#look yes i know i took some liberties with the descriptions but i

[luvscnarios]

Muse ༊*·˚

Pairing :: Welt Yang x gn!reader. Word Count :: 2k. Warnings :: smut, best way I can describe it as an explicit description of porn. Notes :: Every time I try to write smut, it sounds so goofy 😭. But besides that, this is for @mini-ism since she's the biggest Welt fan I know :D. And pls look past an spelling/grammar mistakes since this was written in one go.

“Here, Mr Yang. I got your phone.” You handed Welt’s phone to him and offered him a little smile. An easy and shy smile like always, one that concealed your frayed nerves. He took it from your hand, fingers brushing against yours, and gave his thanks that you can’t even pay mind to. You can barely hear yourself asking to be excused from his company over the loud buzz in your head, a little too quick as you turned back and scrambled off to your room. 

You’ve always been too curious for your own good. Joining the Nameless to explore, becoming a part of the Astral Express crew to learn about the different worlds out there. Your timid personality did nothing to curb that insatiable desire to know everything, no matter what. So when Welt asked you to fish his phone out of his room, of course, you took the liberty to explore every inch of his cabin like your life depended on it. 

Maybe yes, it was wrong of you to snoop off and look through his belongings. But you and Welt were close! The rate at which you made yourself attached to him after joining the Express was embarrassing but there was nothing you loved more than trying to figure a person out. Not to mention, you had the tiniest crush on him because who doesn’t love mysterious old men? And the best part is that Welt didn’t seem to resent your insistent company, probably because you were too reserved to be too obnoxious. You made for a great listener, even if he mainly talked about the Express or his love for animation. Silently seated side by side as he drew, eating snacks together, and even talking strolls. In the blink of an eye, you two were happily joined at the hip, the closest of good friends. 

He wasn’t like Himeko or March, who wore their hearts on their sleeves. Neither were they like the Trailblazer or Dan Heng, who literally couldn’t remember much of their past. Just from his elusive answers to your questions made you decide that you wanted to untangle this enigma Welt had created for himself. But when you did search his room while trying to find his phone, disappointment didn’t even begin to describe how you felt. 

His room was so plain. Like unseasoned chicken, but worse. A bed, some shelves with boring-looking books, a single closet with clothes, and a desk with the most basic lamp known to mankind. At least his phone was on that desk but that wasn’t what interested you. No, it was a little black sketchbook that you’d never seen before. There wasn’t a single scuff mark or title on it, a mystery among its bland environment. You guessed that the sketchbook would be filled with mechs or maybe even drawings of the Express members. Something very Welt-like. But just taking a peek at the first page had you slamming the notebook shut, eyes wide and face beginning to flush. Unless your mind was playing games with you, what you saw was a drawing of yourself. Not you and other Express members. Not even you and Welt. Just you, lying down on a bed with your shirt hitched up to show some of your skin. 

Frankly, your first reaction should have been repulsion. Not once did it cross your mind that Welt could see you as anything but platonic and this sketchbook should have disturbed you. But of course, all you could feel was a sense of curiosity and giddy excitement. Maybe the drawings were simply harmless doodles and not to mention, that would make you Welt’s muse. That was a bit flattering. There was no way you planned to go through that sketchbook in his own room, plus you had his phone to return. So like the genius you were, you took the notebook and tossed it in your room to go through later, not even thinking about the fact that the only person Welt could blame if it went missing is yourself. You casually walked back into the parlor car where you and Welt were chatting, handed him his phone, and here you now. Speeding walking to your cabin like your pants were on fire. Shy, curious, and a little dense. You really needed to pick a struggle. 

Once in the supposed safety of your room, you snatched the little black book off the floor and sat in the middle of your bed. As childish as you felt, you pulled the covers over your head for some privacy and started to smile as you held the sketchbook. It felt nerve-racking and rousing to have such a personal possession in your hand, all for your exploration. So what if you were a little noisy, your fatal flaw could be a lot worse. Taking a deep breath to quiet your nerves, you slowly opened Welt’s sketchbook to see what was inside. 

It started innocently enough. After the first sketch, you saw doodles of you doing random oddities like eating, yawning, drawing, and even dancing. They were cute, shocking you since you wouldn’t peg yourself as a cutesy person. There are also a handful of detailed portraits of your front and side profile. It was honestly stunning how he captured your essence with a mere pencil and paper. How you always smiled with a coy expression. How your brows never seemed to relax or even how you’d cover your mouth when you laughed. Every little detail that some of you didn’t even realize about yourself he drew, making your cheeks warm. If you liked Welt a little bit before, you definitely were into him now. Because the fact he had a whole sketchbook dedicated to you was- in simple words- really attractive.

But as you kept turning the pages, so did the vibe of the drawings. The first of the suggestive drawings was you wearing Welt’s clothes and glasses. The shirt was too big and unbuttoned, exposing most of your collarbone and chest. His glasses were askew on your face and you seemed to be giggling with your flushed face and uncharacteristically wide grin. At least he had the decency to make such fanservice of you tasteful since you didn’t look dumb. But you were quick to eat your own words because with each page turn the sketches only got more perverted.  

Many had you bent over pieces of furniture, like couches or even his bed. And you knew it was his bed in particular because of how dastardly bare it looked. In every drawing, you looked back with half-lidded eyes and parted lips, as if beckoning for some more action. Seeing yourself in such a raunchy position made you blush like a virgin, a shiver running down your spine. There were also some very detailed pages filled with upskirt doodles of your underwear and you in pervy outfits in general. Lacey lingerie, ruffled skirts with no tops, and even naked with nothing but frilly stockings on. Never have you ever worn something of bright color, but now you looked like a pinup doll in these pages. Welt Yang, with all his mystifying demeanor and intimidating knowledge, was just an old awkward guy who was nerdy for animation and had a kink for people in over-the-top cutesy outfits. Before you felt flattered to be his muse before all of this but now you felt flustered, morally conflicted, and a little aroused. It felt wrong to not hate his objectifying art but also to like it as well. But since curiosity can kill a cat, you kept inspecting the sketchbook to see how you’d feel with the end of it. 

There was no other way to describe it. The last few pages were nothing short of porn. Straight up. At least he spared you since most were quickly scrawled drawings, but that didn’t change the fact that Welt had drawn porn of you. And damn him, it was good too. One was you gagging around his gloved fingers, gazing up at him with eyes clouded over with lust as drool ebbed down the corners of your lips. Another was you on your hands and knees while completely bare, the end of Welt’s cane tilting your face up to him. It was clear there was a recurring theme among these final sketches: you’d always look up at him with a docile look of submission, always seeming to seek out his guidance and control. So he had an authority kink or something? Totally didn’t make you all hot and flustered under your covers and totally didn’t make you squirm against the mattress of your bed. 

On the last page in the very back, there was one detailed drawing that you marveled at for a good minute because it was surprisingly tender compared to what you’ve seen before. This time, the setting was your better-adored bed, the sheets pulled over the lower halves of your bodies as Welt had you in missionary. While the most explicit parts weren’t actually drawn, your faces said enough. Your arms curled around his neck, your mouth wide open in a moan, and tears of ecstasy falling down your cheeks. There were hickeys and bite marks all over your own neck and collarbone, but despite all that you still looked… good. If anything, you thought you appeared a bit beautiful with your face keened in pleasure. Your eyes stared into Welt’s as one of his hands cupped your face, the other firmly holding your head in place by the hair. To put it lightly, this was the most tame drawing out of all the pornographic ones. But as you focused on it even more, you found it painfully romantic. 

While you did have a crush on Welt, you were perfectly content keeping your feelings locked away. It would be less than ideal if someone like yourself dated someone like him. Oh, but how these drawings wretched your heart. Was there any romantic sentiment behind these sketches? Or was it all just the lustful fantasies of an old touched-starved man? Was it even right to stay close to Welt if he viewed you like this? And most importantly, how in the universe were you going to sneak this little black sketchbook back into his room? 

None of those questions ever got answered because the sudden sound of your cabin door sliding open and the familiar tap of a can against the floor made you freeze, pure terror flooding your chest. At least you were under the covers but you didn’t need to see who entered your room, you already knew. Maybe this was your punishment for being so sneaky under the guise of a mousy person. 

���Listen,” Welt’s voice rang out with a sigh. “I’ve called your name a hundred times thinking something’s wrong with you. Just to find you under your blanket? What are you up to?” And before you could cry out an excuse and hide the notebook, he pulled the blanket away from you in one swift movement. Since when was he so agile!? This was bad. And utterly humiliating. You looked like a total pervert as you sat there with his notebook in hand, face flushed and your head turned sideways to avoid his critical gaze. But there was no point in avoiding him since you had no defense against the sorry sight of your state. 

You closed your eyes and expected him to start berating you, shouting at your disrespect, and snatching the notebook. But all you heard were his awkward stammers as he tried to explain himself and when you opened your eyes, he was as flushed and red as you were. While you have seen Welt’s awkward side, this look on his face was entirely something else. While he did look flustered from this predicament, the ever-so-subtle hope in his eyes was clear to you. Although you were the one who started the friendship, Welt was always the more extroverted one between you both. Would it be so wrong to step out of your comfort zone and make a move? 

“Hey,” you held up the notebook to Welt, keeping your voice as level as possible and praying that you didn’t look like the blushing mess you are. You’ve always been too curious for your own good. And yet, you dared to think that you could sway this moment in your favor.

“Mr Yang, can we try recreating these drawings? They look so…tempting to try out.”

[silverhart-makes-art]

Pretty sure I have a good guess as to this week's Bestiary Posting animal, so I'm just gonna go totally off the rails for this one.

My thought process was as follows: Three rows of teeth means it must be a shark. And it would be fun to draw a fish, since I haven't done one for this challenge yet. But oh no, it has 'powerful feet'. Fish don't have feet. You know what does have powerful feet though? Mollusks. Mollusks have feet. It's described as having eyes though. What mollusks have eyes? That's right. Cephalopods!

Hence, the Mlekragg is a cephalopod.

Yes, it is a stretch, but sometimes with this challenge I like to imagine I'm an alien illustrator with no concept of what animals humans would regularly encounter. While most humans would probably assume this is a terrestrial mammal, there's no reason an alien would. In fact, considering how many more invertebrates there are then vertebrates, it makes sense for an outside observer to assume any animals described by humans is an inveterate, unless it says otherwise. It's all very sound alien logic, and not just me making wild leaps because I want my imaginary bestiary to have some more variety beyond my favorite birds and mammals. I'm really trying to use this challenge to be more imaginative and crazy with creature designs, and think outside the box when I can.

Anywho, the cuttlefish and nautilus were my main points of reference, though I did look at some reconstructions of prehistoric cephalopods for inspiration. Then I simply took all the elements of the Mlekragg and slapped it onto that body form. The triple row of teeth can't be seen in my drawing, but it is located where a cephalopod's beak would typically be. The 'face of a man' is actually a pattern on it's hood it uses to fool predators. Behind the hood flares out a 'lion's mane', which it uses for display and also to disorient it's prey when it snatches it up. It has a pointed "tail" with a stinger. It doesn't look much like a scorpion's tail - took a bit of artistic liberty and decided it just stings like a scorpion's tail, rather then looks like it. I've decided to interpret 'powerful feet' and 'good jumper' as two different traits. So it's 'powerful feet' are it's tentacles, but it uses it's stinger to leap. Why does a sea creature need to leap? Well, I imagine they live near coasts and occasionally get stranded in tide pools or on land and use their stingers to propel themselves back into the water. It kind of works like a springtail's little 'tail'. Much like the description says, no obstacle can keep the Mlekragg in!

