returned the blaster to the man’s right hand. Should be enough to cover my tracks.

Mistress Anassa had left the south-facing balcony doors unlocked, just as he instructed. They slid open with a soft rolling hush before he made his way silently through the suite. She was waiting for him in the study, hunched over a display monitor. 

“You look a sight,” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Can I get you a towel?”

“No.” The blood was war paint. It would make what came next that much easier. "I staged the guards. You can claim a fight broke out, and you had to get your people to safety."

Anassa cleared her throat and nodded. It was the first time he’d seen her unsettled. “The false name on the hotel reservation avoids a paper trail, but I can’t decide whether Carr realizes Set’ki is tracking all of this.”

“Do you record him every time?”

She glared at Mando. “No, but I had a feeling my master wanted some insurance. I don’t expect Ronan Carr will be making any future appointments with Dark Garden after tonight.” 

Involving Set’ki and Anassa—at all—was an unnecessary risk. The Mandalorian had done it to ensure the safety of her employees, and he didn’t feel any remorse about the Mistress’s bottom line. 

“Tell them to leave the room.”

She crossed her arms with a frustrated sigh. “I know I don’t have a say in any of this, but it shouldn’t go unspoken, this is a gross violation of my professional ethics.”

“You’re arguing ethics after admitting to blackmail?” 

“Those restraints are intended to aid his submission. He needs to feel safe to surrender control. And instead, you’ve co-opted them for violence.”

Mando huffed. “Are you referring to the silk scarves tied around his wrists and ankles?”

“The type of restraints are irrelevant. Bondage is a kink that depends on trust. It’s a choice to be helpless. Consent is based entirely on trust. This is a violation of trust. I feel the weight of what this will do to his psyche, and I ask you to acknowledge that before you step inside that room.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t fathom why she was looking to him to absolve her guilt. 

“And I told you, violence is my profession. Get—your people—out.”

From the display screen, Mando watched as the Mistress entered the bedroom. Her sudden presence startled the other women, but she quickly ushered them into the hallway and closed the door behind her. 

When he was confident they were gone, the bounty hunter opened the bedroom door. The first thing he did was drape a towel over Set’ki’s camera. Mando didn’t want any record of his presence on Coruscant.

He approached the chair Carr was bound to without bothering to stifle his footsteps. The man had a sensory deprivation mask covering his eyes and ears. He hadn’t sensed the ladies from Dark Garden leave the room, and he was becoming agitated, sitting in a puddle of urine, confused as to why they didn’t end the session. 

Ronan Carr paid to be tied down and tickled until he pissed himself. The kink wasn’t inherently sexual. It didn’t make him hard. He didn’t come, and nobody brought him to completion. The tickling made him laugh and his muscles spasm, and eventually, the stress on his pelvic floor emptied his bladder. 

Then, he slept for ten hours. It simply…relaxed the man. 

“Whoa!” Nito said when the Mandalorian explained this. “So it’s like getting a massage? But, like, a really extreme massage.” 

It wasn’t not sexual…he paid to be tickled by beautiful women, after all. 

As he ripped the mask off, Mando tried not to think about Anassa’s sanctimonious pleading. He felt no remorse for Ronan Carr, either.

The bounty hunter unholstered his blaster and pointed it in the man’s face so it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. On cue, Carr jumped, recoiling in terror at the sight of the Mandalorian.

“Don’t cry for help," Mando said, his voice cold and stern. "You don’t want anyone coming through that door to find you like this, do you?”

Ronan Carr shook his head. 

“Good. Do what I say, and I won’t have to hurt you,” he growled. “Tell me you understand.”

Ronan Carr took a deep, steadying breath. “I understand.” The man’s voice quavered, but he didn’t panic. Some people became paralyzed with fear, which made interrogation that much harder. If Carr could keep it together, this would be over quickly.

“Untie yourself.”

Despite Mistress Anassa’s speech about trust and surrender, her words were meaningless sentiment. Ronan Carr had never given up control. The scarves were tied with enough slack that he could easily lift his hands over the headrest and pull free the knots at his wrists. After that, he only needed to lean forward to release his ankles.     

“Where is everyone?” Carr asked nervously, massaging his wrists.

The man was wiry, more muscular than the bounty hunter expected from someone who spent his life behind a desk. Intimidation was his best tactic to keep Carr in check. Use of physical force would only complicate things. And he made a deal with Anassa.

“You don’t need to know what I did with them. Worry about yourself.”

After a lifetime of doing this work, Mando knew most people’s imagination was far darker than any threat he could make. The man looked at the blood splattered across his helmet, and all the color drained from Ronan Carr’s face.

“What is it you want?”

“I need something, and you’re the person who can get it for me.”