On the bottom right I've drawn a picture of one using it's stinger to leap, and on the left I've drawn a cartoon version of it that accentuates the lion shape/human face idea. With it's tentacles and mane laid back and it's fins hanging down it does look like a little leaping lion. I also gave it a little grin in keeping with the cartoon tradition of putting cephalopod mouths on the mantle, which we know is incorrect. It does make him look like a very personable little gentleman though.

I feel if I were a bit more confident in drawing cephalpods and knew more about mollusk anatomy I could've maybe taken this in an even wilder direction. Maybe I'll revisit it in the future.

[amandacanwrite]

The Violet Thread of Fate ||

Reluctant Mentor Gale x Unskilled Wizard F!Tav

Length || About 4,000 Words

POV || Dual Narration, Third Person

Warnings || Descriptions of viscera, age gap (about ten years, both adults)

Summary || After waking up on the craggy shoreline of the sword coast, Elinna and Gale reunite with a new common ground.

A/n || I am feeling sort of on the fence about Gale's eagerness in his attraction to Elinna, but I also feel like it's still at least somewhat in character for him--after all in any playthrough you can wind up being blindsided by his feelings for you since he is usually so subtle about his affections. I also just think it's so fun to get the internal narration of Gale's attraction. He always seems so put together, polite and proper. I just love to see a man precariously balancing his carnal desires with his conscience and desire to be a good man. I hope you like it, I know things feel a little slow right now, but I'm planning on taking some creative liberties in the next couple parts. Please also lemme know what you think if you read it! I am absolutely tinkerbell and need the dopamine to live

Chapter Two: A Nightmare, An Awakening

Read Part One Here • Join Tag List Here

A Nightmare

Elinna thought she had died; thought the disintegration of her bodily form was the end of her short, unremarkable life. Much to her surprise, though when her vision once again returned to her she realized she had merely been spirited away somehow.

It took a few moments for her eyes to properly focus. When they finally did, she almost wished that the contact with the tentacle had killed her. It would have been far preferable to where she had wound up.

She found herself locked in a great chitinous pod, looking through smeared membranous glass at what she could only suppose was the nautiloid she had tried to escape from. 

Yes…death would have been a far preferable fate to becoming a mindless thrall on a mindflayer ship. As she squinted through the clear panel in front of her and saw what appeared to be a brain walking on four spindly limbs, she realized that her fate could be even worse than regular enthrallment. 

The minutes she spent entrapped in the pod felt like hours. A miserable limbo of wondering what would be coming next for her. What if she was already marked for turning into an intellect devourer? What if the enthrallment had already been put in place and she could simply be ordered to do something whenever a mindflayer so wished it?

She couldn’t just stay here. She had to move.

She tried, in vain, to wrench her arms free of the fleshy brindings within the pod. The sinuous tendrils only tightened more and more, leaving her fingertips throbbing and tingling from the blood flow being cut off. She tried to move her feet next and her boots sloshed in some sort of viscera at the base of the pod. She did her best not to vomit as the viscera eked some ichorous fluid into the fibers of her clothing and through the porous leather of her soft-soled shoes. 

The last thing she needed in addition to all of this was to be covered in the contents of her own stomach–empty as it was.

The shock of panic cinched tight around her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. And as she struggled to get her lungs to fill, she also struggled to think. 

“Calm down, Elinna,” she told herself. “Think about what you’ve read. Think about what you know.”

What did she know about Illithids? They were hivemind organisms. They required high-moisture, high-humidity environments to protect the mucosal membranes of their skin. They primarily fed on the brains of their prey and used psionic energy not only to fight but to control their biomechanical machinery. 

She craned her head forward to look for some sort of control panel–something that could get her out of this cocoon of horror. 

As she did, a valve-like door opened on the far side of the room, revealing a dizzying network of corridors. And…and one of them. A mind flayer. 

Elinna went dizzy as her heart thumped in her temples. She watched in horror and sickly anticipation as it levitated toward something in the center of the room; a cistern of sorts from what she could see. It waved a four-fingered hand and the vessel opened, revealing a golden, glowing brine pool that may have been beautiful if Elinna didn’t know precisely what it was. 

The mindflayer coaxed one of those disgusting tadpoles out of the amber liquid and levitated over to Elinna’s pod. She recoiled away from it as the pod opened, turning her face away from the creature and squeezing her eyes shut. She knew exactly how mindflayers reproduced, and she was not interested in getting a first hand experience with ceremorphosis. 

She didn’t have much of a choice, though. Even without the parasite, the illithid was able to compel her to stillness. 

It was an atrocious violation of her agency; surreal and nightmarish in the worst ways. Her mind was fully intact as the creature made her muscles release the tension they held and coerced her eyes to open. Her body was still and calm, but her heart was racing like a trapped rabbit’s. She watched uselessly as the tiny creature floated closer to her. She cried to cry out as it latched onto the orb of her eye and started to wriggle and squirm until it could find purchase beneath her eyelid. 

She was silent. Infuriatingly, horribly silent as the creature continued to burrow its way into her skull. 

Her pulse hammered in her ears as she screamed inside her own body, begging herself to fight, to tear her own eye out rather than let the process of ceremorphosis take place. 

But her body was still as the tiny parasite worked its way into her eye socket and back into her brain. 

Elinna lost consciousness as she felt the unsettling pressure of her brain matter being displaced to accommodate her unwelcome guest. 

When she awoke next, she didn’t immediately know where she was. She only knew that it was loud and it was cold. The sound of air ripping past her pointed ears is what brought her back into full consciousness, and though her eyes were open, she wasn’t actually seeing at first. 

There was a vast expanse of stars above her, the smell of salty air, the lingering cling of something far more acrid–like the smell of burnt sulfur woven into her clothes. 

She tried to parse what was going on, it felt like she was sinking into the ocean–but if that were the case, shouldn’t she not be able to breathe? 

Then she saw the burning wreckage of the Nautiloid and everything came back to her. 

The travel to Waterdeep, the encounter with Mr. Dekarios, the parasite and…

And she was falling through the sky! 

“Not again!” she cried as she stared at the ground rising to meet her with startling velocity. “No, no, no! I will not–This is not how I die!”

It didn’t go very well the last time, but it wasn’t as if she had any other ideas of what to do. She scoped out the approaching shoreline, selecting one spot and earmarking it. After choosing a point on a craggy cliffside, she shut her eyes and tried to gulp in a breath before it was whipped out of her mouth. 

“Inveniam Viam!” she shouted. 

That strange, surreal feeling of not moving, yet being in a different place came again, only this time it was followed very quickly by the feeling smashing into the ground beneath her, square onto her back. It wasn’t a far drop, perhaps only a few feet, but it was enough to hurt her. She blinked up at the sky above her, the glow of the stars somewhat dampened by the flaming wreckage of the nautiloid as it loudly crashed into the earth just a few moments after her.

She ached as she stood and looked out over the cliffside she’d misty stepped to, seeing the vast expanse of an unfamiliar coast crawling with intellect devourers and the blazing with fires choking out great plumes of black smoke. She dropped to her knees, feeling utterly defeated. 

She had no idea where she was. She had no money. No food. Not even a change of clothes with her. She didn’t even know where she was–and she knew she was more than a little directionally challenged. 

Her keepers at The Scribes Nest had told her not to leave; had warned her that there were dangers in the world. That she couldn’t hope to survive on the knowledge she’d amassed from books alone. That the lives of wizards often ended in folly. 

She knew this, of course. She’d read extensively about every wizard she could find and more than half of them were done in by their own curiosity. 

But the ones who hadn’t been rendered themselves undone…they were amazing. Elminster and Blackstaff. Lorroikan and Sammaster. Karsus and Dekarios.

Wait….

Gale Dekarios–he’d been touched by the tentacles, too!

And if she hadn’t died, then that meant he probably hadn’t either. If she could find him, if she could just appeal to him for one favor…maybe he could help her get back to Waterdeep. Maybe she would have an opportunity to prove to him that she could be a good apprentice; that she was worth the trouble of taking on as a student. Maybe he would know how to get rid of the tadpole squirming in her brain. 

But none of that would happen if she just sat there on her knees and despaired. 

She would need to get back up and put one bloody boot in front of the other. 

She would have to be brave and she would have to trust that Mystra would guide her to what came next. 

An Awakening

Hells…it just had to be a pocket dimension that saved him, didn’t it?

They were tricky little things–a slice of wild magic that functioned like an oubliette; a place to put things to be forgotten, or to be summoned at a different point in time. He’d used a few in his time, but never for more than storage during travel or to hide the occasional failed potion. He’d thought once that he might use one when it was clear that the orb would no longer be sated by the magic artifacts he consumed; discussed the idea with Tara before she requested not to speak of it until necessary. 

“I don’t like think of that eventuality, Mr. Dekarios,” Tara had said to him. “I know I tend to be pragmatic…but it makes me far too sad.”

“Focus,” he scolded himself as he looked around the darkened pocket. He needed to find an opening–or at least find a way to make one, failing that. 

It was a mistake that he’d even ended up in one in the first place. A mistake that stemmed from the first mistake when he’d tried to help that girl. 

If he’d had any sense, he would have let her run and gone straight to help his mother and make sure Tara would be okay. He could only hope that they were still safely nestled at his childhood home in Waterdeep. At least he’d not seen either of them during his wanderings about the ship. 

But then the spelljammer had lurched and started falling out of the sky, and he’d grabbed onto the strongest strand of weave he could find and followed it here. The unfortunate side of that, of course, was that the strength of that thread is precisely what made this particular pocket realm exceedingly hard to get out of. And the parasite so rudely deposited into his brain was not doing wonders for his ability to concentrate. 

He held his hands up and closed his eyes, attempting to feel out the strands of weave in this darkened place. Wherever he’d been transported to, it felt very far away from Mystra indeed. Like whatever reality he’d blipped into was one almost entirely devoid of magic at all. 

He focused a bit harder, the tadpole in his head wriggling with the effort. He continued to focus, trying not to think too hard about the unnerving sensation. Finally, with some challenge, he managed to pool some magic together. It felt similar to trying to collect enough morning dew on a leaf to drink.

There came a crackle, then a tear. Not nearly large enough to fit himself entirely through, but enough that he could get an arm out. 

Perhaps with at least one hand in Faerun, he could channel whatever remaining weave he needed to fully escape this dark corner of nothing. 

A sheen of perspiration shone on his brow as he felt around outside of the oubliette. He could feel the familiar moisture of coastal air and it sent a wave of relief through him. He wasn’t far from Waterdeep at all, then. Or at least he’d hoped as much. 

Perhaps he could just appear on the main road and hurry straight to his mother to make sure that she and Tara were alright. 

He was trying to grasp onto the weave when he suddenly felt the soft, almost tentative brush of fingertips on the palm of his hand. 

A person! Perfect! There was no better way to anchor a teleportation spell than to another living soul. It would be a little complex to explain that, though, and he was sure a mysterious arm poking out of wherever he could reach was more than a little unnerving so he settled for simplicity instead. 

“Hello?!” He called through the tear in the fabric of space and time. “Is anyone there? A hand? Please?”

He felt the hand withdraw for a moment, then it returned with what he assumed was the person’s other hand. One closed tightly around his fingers, the other grasped a bit higher, accompanied by the sensation of fingertips curling into the fabric of his sleeve. Small, gentle hands. Not small enough to be a child–but perhaps a woman. 

He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath, allowing himself to feel the energy of the stranger on the other side of the opening. He tapped into it, smelling the faint, sweetly lactic scent of peaches; tasting on the tip of his tongue the light flavor of…honeyscotch candy. If Mystra’s energy was violet in color…this energy was the color of the sky during sunrise…a gradient of lilac, rose and cerulean.

Pretty… he thought to himself before slamming the heel of his hand to his brow. 

Focus you touch-starved buffoon.

“Whatever you’re doing is working wonders!” he said encouragingly. “I think if you just give me a good pull, I should come right out!”

The stranger pulled and he joined that effort by pushing himself through from the other side with what remained of that pooled bit of magic he’d gathered together. 

Finally, he flew out of the pocket realm like a cork from a bottle, regrettably landing right on top of the poor woman who had helped him. 

He was quick to shift his weight so he didn’t put the entirety of his considerable heft on the poor thing. Yet, his creaky knees slowed him down when it came to properly getting up. Then again…he couldn’t deny a certain reluctance to rise. He hated to admit it, and if anyone ever asked him he would deny it to the grave…but it was pleasant to feel the soft curves of a woman against him. A year was such a long time to be without it, and to feel warmth beneath him again…

It was a lascivious thought not becoming of a gentleman, he remembered, but one that occurred almost automatically much to his chagrin. 

“Hells,” he said. “Forgive me miss. I’m usually much better at this–and usually not so long sedentary that my limbs can’t keep up with my manners. Allow me to–”

He lifted himself up onto his elbows and finally laid eyes on his savior. 

It was the girl from before. What was the name? Elinna Inklynn. 

She stared up at him with wide eyes and a face flushed with exertion. How hard had she needed to work to pull him out of that portal? Seeing her so close now, he picked up on some of the qualities he’d missed in the dim light of the Waterdhavian evening. 

A constellation of mauve-tinged freckles dusted across her flushed nose and cheeks. In the daylight, her skin was almost pale pink. The soft swell of her lips sat slightly parted with a look of surprise. And her eyes…my those eyes were something to behold. Verdant as a sprig of mint and flecked with gold as if she had a vein of ore curling through the irises of her eyes. 

“A-allow me to help you up,” he finally stammered. “You’re not hurt are you?”

“Not by you,” she said somewhat breathlessly. 

He grunted slightly as he got back onto his feet, now allowing himself to think of the way her soft curves shifted beneath him. He reached a hand down and helped her back up to her feet as well, dusting off her theadbare apron and her slightly puffed sleeves. She was still flushed–perhaps dehydration or fever…or…

“You haven’t happened to have been on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, have you?” he asked. 

The flush could be a sign of the beginning stages of ceremorphosis. 

“I couldn’t have phrased it more repellently myself,” Elinna replied. 

“No use sugarcoating it, is there?” he asked with a smirk. “I don’t suppose you know what these little passengers will cause if left to their own devices?”

“Ceremorphosis,” she answered without missing a beat. “At least–if we don’t get it handled in a few days…”

Well, color him surprised. 

It wasn’t very often that ceremorphosis was talked about among the common man–it was even hard to find books detailing the finer details of the process. The girl may have been a poor magician, but she was clearly learned.

“Suffice to say, it is a process that should be avoided,” he said. 

“Agreed,” she said. 

It occurred to him that she was behaving…a bit stiff; almost aloof. The young woman he’d encountered in front of his tower had a bit more fire to her than this one did. Then again, they’d just gone through quite the harrowing experience. Both of them were covered in mysterious viscera, they’d been taken hostage on a mindflayer ship and well–the poor girl did just have a strange older man on top of her. 

The girl bit down on her lower lip and he found his eyes unconscionably glued to her mouth. She released her lower lip and he watched as the pale pink color returned to it, wondering idly what it would feel like to–

“Are we just—are we just going to pretend that I didn’t beg you to take me on as an apprentice and that you quite sumerilly told me to bugger off?” she asked. “Are we just going to be compatriots now?”

He blinked down at her, his mind catching up with her words. 

Good gods, he really was behaving like a lech. He didn’t know where this was coming from. Perhaps it was an undocumented symptom of ceremorphosis–this…uncommon desire he was feeling. 

Or maybe he was just, well, desperate. 

“Well, I take umbrage with that analysis. I don’t believe I told you to bugger off…At least not verbatim. I do try to not be a miserable ass,” Gale said a bit sheepishly. “But I hasten to point out that we do have a shared problem now–some common ground we didn’t have before. It seems wasteful to part ways at a juncture such as this, don’t you think?”

He looked around in the early morning daylight and frowned realizing that he didn’t recognize anything. “I certainly don’t know the area after all, and judging by the history you disclosed with me, you likely don’t either.”

“Well…no, I don’t. Aside from Waterdeep I’ve not been anywhere other than the Moonshae Islands.” she said. 

“And you seem to not have a very strong sense of location judging by our time in the alleyways,” he pointed out. 

“That’s true…so then… does that mean you’ll do it?” she asked. “You’ll take me on as your student?”

He grimmaced.

“No,” he said with not a moment’s hesitation. “Not a student–an ally. An equal. It’s best that we tackle this issue together, don’t you think? It makes no sense to travel separately when our searching will likely lead us to the same places. And besides that…”

Besides that, if he started to change into a mindflayer, he wanted to be sure he had someone nearby who could…put him out of his misery and get his body somewhere safe before it leveled a city. 

“But I could be more helpful if you teach me,” she pleaded. “I’d just be a liability without your help.”

“I have seen your magic,” Gale said with a bit of a teasing gaze. “And I don’t know if there is much I can do for someone who casts Misty Step with their eyes closed. It seems you’d be more of a liability with the magic than without.”

She blinked up at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“Oh, please,” he said. “You must know that it’s a spell that requires a clear line of sight.”

She shrank a bit. “I…didn’t know. No,” she said. 

“How could you not know such a thing? You must have read a scroll to learn the incantation,” he said. 

“I mean this with the utmost respect, but when is the last time you’ve read a scroll, Mr. Dekarios?”

He inhaled, lifting an index finger. Then he closed his mouth and looked off to the side. 

When was the last time? It must have been ages. 

“Well,” she said without waiting for his answer. “Most spell scrolls assume a certain basis of classical training, or at minimum an innate understanding of how to channel the weave.”

“I see,” he said. “I’m to assume you’re not a sorceress then?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she said with a sigh.

He clenched his jaw as he looked down at the younger woman. Gods, she really did need a teacher. Maybe he could at least talk to her about theory–or give her a few simple exercises for manipulating the–

No. No. 

He had more than enough on his plate without adding a poorly self-taught mage to it.

“Elinna,” he said. “Tell you what. I have a deal to offer–a concession if your like. If we make it through this and…make it out of wherever we are and back to Waterdeep, I promise I will introduce you to some colleagues that will help you get your start as a novice wizard. How does that sound? Fair?”

To his great surprise, she still looked disappointed by that answer. The girl really was an ambitious thing–coming right to his tower to seek his tutelage and no one else's? The poor girl had no idea what she was trying to sign herself up for; a depressed, anti-social, explosive wizard. A depressed, anti-social, explosive and impatient wizard. As far as teachers went, he was not the best candidate for the job.  

“Alright,” she finally said. “Let’s see if we can go find a healer together…or maybe some other survivors…of a bath.”

“Oh, to find a bath,” Gale agreed. “Ah, but–before you think you’re journeying with most ill mannered a man–”

Gale gave the young woman a slight bow. “Thank you for pulling me out of that stone.”

When he stood up to his full height again, the young woman was smiling at him, her pretty viridian eyes crinkling at the edges. She tucked a pale copper strand of hair behind one of her delicately pointed ears and looked a bit sheepishly down the craggy shore. 

“Ah–it’s almost a dead end over here–I think there might be more ground to cover if we cross through the wreckage…but I didn’t want to do that on my own,” she said. 

“A wise choice, I think,” Gale said. “No telling what you would have run into. Not to imply that you can’t hold your own, of course–”

“No, you’re right,” she said, looking away from him a little timidly. “I’ll feel better with you there–it’s nice to have a friend.”

He huffed a soft breath and found himself smiling at how willing she was to call him her friend.  Even after all the ways he had been a bit of an oaf to her, he felt in her he had found a bit of a kindred spirit. Someone else who sought camaraderie in perhaps…unworthy places.

 She looked up at him and bit the swell of her lower lip again. “Shall we go then?” she asked him. 

He gestured to the road ahead. “After you,” he said with a magnanimous smile. “Consider me your ever faithful guard dog, ready at the first sign of trouble.”

She snorted a little laugh and shook her head. 

And as he followed after her, for the first time in the last year, he hoped the pang in his chest was because of the orb.

Taglist || @auroraesmeraldarose @thoughts-of-bear @cherifrog @puckprimrose @drabblesandimagines

[helveticathestitcher]

OLD GLORY

Singh Sisters Wheel Service & Heavy Industry Ltd. - Deltoid Custom

Sovereign Immunity Use Mobile Suite

This one was kind of a struggle but over all I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Art, in his own words, made S.I. to never get in a mech so the details on what the Old Glory looked like were very loose and I took some serious liberties with it. I leaned into the idea of it being a Converted Construction unit and used some of the other descriptions of Con.Con.s for inspiration. I would say the hardest part was finding a kit that would let me build a hover tank (yes, that is just the butt of the Zeong), but the thing that took me the longest was designing an emblem for The Sheppard's Crook. I applied it with a sheet of masking tape and then went over the top with distressing to get the burned off negative effect and I think that turned out pretty well although I wish I had access to a laser cutter to get sharper edges on the mask then what I was able to do by hand. Check bellow the cut to see the mock up I did in illustrator.

You can find other Friends at the Table kit-bashes I've built here:

M3 - 001 / PANTHER | STRAY DOG <VER. LACRIMOSA> | <HEADS UP>

With the Rapid Evening complete, it's probably time for me to look into some S.B.B.R mechs. Anyone know a good gorilla mech kit?

[elvendara]

AU-gust day 12

12 Aug 23 Book Store

“Why don’t you just ask him out already!” MC rolled her eyes at her co-worker Yoosung. The blond barely did any meaningful work when the red-head was in the book store.

“That would be unprofessional.” Yoosung tsked. He unboxed books and set them on the cart, but his amethyst eyes hardly left the other man as he made his way around the stacks.

Saeran was about the same height as Yoosung, red hair, gorgeous mint green eyes, and apparently a voracious reader. Some days he would spend hours searching for books and sitting in the in-store café reading and sipping tea. The man had a store card and Yoosung always made a point to try and be his cashier, making small talk.

He came in so often that just about every employee knew him. It was unthinkable that he could read so fast, but they had all been spellbound at how fast he turned the pages on whatever book he was reading. The subject matter was impressive as well. Anything from romance, the classics, mathematics, science, language, and manga. It didn’t seem to matter as long as he found it interesting.

The man was pulling books from the Fantasy section today, but so far he didn’t seem to have found anything worth reading.

“Why don’t you make a recommendation?” MC suggested.

“Huh?” Yoosung raised his eyebrows.

“Go on, I’ll finish this.” She took the stack of books from Yoosung and gave him a gentle push. He hesitated, then walked towards the red-head, smoothing his yellow hair.

“Uh, hey, can’t find anything you like?” he squeaked out. Clearing his throat he looked away, embarrassed.

“Seems like the same plot over and over.” Saeran shrugged, setting another book back on the shelf.

“Do you like a lot of action?” Yoosung asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, dialogue too, not so much into an overabundance of scene descriptions.” He answered.

“Oh! Then you might like this new collection, it’s based off the video game LOLOL. I don’t know if you’ve played it but it’s pretty accurate to the lore. They use a lot of the same magic system. Of course they take a lot of liberty with the weapon mechanics but that’s to be expected.” He walked towards the section the books were in, turning his head to make sure the man was following. He tried to shut up, but word vomit just spewed out of him.

“Characterization is insane! I mean, there are a lot of recognizable NPC’s and they use some of the same dialogue as in the game, but, if you don’t play you still enjoy the interaction, I think it’s more for the players to find some nifty Easter eggs.” He laughed.