“My wife—”

“This has nothing to do with the Senator. And it doesn’t have to. You give me what I want, and she won’t discover what you get up to under the name ‘Kirk Satu.’” Carr’s eyes went wide with horror. “The piss play makes for an awkward conversation, but I think all the bank transfers will be harder to explain.”  

Now, he had the man’s full attention. “What do you want?”

“First, I want you to put some clothes on. Meet me in the study when you’re ready.”

The man’s suit hung neatly from the bathroom door, yet he stared at the garment like it might transform into a torture device. 

“You’re not—you aren’t going to lock me in?”

“We both know you won’t run,” Mando said. “You’re going to do what I tell you. Then you can forget all about this.”

The look on Carr’s face when he walked into the study made it clear this encounter would haunt him for some time. 

“Is your communicator on?” Nito asked from behind his data-pad. “Your real one. Not the burner?”

“What?” Ronan Carr stammered. “I–yes.” When the notification bell chimed, he pulled the device out from his pocket.

“Okay, read me the security code.”

“Wait! This is about work? You want something from the Archives?” 

Carr looked between Nito and the Mandalorian.

“You do realize the New Republic Library doesn’t store any military or intelligence records. This is not…what could you possibly need that isn’t already publicly available?”

Mando thrust his blaster in the man’s face. “Ask me about my business again and see what happens to you.”

“The security code?” Nito drolled.

Mando grabbed the communicator from Carr and handed it to the Ardennian.

“I’m just…we have a records request system online…”

“For redacted documents!” Nito howled. “If you guys just uploaded everything onto the Net, you could enjoy your tickle party and we wouldn’t be here.”

Ronan Carr’s face turned scarlet. “It’s our responsibility to make sure sensitive information doesn’t fall into the hands of…criminals.”

What a fucking hypocrite. “Can we hurry this up?” Mando barked. The fact that the bodyguards in the foyer hadn’t burst into the penthouse meant that Mistress Anassa had done her part. But their luck wouldn’t last long.

“Well, it’s not my fault the file structure isn’t intuitive,” Nito looked at Ronan Carr with disgust. “And you call yourself an Archivist?”

“I–I don’t oversee information architecture.”

“Ah! Okay…security question for the download. What is the name of your first pet?”

When Nito had the files he needed, Mando thrust a disc into Carr’s hands.

“What—?”

“I lied when I said this didn’t involve your wife. That’s for her. From a former Rebel fighter, Ubaa Dir. Remember the name. The next time you hear it, give the Senator that disc. You’ll know when.”

“How will I explain—”

“You’d rather explain the sex workers and money laundering? Figure–it—out,” Mando snapped, and Ronan Carr jumped.

This time, the Mandalorian did lock him inside the bedroom.  

He found Mistress Anassa in the living room, offering the Child sugar cubes from an abandoned tea service tray.

"I'm done here," Mando said, watching as the kid delightedly crunched the crystals between his teeth. "He's unharmed, as per the terms of our deal. Are you satisfied?"

"Very," she smiled serenely at him. "I thought I'd be spending the night cleaning brain matter off the walls. Instead, I got to play with an adorable baby."

Anassa lifted the Child from her hip and handed him back to the Mandalorian.

"You still want me to bind and gag you?" Mando asked. "I could just lock you inside, like I did with Carr? It might take him a while to break out, by the way."

"No," she shook her head. "I've got to sell this if there's a chance I can retain his trust. And he'll need a witness to help explain what happened to the guards." Mistress Anassa looked thoughtfully at the Mandalorian. "When life hands you an opportunity, it's best to seize it with both hands."

"Very well." Mando reached for the plush, decorative rope tying back the curtains—he could at least ensure that she was comfortable.

"Speaking of which," the Mistress grinned. "I do hope you'll reconsider my offer. There are a number of ways we could leverage your particular talents at the Dark Garden."

The Mandalorian offered her a chair.

"After listening to the ruthlessness in your voice saying, You're going to give me what I want..." she shivered rather theatrically. "Fear is a very potent form of arousal. I'm confident we could find clients looking for nothing more than degradation."

The audacity of her proposal impressed him, and his mouth quirked into a begrudging smile beneath the Beskar helmet.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"And what knots do you plan to use?"

Mando huffed—not quite a laugh. This was beginning to feel like an audition. "A bowline. But I can use a hitch knot if you prefer?"

"Merely professional curiosity," Mistress Anassa grinned, sitting in the armchair as though it were a throne. "Do you have a suggestion for the gag?"

The Mandalorian cocked his head, "Give me your necktie."

He wasn't entirely comfortable with how much keen interest lit up her face. A businesswoman through and through.

She hurriedly fished something out of her suit pocket. "Take my card. You're a working father, after all. It pays to be flexible when there are mouths to feed."

****************

Continue reading: Volume 4-Post #5: Wish You Were Here!

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