Saeran followed silently. Making Yoosung try and fill the silence. He felt like an idiot with his flapping tongue. Was he boring the man? Was he just being polite but wanting him to shut up already?

“Anyway, here it is.” He pulled the first book in the series and handed it to Saeran. On the cover was a wizard with his hand out, a fireball in his palm and holding an ornate staff in his other hand. The other man turned it and read the back quickly, then turned to the first page and began to read. Yoosung stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. Should he walk away?

After a very long minute Saeran looked up and smiled.

“Thank you, I think I will like this. Do you play this game?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m kind of addicted.” He laughed.

“Maybe I’ll try it.”

“You should! It’s totally fun, and even more fun with friends.” Yoosung gushed.

“Really? Hmm, maybe you could come over and help me.” Saeran said.

Yoosung’s tongue went dry. Did he really just ask that? His eyes went wide and suddenly he couldn’t speak.

“Sorry, I guess I overstepped, nevermind.” Saeran blushed and turned to grab volume two of the series.

“No! I…I mean…” Yoosung stammered, “I can totally do that! It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah?” Saeran turned back and beamed at him. “Can I get your number? I’ll call you when I get the game and I’m ready to set it up, is that OK?”

“Absolutely!” Yoosung took his phone out and opened it up as Saeran did the same, they exchanged numbers and an awkward goodbye.

Was it a date? Yoosung hoped so.

[shiningstarr15]

Guys I came across something today and it had me almost throwing a fit in public

So I went to Walmart with my folks for our weekly grocery haul and, as per usual, I snuck off to listen to my tunes, pace around, and look for any marvel stuff I could find 😂

Well I found myself in the children’s books section where I know they always have those little 5minute stories to read to kids and I came across this beauty

First of all, the art is BEAUTIFUL. Some of the characters are the comic versions, but some ALSO have traits of their cinematic counterparts (ex being Natasha’s green eyes)

So of course seeing Black Widow on the cover I had to take a peak and see what her story was.

I was not expecting nor prepared for what it was..

That..that can literally only mean one thing, right? There’s only ONE other character that holds the title of black widow in the marvel comics. And of course the character they’re showing is BLONDE.

So I had to read it. Yes I stood there in the middle of the Walmart children’s books section and read a marvel kids book. I was too excited at the prospect that maybe just maybe my favorite marvel character was in this book. Which would be the FIRST time I’ve EVER seen her illustrated in a kids book!

But then as I kept reading, and they revealed the blonde character having been “impersonating black widow,” a particular sentence caught my eye.

“She had a strange sense she knew this person”

Now I don’t know EVERYTHING about comic Yelena but I DO know that Natasha’s first encounter with her is the first time she’s seen her. They weren’t even in the red room together at the same time.

So part of me started thinking maybe it wasn’t her. These stories sometimes stray a bit to be more “kid-friendly” and Yelena is such an underused and unpopular character in the comics that they probably wouldn’t put her in one of the marvel books.

So I decided to keep reading and Natasha goes on about how ‘this woman knows all her moves’ ‘maybe she’s finally met her match’ and I’m like “no, it has to be her. That is literally her description in the comics!”

So it finally gets to where she removes the mask and..

When I tell you I gasped out loud

It’s HER!! she’s here in a children’s book!

But guys, it doesn’t end there. Look at how Natasha looks at her with a knowing look, SHE KNOWS HER

So at this point I knew they had to have strayed a bit from the comic. But when I tell you the next page literally had me almost throwing the book…

Because it’s not just a version of comic Yelena..

ITS OUR YELENA!!!!!!!

Obviously the book took a few liberties with their story bc it’s not exactly like the one told in Black Widow. But it’s also not even CLOSE to the comic version. Yes Natasha has a soft spot for Yelena that later on does bring them closer and work together and even have funny banter, in which I have no doubt was the influence behind making them sisters in the movies. But they aren’t ever described as having a sisterly relationship in the comics.

So then this version has to be a version of MCU Yelena! Yes it is slightly different but she’s still the younger sister figure to Natasha 😭😭🥺🥺 that’s mcu exclusive as of right now.

Also, LOOK AT THE WAY SHE’S ILLUSTRATED. The hair has never looked exactly like that in the comics with the pieces and the fly-aways. But the thing that really did it for me was the eyes

THAT IS FLORENCE PUGH’S EYES

You cannot TELL me that’s a coincidence. That eye color is WAY TOO DISTINCT of having that golden green-ish look that is so exclusive to her!

So yea, it’s her.

I am at a literal loss for words at this point. It’s like a version of her that mixes some of the comic origin and the cinematic origin. Especially this page here.

First of all, Natasha saying she wasn’t leaving until she brought Yelena “home” had me almost in TEARS in the middle of Walmart 😭 in this story, Natasha defects and Yelena chooses not to. But she still feels left behind, you can tell by it describing her as having an “almost sad look” in her eyes. And then she quotes the motto, like it’s just been engrained into her. And then the stolen tech “falls out” of the pocket. So it is heavily implied she doesn’t really wanna be doing this but feels like she needs to to prove her loyalty.

It’s sad that it ends with her just escaping and leaving. But she actually does end up showing up in like a foggy mist when Nat and Fury reboard the quinjet. Like she’s just really wanting to go. But she doesn’t.

But it ends like this.

“Perhaps her little sister wasn’t so lost to her after all” SCREAMING CRYING HYPERVENTILATING 😭😭😭

And then “she knew this wasn’t the last she had seen of Yelena Belova” implying the possibility of her returning in later stories 😭😭

And that is the first time I see Yelena illustrated.

Guys… kids are gonna read this. They’re gonna read it and not only know who Yelena is, but associate her with being “black widow’s sister” or “Natasha’s little sister.” The character has forever been changed thanks to the MCU and Florence Pugh. They single-handedly put that character on the map, and marvel kids books are starting to reflect it. I’ve already seen it within the fandom. They only know her as being her sister. This was the most beautiful thing I could’ve ever come across. And I have a feeling the character’s future is so bright and this is only just the beginning for “black widow’s sister” 😭😭😭💞💞💞🥹🥹🥹🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖

And also if I ever see her illustrated in that iconic double ponytail and vest I may actually shit myself…

[thebreakfastgenie]

Oh shit I forgot to send an ask for the wip game so if you're still doing it elaborate on "seeing ghosts" please?

Hell yes! Ironically, this one doesn't have any actual ghosts, or even any actual deaths... It's called seeing ghosts as a placeholder because in the opening, Trapper feels like he's seeing ghosts from his past. I'm usually not totally wild about the "Trapper thought Hawkeye was dead" trope, but this is my spin on it.

Trapper went home and started working as a general surgeon at Boston Mercy Hospital. Shortly after, he learns that Hawkeye is dead; this will most likely use the device of Trapper trying to write and having his letter sent back during The Late Captain Pierce, though that involves some creative liberties as mail would have been forwarded to the next of kin. If I can think of something succinct, I may use a different device; maybe Trapper had a chance encounter with someone who just got back from Korea who told him about the death certificate but didn't know it was false. Maybe he tried to use an official army channel for some reason and was informed Hawkeye was deceased. I don't know. Why he thought Hawkeye was dead isn't important, it just has to be believable.

Trapper is good enough to be chief of general surgery, but he doesn't have any interest in pursuing it. He's sort of keeping his head down, doing good work, and focusing on his girls. He's still married to Louise. He's a little depressed and because of the circumstances he hasn't really dealt with his grief over Hawkeye's supposed death. He's friendly with his coworkers and good friends with one of them. He very rarely talks about Korea, but mostly because none of them were there and they don't understand. Two years later, he's forced to attend a reception for the newly hired chief of thoracic surgery. He has no interest in the pomp and circumstance of it, and he's on edge because he's thinking about how it should be Hawkeye starting a job like this. And then his friend tells him the new chief of thoracic surgery served in Korea. This snippet is a rough draft, but it gives you the general idea: “He’s a Beacon Hill Winchester,” Pete replied, and this time there was no question that he intended it as an insult. “Blue blood. Sounds like a total drag to me. You might get along with him better,” he added thoughtfully.  Trapper frowned. Pete’s description didn’t sound like someone he would get along with. He sounded like someone whose shoes he would fill with paint while he was in the OR, if the thought of it didn’t make him miss Hawkeye terribly.  “Why?” “He served in Korea.” Pete said. He lowered his voice. “Actually, I heard he only got this job because one of his army buddies called in a favor with Bob Harwell.”  “Figures,” Trapper muttered. “Who’d you hear it from?” “Tony Maxwell. He said the board was all set to go in a different direction, then Bob gets a call from a Major Houlian.”  Trapper nearly spat out his drink.  “Hot Lips Houlihan?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.  “When I knew her, she went by the name Margaret,” said a new voice.  Trapper and Pete both turned, finding themselves face-to-face with the guest of honor. It was clear from his face that he’d heard everything, but he seemed unbothered. He extended a hand.  “Gentlemen. Charles Emerson Winchester III.”  Trapper couldn’t respond, still trying to process the shock of this man knowing Margaret Houlihan.  Pete shot him a lock.  “Indeed,” Charles said, smirking.  Pete shook the offered hand.  “Pete Dillinger. I’m the head of general surgery.”  He dropped Winchester’s hand, and shot Trapper another look. Trapper knew a warning when he saw one. He took the hand Pete had dropped.  “John McIntyre,” he tried to keep his voice even, but his eagerness betrayed him. “How do you know Major Houlihan?”  Trapper knew this didn’t have to mean anything—Margaret could have been transferred after he left—but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest.  “We served together in a putrid corner of hell,” Winchester said dryly.  “The 4077th!” Trapper exclaimed before he could stop himself.  “Yes,” Winchester said, surprised.  “I was there for a year!” Trapper explained excitedly. “Right at the beginning. I guess we missed each other.” 

Charles doesn't connect John McIntyre with Trapper until much later, because even though Hawkeye did talk about Trapper occasionally, Charles didn't really care. What follows is a series of misunderstandings and Trapper and Charles having two very different conversations. Trapper assumes since they had the same specialty, Charles replaced Hawkeye. Trapper says his closest friend at the 4077th died and Charles, having not been there for The Late Captain Pierce but knowing the previous CO was killed, assumes he's talking about Henry. Charles mentions his annoying bunk mates and Trapper assumes he means whoever replaced him (BJ) and Frank. This continues until Charles finally says the name Pierce:

"Benjamin Franklin Pierce?" "His friends called him Hawkeye. I did not."

At which point Trapper is like I have to go to Maine right now immediately. He gets reasoned down to going home, telling his wife what's going on, and packing a bag first. It probably ends with Hawkeye opening the door and seeing Trapper.

The main conversation is just really, really hard to write. All the dialogue has to have a passable double meaning.

[icanbeyourjedi-writes]

Dear Frankie Chapter Five

Summary: The next steps in the relationship take form, secrets are revealed, and the ugly green monster shows up at a wedding. Frankie and you have built a solid relationship, you two trust each other but will the past ruin what could have been a future  Words: 5213 Rating: 18+ SMUT please don’t read if you are under 18 Warnings/Triggers for series: Frankie is active duty military, deployment, death, Adult language, themes, and SMUT A/N: So I don’t really know anything…ok I know nothing about Fayetteville, North Carolina.  I am taking my own liberties on what it’s like there.  Names of places may exist, but I have no idea if they are real or not as well as some of the events I have.  But its fan fiction and there are no rules.  While the reader may have some descriptions, I am doing my best to leave out physical characteristics. Just try to have a little imagination while you're reading this. 

This story had come to be from that photo of Pedro in the white suit for the NYC premiere of Massive Talent. It made me think of an Angel, then talking with @tauralmie I kinda came up with this idea of a story where what if one deployment Frankie didn’t come home, and you had been dreaming of him so much, you see him wearing that white suit. That is how this little series was developed.  As always a huge thank you goes out to @heythere-mel for reading before I post. 

**Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. **

Dear Frankie Masterlist

Once Frankie returned he was quiet again, it was like part of him was missing. The part that had him opening up to you, the part that was letting you know him. He would hold you tighter at night, the kisses lasting a little bit longer each time. He held your hand more; a hand on your thigh when you were at dinner, lower back when he would guide you through a crowd. He didn’t talk about what happened while he was away, and you didn’t ask. Deep down you wanted to know, but you also knew that if and when he was ready to talk to you he would. It took him time before and you were more than willing to wait for that to happen again. 

After reading your journal he had found, the cover doodled with ‘Dear Frankie’ he realized it wasn’t home that he missed…it was you. It wasn’t the ice cream flavors, it was eating them with you. It wasn’t the movies that were released, it was missing it with you. When he got to the part where you wrote to him that he was a romantic even though he didn’t think he was, it nearly broke him. You think so highly of him and he hopes that one day he would be able to truly be the man you deserved. 

It was late June and even in the late evening it was hot. You were laying on his chest like you always do. It was your favorite day, Frankie Friday and you had the evening and weekend to spend with him. 

“Biggest fear?” He asks out of the blue. You hadn't played this game in weeks. His fingers trail up and down your back 

“Roller coasters” it was a no brainer you hated them with a passion. So much so that you are like a child throwing a fit when your friends drag you on to one

“What?!” He’s surprised “you just went on one with my a few days ago”

That was true, you did. The thing is as much as you hated them, you still went on them. Plus it was getting on a roller coaster with Frankie you felt safe with him so matter where you were 

“Yes. Yes I did” you turn your head to look at him “but I’ve seen final destination enough times to know how that story ends” you give an awkward laugh, “I don’t like that once you reach the top and the little pully system lets you go, no one is in control of the ride. One tire slipping off the track, and it’s game over”

“You know it’s a movie right?” He smiles at you trying to get you to smile back 

“They had to have inspiration from something” he chuckles at your dramatic inflections “ok tough guy what’s yours?” 

“Spiders…” he laughs his fingers ticking your sides “too many legs”

“Ayyy, Frankie” you squirm a bit “seriously…” you try to pinch him. His hand catches your wrist just when you reach his side

“Dying alone…” his voice takes a sudden turn no matter how hard he tried to hide it

“Frankie…” you lift your head up to look at him

“Look, there’s a chance I could die alone on the battlefield. I try not to think about it, but there’s always that chance. And after being with you I’ve realized that I am scared of getting shot at or whatever and dying. I’m scared that no one will find my body. If I died out there,” he takes a deep breath “I use to believe that no one would have cared”

You close your eyes at the comment. Of course you knew that was a possibility. That his job meant maybe never coming home. But hearing him say it, it felt different. You know that people would have cared, people would have missed him. Your hand is over his heart and you can feel it racing “people would have cared, I would care” 

He nods and takes a deep breath, “I used to think dying alone in general would be pretty terrible,” he moves his hand to take the one you have placed on his heart. “But now I have you, so dying here wouldn’t be so bad” he smiles while he wraps his fingers around yours, you focus your attention on his eyes “I love you” 

“I…” you blink back a tear that is threatening to fall “I love you too” 

You lean down to kiss him, sweet at first. Frankie wraps his arm around you and rolls you on to your back. Deepening the kiss, his tongue moves against yours in a dominance he has never shown before. You tighten your grip on his loose curls at the base of his neck. His hand lets go of yours; it slides to the hem of your shirt. Grabbing the fabric he begins to move it up slowly. 

He breaks the kiss allowing you to breathe and try to catch up to your racing thoughts. He nips at your jaw before his attack on a sensitive part of your neck. Just below your jawline under your ear. A place he had learned that turns you to putty under his touch. He smiles against your skin when you moan out his name. The shirt rising higher and higher when your finally realizing what it happening

“Fffffrankie,” you breathe “shit…Frannnnnnk”

You can feel him smile against your skin, “mmmm” he hums 

“Wait, jussssst…hold on” he kisses your jaw and lifts his head “please…”

“Is this too fast, do you want me to slow down?” his voice deep, his eyes hooded as he rubs his nose along your cheek 

“Yeah, no…maybe, shit” you close your eyes and he chuckles, going back to sucking on your neck, sure to leave his mark “yes, Frankie. I…we…there’s something you need to know” 

He lifts his head all the way this time. Propped up on his elbow, the other hand still on your ribs holding your shirt. You reach for his wrist trying to hint at him to let go of your shirt which he does. You roll over and off the bed. Standing up and you start to pace his room “Estrelita, baby what’s wrong?” 

Baby your mind replays that word. He’s never called you baby before and it wasn’t that you didn’t like it, it was just strange to hear him say it. He calls your name bringing you back to the moment. He needed to know, you needed to tell him; but you also knew that this was going to change the course of your relationship. You stop, you cross your arms and turn to face him. You close your eyes and take a deep breath “Frankie, I’m a virgin” you shout and your head falls in shame. Your hands covering your face, worried about the words that just came out of your mouth. 

He’s silent, he’s silent for what seems like a lifetime. You are terrified of what you just told him. A set of thick fingers wrap around your slender wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You're still looking at the ground when you feel his fingers tucking under your jaw to bring your eyes to him “so….what?” he asks with a gentle smile and those puppy dog brown eyes looking at you; and you turn to look away afraid to look into those eyes. 

Frankie, 

I don’t know why I was so terrified. You haven’t been anything but kind, gentle and understanding. You have wanted to go slow and now only I can hope that you are still willing to. 

“So what? SO WHAT!?!” you turn to look at him now, tears starting to fall, “it’s pathetic and embarrassing. I’m 23…and… and your…you are so experienced” you back away from him toward the door.

“Amor…what does that have to do with anything?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Frankie it has to do with everything! I have no idea what I’m doing…

“Everything…just then when you kissed me…most times…I don’t even know what to do with my hands!?!” You throw your hands in the air 

He laughs at you falaying your hands about. His laugh causes you to give a small smile. “Estrella…” he says as you continue to tell him how you don’t know what to do with things. “Like when I play with the little curls on your head…do you even like that?” he calls your name 

“What?” you hear him chuckling “it’s not funny Frankie” 

“First of all, I like it when you play with my hair. I love when those gentle hands hold my face. I like when you look at me as if I’m the only thing that matters in the world. I also really like when you rub my head when we kiss. More importantly, don’t be embarrassed, you have no reason to be.” He reaches for your hands, which you let him take. He intertwined his fingers with yours “you are anything but pathetic, and if anyone has ever said that to you, they didn’t know you the way I know you” 

Francisco,

How can you be so sweet and understanding? How can I be so lucky to know you and have you make me feel the way you do. I want you to be my first, I trust you but I was to tell you I wasn’t afraid that I wouldn’t be good, that I wouldn’t be as good I’d be lying. 

The two of you made your way back to his bed. Sitting on the edge. Both of your hands resting in your lap. You told him about how you want it to be him, how it wasn’t that you were waiting for religious reasons or anything like that. You just wanted to be in love, you wanted a man to love you back and be there in the morning when you woke up. He nods his head in understandment. He moves one of his hands to cup your face, leaning in to give you a quick kiss 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, you nod leaning into his touch “this deployment changed me. Shit hit the fan real quick and I realized just how much you meant to me. How much you mean to me. I watched people I care about almost die and it scared the shit out of me knowing you didn’t know how I truly felt about you before I left. Life is short and you need to tell the people you love, you love them before it’s too late. And I love you” you smile at those words “and you waited for me in so many ways, I promise you…we'll take it slow and when you’re ready. I’m ready” 

“I love you too,” you wrap your hand around his neck pulling him into a kiss, pouring your heart of gratitude into it “thank you”

I don’t know why I ever doubted you, you are a gentleman. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve someone like you. Life is short, far too short and I shouldn’t be mad at you for something that you have no control over. 

You were meeting him for a quick lunch at a bar. A bar you’ve never been to. As you sat and waited for him your bubbly server brought over another ice tea. He’s fifteen minutes late, Frankie is never late and you begin to worry. The little bell on the door chimes and you look over, you see him finally walking in. A pair of khakis covered in dirt, his green shirt damp and his hair more unruly then he wakes up. You put your hand up and wave at him when he looks in your direction. 

He quickly rushes over to you, a hand on your shoulder and a quick kiss to the lips knowing he’s sweaty and gross. “Hey baby, sorry I’m late” he sits across from you when another ice tea arrives 

“Hi, I’m Claire. What can I get you to drink?” She smiles and looks at Frankie and her eyes get a little brighter 

The rest of the meal you watch as Claire flirts with the man sitting in front of you. Frankie is completely oblivious to the special attention he keeps receiving every time she comes to the table. 

“Someone has a thing for you…” you comment when she drops off the little black book holding the bill

“Hmm?” He asks pushing around the last few veggies on his plate with his fork 

“Call me…Claire, she even dotted the ‘I’ with a heart, isn’t that cute” you look at the bill rolling your eyes. 

“What?” He grabs the little paper from the book 

I shouldn’t be jealous; you were literally sitting across from me. Your legs touching mine, your eyes always on me. A smile only meant for me to see.  You are incredibly handsome Frankie, and I don’t know why but when a girl flirts with you in front of me, I wanted to ring her neck. The way she rolled her eyes when you told her ‘Sorry I’m taken’ and the look of disgust when you leaned in to kiss me. Maybe I am way over my head in this relationship. 

Jealousy is a strange thing. Here you are with Frankie’s fingers laced with yours and all you can think about is how Claire flirted with Frankie right in front of you. She flirted with him as if she had known him, you wonder if she was a past experience and what the odds were of ever running into one of them. 

“Stop moving, I’m gonna burn you with this iron if you don’t stop” she hisses again 

It was Heather’s wedding, you were a brides maid and it was your turn to sit in the chair but all you could think about was seeing Frankie in a suit and how handsome he was going to look.  The only thing you hated more than weddings was being in a wedding. The hair, the makeup, the stupid fancy dress. But the longer you were with Frankie, the more you thought about being the one in white. A few more bobby-pins in your hair and you were finally finished. 

It was Heather’s turn, as you sit and listen to the other girls talk about some new movie they are trying to get their men to go to there was a knock on the door. “I’ll get it…” you stand quickly and shuffle to the door. 

“Tyler hey…what are you doing here? You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the altar” you push him back a bit and step out of the door closing it behind you 

“I know, I know…but will you give this to her?” He asks handing you a folded piece of paper, you nod taking the small paper “thank you, I’ll uh…I’ll see you out there” 

As he walks away, you turn back towards the door and hear a familiar voice calling your name. The smile that spreads across your face could light up the entire city. “You look incredible” he moves closer to you whispering “la mujer mas linda aqui (the prettiest woman here) he whispers 

“I’m the only girl here” you laugh and turn towards him, his lips quickly finding yours 

His hands hold your waist, he smiles when he feels your fingers brush his cheek. “It will always be true Estrella, you will always be the prettiest woman in my world” he leans back in for a kiss but you turn your head and he kisses your cheek instead 

“Heather is gonna kill you if you ruin my makeup” you turn back to face him, your thumb pressing against his pouty lip

“As long as it’s in your arms, I’ll die a happy man” he smiles, kissing your thumb before moving your hand so he can kiss you again

As you stand at the front with Heather, her and Tyler reading their vows to one another you look at Frankie who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you walked down the aisle with one of Tyler’s brothers.  You but your lip as you see him mouth the words I love you and you can not sit down and enjoy the rest of the day with him by your side 

I have to say, I had honestly stopped thinking what this day would be like, then you came along and standing in front of all those people. Watching Heather and Tyler tie the knot I started to think what it might be like if it was you and me. You in your dress uniform, wearing all the medals I know you’ll receive and me in a white dress. I’m not saying you feel the same way about marriage but I also hope that one day that could be us. 

“It is with my great pleasure to pronounce you man and wife…Tyler you may kiss your bride” the Preacher said and a round of applause that snaps you back to the present as you watch Tyler dip Heather and kiss her. “May I present to you for the first time Mr and Mrs Tyler Evans” 

Pictures of the wedding party were complete, dinner was finished, and the DJ slowly started playing music for the guests to make their way to the dance floor. Heather and Tyler making the rounds talking to friends and family. You sit at the table, Frankie’s arm around you and your hand resting on his thigh. Frankie’s thumbs tap on the back of your chair,  waiting for the perfect song to ask you to dance with him. 

“Francisco?” a breathy voice comes from behind him and he turns his head in that direction “I’ve been waiting for over a year for you to call. You look good, How have you been?”

“I’m good?” He replies, the answer sounding more of a question “do I know you?” 

“It’s Britney. We met at a bar a few years ago. You said you’d call and then you went M.I.A” she places a hand on his shoulder 

He says her name a few times as saying her name would recall his memories of her, “Misfits…Friday night, middle of June, three amazing, fantastic, mind blowing orgasmic rounds. You were getting dressed as the sun was slowly coming up over the horizon said you’d call and then you were gone” she explains 

You move your hand from his thigh, crossing your arms, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from saying what is really on your mind. You watch as she flexes her hand on his shoulder and moves closer to him. A new song starts, an upbeat tempo. Her free hand taking his, “dance with me, maybe I can jog your memory” 

You clear your throat and she looks over at you, “oh hi, and you are?” She asks. 

Sitting up and turning towards her “his girlfriend…” uncrossing your arms, you grab his face and pull him for a kiss. Fingers threading into his hair. After a few moments you finally pull back, Frankie having a goofy smile on his face, you look up at her wiping away the little bit of lipstick on his bottom lip. She drops his hand, tucking a stray hair behind her ear 

“Girlfriend?” She says it, like a challenge “well, may I borrow your boyfriend for a dance?” 

She was pretty, strawberry blonde hair. Just a bit longer than her shoulders. Green eyes, perfectly arched eyebrows. Fair skin complexion, looked like she spent every morning going for a run. Part of you, no…no more like all of you wanted to say no, but  “it’s up to him” is what ended up coming out of your mouth. 

She reaches for his hand again trying to pull him to stand up. He leans in, giving you a quick kiss, “I love you” he tells you before Britney is dragging him onto the dance floor. 

Frankie shoves his hands in his pants pockets, you watch as Britney dances around him. He stands there awkwardly nodding his head to the music and you make your way over to the bar. The music picks up, she turns, her back now facing Frankie and she starts to grind her ass on him. He keeps his hands in his pocket and does what he can’t to keep his eyes up and not on her. 

Heather found you at the bar, seeing Frankie with another girl, “I told him not to invite her, she’s trouble at work just like she’s trouble here” she said. Giving you a hug, telling you to take it easy but you find yourself taking a third shot of Whiskey hoping it would calm your nerves and it’s barely numbing the pain of watching your boyfriend with her. Especially knowing that she has been between the sheets with him. The music ends and Frankie tries to walk away, towards you. But the minute his hands are from his pockets she’s grabbing him and turning him back to her. It’s a slow song, it was some poppy song that you know Heather picked. A Jason Marz song to be exact. She places his hands on her hips and wraps her arms around his neck. You wish you could hear what he was saying, you wish you had the courage to go over and take your man back. And that’s when it happens, she pulls his neck and you watch them kiss. 

“What the fuck?” You shake your head hoping that you're not seeing what you think you are. Sadly when you open your eyes it’s still happening

Reaching behind the bar you grab the closest bottle of liquor and pull it to you “hey…hey! You can’t do that” the bartender shouts 

“Friend of the bride, just bill her…” you say, pushing yourself away. Grabbing your clutch and the bottle of tequila you make your way out of the hall and towards the elevator to your room. 

***********

Her tongue slides across his lip, he grabs her shoulders and quickly pulls back. “What are you doing?” He asks 

“Reminding you of our amazing night” she smiles, fingers finding the back of his head gently tugging the little curls 

His hands grab her wrists and pull them away from him. “I have a girlfriend” he says 

“Is it serious?” Her eyes roam over his 

“Yes” he breaks eye contact looking for you “for the first time in my life I’m happy” 

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

 Frankie, 

I should have realized that someone like you would never be with a girl like me. Especially when I see the women from your past, and how perfect they all are. Your words were exactly that, just words. You are going to leave the minute you get what you want. I’ll just be another a notch in your belt

“Estrella…” he says, opening the door, “baby…” 

“Have fun with Britney?” you put the half empty bottle of tequila to your lips taking another swig. Closing your eyes as the gold liquid slides down your throat leaving a burn in its trail 

“No,” he says flatly “she isn’t you” 

“That didn’t seem to bother you when her tongue was down your throat” you set the bottle down and stand up 

You still have on your heels from the wedding, and have had far too much to drink to hold your balance. You try taking a step and stumble, Frankie catching you before you hit the ground. One arm around your waist, his other arm being clutched by your hands. Leaning against his chest you hear his heartbeat, the soothing that you’ve fallen asleep to so many times. 

“She kissed me, it didn’t mean anything. You should know that” 

“That line is just as bad as ‘she fell and my lips broke her fall’ line guys always use. Just fuck me already so you can leave and save me a worse heart break later when you leave again. Or am I not drunk enough for you?” you lift your head and try to stand a little straighter “leaving before sun up, it’s what you're good at right?” 

“What?” The pain in his eyes is unbearable to look at

You didn’t mean it, you really didn’t. The alcohol was making you self-doubt yourself. And say things you never would have sober. Frankie had always been saying how you could do better, how he wasn’t the one you deserved. But truth be told, you always thought he deserved better. You’ve run into an “experience” and you were a goblin compared to her. The words hurt him more than you intended them too. The next words hurt him just as much as they hurt you “why are you even with me?” 

You think you have your balance and try to step away from Frankie when you stumble. Grabbing the back of the chair to hold you up. Reaching for the bottle of tequila, fingers graze the bottle before he takes it from you. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I asked you first…” you glare at him

Watching him take the bottle to the bathroom and emptying the nearly empty bottle into the sink. You start to walk towards him, the heels getting in your way and you rip them off throwing them across the room “mother fucking heels” you yell

“I like who I am when I am with you. You make me a better person. You made me realize what love is, and how nice it is to have someone worry about you. I didn’t know she was going to do something like that…I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry” he loosens his tie “Estrella, you are smart, caring, funny, beautiful…now, how much did you drink?” 

Before you can answer, you're shoving past him, hunching over the toilet and throwing up most of the tequila you just drank. Frankie is there behind you, pulling your hair back and a gentle hand on your back. He reaches for a wash cloth before kneeling down next to you “I’m sorry…” you manage to say before hurling again into the toilet “you don’t have to stay” your elbow on the toilet seat and holding your head up 

He hands to the damp washcloth, rubbing your back “do you want me to leave?” 

You shake your head no, you wipe your mouth and fall to the ground. Your burgundy dress getting in the way as you sit in a pile of twill and satin, you try to push it to the side. “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks

“Just the dinner…4 shots of whiskey and that bottle of tequila” you throw your head back against the wall “why are you being so nice to me after what I said?” 

“You're upset, I get it. I should have said no to her…now stay here I’m going to go find you something to eat and get you some water” 

Frankie, 

I was wrong. I was drunk and I know the words hurt you. And I don’t think I would ever be able to say I’m sorry enough. You’ve been nothing but the sweetest, kindest, gentlemanly…is that a word? Sure, you deserve the world Frankie and I never thanked you enough for taking care of me that night

You aren’t sure how long he was gone, the last thing you remember is your arm resting on the edge of the tub and closing your eyes. Wishing you could have said ‘I’m sorry’ better. You wake up to Frankie’s bed side empty and cold, your hair is a mess, and you're sleeping in one of his shirts. You don’t remember changing and you definitely don’t remember moving to the bed. 

Your head hurts and even the slightest movement of the sheets sounds amplified in your ears. You manage to sit up, on the nightstand you see a bottle of water with a little note that says ‘drink me’, next to it a bottle of tylenol and another note in the same handwriting ‘take 2 of me’. You recognize the handwriting is Frankie and you hope that is a good sign that you didn’t piss him off too much. Then you hear his soft, faint snores coming from behind you. You slowly turn your head to see him sleeping on the small loveseat. His back pressed against the back of the couch. One leg up and the other tucked under. His head resting against his bicep on the armrest. The other draped over his stomach. 

Your feet touch the cold wooden floor, standing up you feel a bit wobbly. Taking the two Tylenol and half a glass of water you make your way over to him. Hoping that you can make it up to him, apologize for what you said to him last night. You sit in the small space between Frankie and the edge of the loveseat and lay down. Pressing your back against Frankie and resting your legs on top of his. It’s like it's a basic instinct for him now. The hand that was resting on his stomach curls around you. Pulling you closer to him, his leg falling over yours…a Frankie Blankie, as you called it. 

“Mañana, Amor” his voice still raspy with sleep. He leans down to kiss the top of your head 

“Good morning” you manage to turn your body in his arms so you are facing him, you wrap an arm around him and bury your head into his chest “Pescado, I’m really sorry” you mumble against his chest 

He rubs his hand up and down your back, a comforting gesture. How could he be so kind and nice to you after everything you said to him last night? You didn’t mean any of it, you were upset, confused, ‘it’s ok’ you hear him hum. Tears slowly stream down your cheeks, you shake your head against his chest and he hears you sob. His hand moves to tilt your chin up to look at him 

“Kiss?” He questions you his head tilting down to look at you 

You shake your head no again, “I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I’m all snotty and gross…” you thumb stroking against his hip “I’m just, I didn’t mean what I said last night…”

His thumb under chin, he leans in closing the small distance between the two of you kissing the top of your forehead. Before you can say something he kisses your nose, and then places a gentle kiss to your lips. You gasp in response, “It’s ok, I fucked up too, and I am sorry” 

How was it possible he was blaming himself? Frankie really is an amazing man and a man you probably didn’t deserve. You knew he didn’t really have a reason to be sorry, Frankie was being Frankie. A kind soul, and wanting to make people around him happy. Frankie, learned of your insecurities that night, you sharing with him that you thought he was the one that deserved better. He told you, that he would never find anyone better, anyone more trusting and that you were the one for him.

Check out more of my work and other fantastic writers at @littlemisspascal​ and the wonderful library they have created. 

[richs-japan-tabi]

May 17 - Odaiba

We began our excursion today by visiting the Fuji Television Museum. While traveling on the train there, the beautiful skyline of Tokyo as well as the infamous Rainbow Bridge could be seen. I will elaborate more about the significance of this bridge in the academic reflection, but it was incredible. This "museum" had a gift shop and an observatory tower that had a pretty amazing view. Unfortunately, I wasn't a fan of any of their shows, so I didn't like the merchandise. Also, while the view was amazing, I had just recently seen the view from Tokyo Skytree's Observatory, making this one seem less impressive. More observant readers may notice that I put "museum" in quotes. This is because at some point they had removed the actual museum. Thus, the beginning of the day was a bit disappointing.

While the museum visit may have been unexciting, the same could not be said about lunch. Today we had an included Japanese BBQ lunch. Situated on the rooftop of one of Odaiba's many tall buildings was an all-you-can-eat buffet of meat with all-you-can-drink soda to wash it down. Not only was it a fun experience grilling our food, but the view from the rooftop was, once again, breathtaking.

Once my stomach felt like it was about to explode, we made our way to a guided tour of Odaiba. We visited the Statue of Liberty (yes you read that right) and a one-to-one scale Gundham. The Statue of Liberty made me feel like I was back in New York, which was strange considering how different Tokyo is as a city. The one-to-one scale Gundham, on the other hand, made me feel like a little kid again. Its scale was like nothing I had ever seen before and I got to take some great pictures of it!

Finally, the last and favorite part of today's excursion was TeamLab Planets. TeamLab Planets is a digital art museum that uses projections, creative lighting, water, and interesting gardens to offer a unique sensory experience. However, those words alone are not enough to describe the feeling of this place. Even the pictures I took will give a bad representation of the exhibits. However, I can not recommend the experience enough to those who are even somewhat interested based on my description.

Academic Reflection

The first reading's main topic of discussion centered around post-industrial leisure centers. In the 1980s, Japan had an economic boom and was at its pinnacle of economic growth. For this reason, architectural projects were often taken with little consideration of failure. During this bubble, office space became an increasingly expensive asset as businesses continued to expand. For this reason, many looked to reclaim the land that was originally used to garrison Edo's coastlines during the 1800's. As this was shown to be ineffective, its purpose shifted to being a series of waste islands. In the 1980s, investors wanted to use this land for more office space, but as the economic bubble collapsed in the 1990s, investors' focus shifted. The idea was to create a large-scale entertainment and leisure area, similar to a theme park.

With this knowledge in mind, many of Odaiba's unique features and attractions can be easily explained. For example, the Statue of Liberty was originally purchased from the French for two years. However, it became such a beloved icon of the city that a replica was created and put in its place. The idea to attract domestic and international tourism explains the Statue of Liberty, giant-scale robots, and the abundance of massive shopping plazas. Even knowing all of this before going, I couldn't help but feel the wonder, similar to Disney, that city planners tried to create.

The other reading discussed Fuji TV as a media conglomeration. Contrary to popular belief, Fuji TV is a massive media conglomeration that doesn't solely rely on films and series. Rather, it relied on TV actors and advertising to diversify its content. The CEO of Fuji TV himself envisioned the company as a digital media factory. The company's success can be attributed to this mindset of production.

[oceanssapart]

⚓ Captain Gian Harlowe & Rosarian IV, The Merrow Queen, Thirty-Fifth Queen of Inys

‘Captain,’ Ead said, and Harlowe grunted, ‘at the Inysh court, there are rumours about you, spoken deep in the shadows. Rumours that you courted Queen Rosarian.’ She watched his brow darken. ‘They say you meant to take her to the Milk Lagoon.’

‘The Milk Lagoon is a fable,’ he said curtly. ‘A tale whispered to children and lovers without hope.’

‘A wise young woman told me once that all legends grow from a seed of truth.’‘Is it you or the Queen of Inys who desires the truth?’

Ead waited, watching his face. Those eyes were in a distant past.

‘She was never much like Rose.’ His voice softened. ‘She was night-born, you know. They say that makes a child grave . . . but Rose came into the world at the lark’s calling.’

🍊 The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon (@sshannonauthor)

[chromes-corner]

Dark choco Smut? please

oh dear, sweet anon, i see youre looking for that spice, hmm? well, your wish is my command ;)

hope ya enjoy this one ;))))

---

Idle Hands (NSFW)

Dark Choco/Reader

Notes: nsfw, angst (i cannot help myself)

Content Warning: ONCE AGAIN THIS IS !!NSFW!! CONTENT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT IGNORE THIS WARNING AND READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: the scope was very wide with this request so i took some creative liberties lol ALSO ALSO I feel like I'm usually pretty vague on whether or not the characters are humans or cookies BUT THEY ARE HUMANS HERE!!! OKAY!!!!!!!! GOT DAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The night is black, devoid of its usual cool blue hue that stems from the moon's reflected glow. The darkness is an ebony cloak draped over the sky. There is no moonlight to dapple the world in its cold, white luminescence. There are no stars pricking through the jet fabric of the day's end. There is only pitch that stretches its raven wings over the earth and drowns everything in its dreadful ink.

Dark Choco glances at the window from his study. He smooths a whetstone across his blade. It rings sharply with each stroke, an announcement of its deadly touch becoming more lethal with each refining shear of its alloy. The melody of metal is his meditation; a routine he takes upon himself each night like clockwork. The lullaby of his handiwork is hypnotically in tune with his breathing. While he works, his headspace is occupied only by the blade. He does not dwell on the events of the day. He does not plan for the tasks ahead. There is no room for the follies of fantasy. There is only his work and his weapon and the sound of stone scraping against steel.

Until…

He sees his reflection in the pane of glass, cast back to him by the sable sky. He sees the sunken, dark circles that have imprinted themselves below his eye sockets. The corners of his lips have tilted lower than usual. His skin has an ashen tint and his hair is flat and unkempt. “Lifeless” would be a fitting adjective for his current description.

You need a break.

The words echo in his mind as he studies his wan face, tilting his head and running a hand along his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of stubble. He remembers the troubled lilt in your voice as you said that to him. He had told you that seeing you was his break. You had hardly acknowledged him as you began to berate him with offers of comfort, such as fetching him something to drink or asking if he’d like to nap on your couch. He politely turned you down, then made an excuse to leave shortly after. If he’s being honest, Dark Choco didn’t exactly know how to react to your concern. He did not wish for you to go out of your way to cater to him, so he took his leave.

He sets aside his stone and sword with a sigh, pushing them further up the desk to make room for his arms to rest on the surface. He feels as though your kindness is wasted on him. It's not that he doesn’t want to bask in your glow, it’s just that he doesn’t quite know how to give you that warmth in return. You’re deserving of someone who can reciprocate; someone who can be the moon to your sun and reflect your light. He is not that. Dark Choco is a black hole, he sometimes muses. Light bends and is broken in his engulfing desolation.

He wishes for you to find your moon, yes, but there is another thought that lurks in Dark Choco’s mind. There is something selfish deep down, some remnant of a past life that followed him to the present. Repress it as he may, but it always rears its head when his thoughts happen to land on you.

He does not want you to be with another.

Jealousy is a ghost in Dark Choco’s closet. No matter how many locks he bolts to the door, it always slips out between the cracks. Envy coils around his throat and whispers to him with its serpentine tongue when he thinks of you with someone that’s not him. He is not proud of this feeling. He is not even accommodating of it. He tries to reason with it, but it only squeezes tighter around his windpipe until he’s gasping for air.

You have a life outside of him. This he knows. You trade waves on the city streets, and you seem to know everybody around you, striking up conversations everywhere you go. Still, he cannot help the stone in his throat when some seem more friendly with you than others.

Your enthusiastic grin lingers in his mind. He thinks about the small details about you that he’s encountered. He can practically hear the smile in your voice as you speak. You make exaggerated hand gestures when you’re telling a particularly exciting story. You hum and do a little dance when you think nobody is looking. Your hair falls in a perfect halo when you're on your back.

The last thought hits Dark Choco so abruptly, it nearly makes him dizzy. His nails sink into the soft, aged wood of his desk. He bites his tongue and hesitates, but he already leapt from the cliff. Against his better judgement, he lets the thought continue. Liquid greed drips from the serpent's tongue as it slithers around his head and through his foggy brain.

You are smaller than him. His tall, bulky frame dwarfs you in comparison. You would fit perfectly underneath him.

Not underneath me, he thinks. He tries to imagine you with some faceless lover, but he cannot. Dark Choco’s mental image returns to you at his mercy. Or, would it be him at yours?

Would you caress him and purr gently into his ear? Or would you dig your nails into the scarred flesh of his back hard enough to mark him? Would you whisper sighs and pleas, or would you fill the room with shouts and curses? Would you kiss him? Bite him? Would you roll his name off your tongue? Or would you bark his name in your desperation?

He lets his mind run in every filthy direction it wants, too far gone to stop himself. Dark Choco’s jaw is tight, teeth clenching together and breath uneven. Pressure twists his stomach until it becomes painful, and he grows increasingly aware of how tight his pants have become. He does not give himself release, however. With his mind running rampant, he attempts to garner some control over his own body by stiffly hunching over his desk and pressing his hands into tense fists.

The hot pressure continues to coalesce. Dark Choco sits up and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to even out his erratic breathing. He shifts around uncomfortably in his seat, still thinking of you in his bed and all the situations that could come of that. The pressure grows too strong, however, and he loses what little control over his own animalistic urges he was briefly able to maintain. He reaches down to undo his belt, and the process is agonizingly slow. He wishes for the strength to just rip the restraining garment from his hips. His hand shakes fervently as he finally hears the clinking of the metal buckle. He thinks about you undoing his zipper as he pinches it between his finger and thumb and drags it down himself. He thinks about you palming him through the fabric while you bite your lip and look into his one good eye. He thinks about touching you and how you would react. About pressing his lips against your heavenly skin. About breathing in your scent. About showing you who he once was. About who he could be for you. About giving you the world. About caring for you. About loving you.

Everything falls apart.

The fantasy crumbles before him the moment he wishes to love you. The idea of you being with him is so absurd that Dark Choco can’t even contemplate it in the privacy of his own solitude. He is left staring at the wood grain of his desk, shame crawling under his skin and face burning. Regret gnaws at his stomach as his slackened hand drops into his lap. He can’t have you. He can’t love you. He can’t give you what you need. The thoughts could continue, but he cuts them short. The dawn’s light would leak into the horizon before he could list all the reasons as to why you shouldn’t be with him.

Dark Choco zips his fly and buckles his belt, heart still thumping against his ribs. The pressure in his belly has all but melted away. He resigns himself back to his sword, picking up his whetstone with a still-shaky hand. He swallows the lump in his throat and begins to work. He does not need a break. He does not deserve a break. There is only the task at hand. There is only the cause he has allied himself to. There is only his work. The sound of sharpening steel fills the room, and Dark Choco’s mind once again goes blank.

[katsuhera]

Levi being set up on a blind date by Erwin and Hange after they noticed that he is giving you looks but he is too shy about it😳

hi nonnie!! thank you for sending this in, i had so much fun with it 💖 i hope it’s okay with you that i took some creative liberty and set the blind date somewhere slightly unexpected!! i think it’d be cute though heh 

i hope you enjoy!

a/n: y’all im so fkn dumb, i realized i had only changed the pronouns to gn in my google docs and not here, i just edited it (1/21). i am so sorry to anyone who was misled by my description - it won’t happen again.

we need a second date [ft. levi ackerman]

pairing: levi ackerman x gn!reader

genre: fluff, modern au

wc: 2.3k

you took your time gazing at the broken statues, still beautiful in their aged glory. today was one of your rare days off, and you chose to spend it by indulging yourself in a museum visit - you hadn’t been to one in a while, and you missed the serenity of being able to immerse yourself in bits of history.

holding your coffee to your chest, you lost in yourself in one of the paintings, your consciousness entirely absorbed by what you saw as anguish and torment in each brushstroke.

“what’s he looking at?” hange whispered to erwin, pointing at levi.

“i think that person,” erwin whispered back, following levi’s gaze.

levi had stayed in your section of the museum for an uncharacteristically long time, reflecting upon the works, but also stealing little glances in your direction that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his friends.

you caught and held his attention swiftly, more than any of the artwork displayed around the room. he hadn’t even realized how often he was looking at you - it was as though you were magnetic; his gaze automatically pulled towards you.

“jesus, just talk to them,” erwin finally hissed at levi, perplexed yet slightly amused as he watched his friend’s cheeks tinge red.

“who?” levi snapped.

“that person you’ve been staring at for the past eight or so minutes,” hange whispered in a sing-songy voice. “don’t even try to argue the eight minutes - we’ve been counting.”

levi’s eyes narrowed as he tried to conceal his embarrassment, entirely caught in the act.

“it’s nothing, i’m not gonna say anything,” he muttered, looking down.

nothing’s going to happen if we push him too far, erwin thought, sighing. he exchanged a knowing glance with hange, deciding to take action on his own.

“let’s just go,” levi muttered, heading for the hallway leading into the next room.

hange nodded imperceptibly towards erwin as he started to walk with levi.

“i’ll come with you in a sec! just gonna look at a couple more paintings,” hange said offhandedly.

levi turned, raising his eyebrow, but didn’t question them.

hange waited innocently, making sure levi had left the room.

“hi!” they said, sidling up to you.

“hi,” you responded, confused. do i know them?

“i’m so sorry if this comes off strangely,” hange chuckled. “but… i have a friend who was just in here, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you, but he was too shy to speak with you himself.”

they pulled their phone out, swiping until they found a candid photo of levi taken earlier that day.

“here, this is what he looks like,” hange said, handing you their phone. “he has no idea i’m doing this, by the way.”

skeptical, you took their phone timidly.

woah, he’s hot, you thought, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible. the photo captured levi inspecting a statue, his sharp features and intense gaze essentially comparable to the statue’s.

“i was wondering if you’d be interested in going on a date with him,” hange continued, noticing your fixated gaze. “he’s a really great and respectful guy, i truly can vouch for him.”

what if this is a human trafficking scheme? you thought warily to yourself, thinking that this moment seemed a little too ‘wattpad-esque’ to be realistic.

hange sensed the caution in your face. “of course, you can say no - please don’t feel obligated to say yes, or anything.”

you know what? fuck it.

“um, as long as it’s a public place, i’m down,” you said finally, smiling politely.

a wide grin spread across hange’s cheeks, genuine thrill and delight twinkling in their eyes.

“wait, really!? um, can i get your number and i’ll set up a ‘blind’ date between you two? he would kill me if he found out i was doing this,” they said excitedly.

“sure,” you agreed, tapping in your digits. “here you go.”

“great,” hange said, “wow, thank you! i’m hange, and his name is levi, by the way. levi ackerman. i swear, he’s an amazing man.”

levi ackerman. the name just sounded like it would roll right off the tip of your tongue.

you smiled softly, your heart fluttering in anticipation. “i’m y/n, and sure - i’ll take your word for it.”

the rest of your day continued as you’d planned. you liked going on dates with yourself - taking yourself out around the city was your form of destressing and relaxation, but your encounter with hange earlier added a pleasant thrill to your day. an unexpected one, but pleasant nonetheless. judging from the picture, levi seemed refined, graceful - and he was too shy to come up to you? you were flattered.

ding!

Maybe: Hange: Hi! This is Hange, from earlier today in the museum. Is this y/n? you: Yes! Hi :) Maybe: Hange: Yay! When would work for you for a date?

you paused, switching apps to google calendar. honestly… you weren’t that free after today. you bit your lip. it might be a bit sudden, but…

you: Actually, is tonight okay? I don’t think I’ll have a lot of time after today Maybe: Hange: Let me check in with Levi

you sighed, wondering if you’d made the right decision. going on a blind date with a stranger was something that was slightly uncharacteristic of you, but… it wouldn’t hurt, right?

“levi,” hange’s voice was serious.

“huh?” levi looked up, annoyed. they’d gone to get some lunch after they were done at the museum.

“go on a blind date.”

“what?” levi held his teacup halfway to his face, pausing in disbelief.

“there’s this person that i think would be perfect for you, and you haven’t dated anyone in ages,” hange said lightheartedly. “just go on this blind date once and if it doesn’t go well, then you can punch me.”

“i can’t punch you now?”

“no,” hange replied, taking a bite of their sandwich. “only if the date goes badly.”

“hange told me about them, i think they’d be a good fit for you,” erwin commented, testing the waters. “definitely your type.”

“my type?” levi questioned, raising an eyebrow. “and what exactly is my type?”

“uh-” erwin stammered.

“listen, they’re only free tonight, and you’re both here in the same area so why not? i promise you you’ll like them. just trust me for once,” hange interjected.

i am going to kill them if this turns out to be a waste of time, levi fumed. he closed his eyes, sighing. “it’d better be worth it.”

“so tonight works, right?” hange asked excitedly, picking up their phone to text you.

“you just told me they can only do tonight--”

levi’s words were lost on hange - they were already halfway done with their text to you.

Maybe: Hange: He’s free this evening! Is 7pm a good time?

7pm? you thought, checking the time. that should be enough time to freshen up.

you: Sure, that works! Maybe: Hange: Are you comfortable with choosing a spot/is there a place you have in mind?

huh. where should we go? you thought, your mind blanking. you’d never gone on a first date with a complete stranger before.

fuck it, you thought, lips curling up into a faint smile. this is my last free night. might as well make the most of it - and if he doesn’t like it… then oh well.

when you were younger, you would talk with your friends about what you wanted an ideal first date to be like. movies and shows always portrayed classic first dates with restaurants and wine or going to the movies, but you’d always wondered what it would be like to have a first date at an arcade.

of course, that was when you were younger, but what’s the difference as an adult? adults can still enjoy arcades, right? luckily, there happened to be one in your area.

you: I’m not sure what kind of person he is, but I was thinking of heading to the arcade nearby! I can send you the name and address Maybe: Hange: Love it. He’ll meet you there :)

choosing the arcade was admittedly an impulsive choice, but it was too late to turn back now. you headed there determinedly, thinking that if he turned out to be a no-show or someone lame, at least you could enjoy yourself at the arcade on your last free day. win-win situation, you figured.

seeing the glimmering neon lights of the familiar buzzing windows, you smiled to yourself as you pushed open the door, nearly knocking into a clean-cut man who seemed to utterly not belong.

he turned, annoyed, but his eyes widened as he saw your unsuspecting face.

“oh - sorry!” you exclaimed, hoping you didn’t actually hit him. you pushed past him, heading for the front desk worker. “hi! do you know if there’s a levi waiting for anyone here?”

the employee smiled politely, gesturing to the man you’d just pushed past. surprised, you turned to look at him more closely, finding that his eyes were still just as wide as they were moments ago.

“levi?” you asked. you hummed appreciatively in your head - he really is attractive, you thought. at least there’s that. “hi! i’m y/n.”

it was as though the moment played itself in slow-motion for levi - he’d just barely agreed to this date, walking into the arcade with almost no expectations at all. for him, the moment in which you glanced at him was ethereal; your hair rustled, settling back to frame your face as your eyes widened worriedly, hidden under delicate lashes.

try as he did, a look of surprise washed across his face as he recognized you from the museum.

suddenly, it clicked.

hange-- the memory of hange innocently staying back as he and erwin left flashed across his mind as faint embarrassment flushed his cheeks.

“yes, i’m levi,” he said curtly, trying desperately to curtail the mix of anxiety and thrill flaring up through his throat.

“nice to meet you!” you smiled, starting to open your bag. “ah - we should get entry tickets.”

he shook his head, waving two pieces of paper in his hand. “i already paid.”

“ah,” you trailed off, surprised.

the scent of clean linen mixed with fresh cedar wafted past you as he delicately handed you yours.

“so… an arcade?” levi had to ask. even if it was for you, the last place he thought he’d ever find himself was in a retro-themed arcade.

you giggled softly, pulling him along with you by the end of his shirt cuff. “you don’t like it? i just thought it’d be different, i don’t know.”

as disinterested as levi seemed outwardly, he was actually even more intrigued by you after hearing your answer.

a blind date with a total stranger at an arcade just because it’d be different? they’re... special, he thought, yet undeniably enamored.

“hmm, what game should we play?” you wondered aloud, searching around the room for a game you wanted to play first.

you glanced at levi, hoping that he’d suggest something. he was gazing at one of the horror-themed games. i guess he likes jump scares, you thought. you could only guess, after all - he still hadn’t said much.

“that one?” you pointed towards it, lightly tugging him again.

truth be told, levi hadn’t been paying much attention. you made him slightly nervous, and he wasn’t the most familiar with arcades. he’d happened to be staring at that game because it was in front of him; there was a chance that if he were to look at you, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

you could feel yourself slightly overcompensating for his seeming lack of enthusiasm, but you found that you didn’t really mind. being in the arcade made you feel giddy and lighthearted - a feeling you hadn’t had in a long time. and levi seemed interesting, at the very least. stoic on the outside for sure, but you also felt like you could get him to crack with some marginal effort.

settling into the game booth and closing the curtains on both sides, he swiped the points card.

what is this game? he wondered. seems… silly.

the overdramatic game music and animations were trivial to levi, but as he looked at you through his peripheral vision, he could tell how fully immersed you were into the game.

… cute, he caught himself thinking.

your hands gripped the plastic gun with fervor, your knuckles turning white with how tightly you gripped the handle. for all of your concentration on the screen, though, you couldn’t seem to hit a single target.

“tch,” levi laughed. was it a laugh? either way, it was the most emotion you’d gotten out of him yet, but you were preoccupied - zombies were about to kill you.

boom! boom! boom!

the game sounds reverberated around the walls of the tiny booth, causing you to flinch into his side.

levi had easily killed the zombies that were targeting your character, glancing at you once you winced.

the sudden body contact caused his heart to beat wildly, yet somehow… calmed him down.

maybe it was your openness, maybe it was time, maybe it was just you - but levi felt as though he could finally relax, now.

feeling the relief wash over him, he chuckled openly, rustling your hair with his free hand.

it was your turn to feel nervous; his unexpected actions causing a flurry of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. you stilled, feeling warmth spread to your cheeks as you blocked out nearly everything but the feeling of his hand on your head.

you were glad you went with the spontaneous choice and picked the arcade.

arcades, levi thought. they’re not… bad.

and in that moment, it was as though your minds were linked:

second date… we need a second date.

masterlist | join my taglist!

[kohakuarisaka]

Trial By Fire (chapter 2 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Todoroki Touya was a prince.

Being born to a top-ranking hero was almost the same as being born to royalty. Everyone recognized his name, his quirk might as well have been trade-marked, and he had lots and lots of daddy's money.

If that wasn't enough, Touya was incredibly handsome, too. He had a full head of stunning, bright red hair and beautiful, shiny blue eyes. His smile was charming and voice was hoarse and suave.

He was a skilled fighter, always topping the rankings at UA, the talk of all 'up and coming' news articles back in his teen years. His quirk was flashy and powerful, nearly unstoppable; but, he was also a dedicated hero that trained day in and day out to hone his combat skills.

The boy with the crimson wings couldn't have the fortune of being nobody. That would have been more preferable to his reality.

His father was a criminal, a thief and a murderer. His childhood home burned to the ground when an attempted arrest went horribly wrong, and resulted in half his body being permanently scarred by burns. But, no one would believe that a hero did that to a small boy, even if it was an accident. No, of course not.

No hero academy was going to accept someone with such a reputation, with a name like Takami, with a history of bloodshed, with the evidence smeared across his skin for all to see. He was in and out of foster homes for years before he could get his own place, funded by petty crimes and gang activity, the only way he could survive.

Touya was a prince-

-and Keigo was a gutter rat.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when you told him that Touya had asked you out, even less surprised when you told him that you said yes.

Of course you couldn't resist Touya. He was everything any girl could possibly want, and he could give you a hell of a lot more than Keigo ever could: fancy dates, lavish gifts, a nice family to go home to, a name with a shining reputation.

Touya could make you happy.

And so, Keigo stopped chasing you. He stopped hoping anything more would amount to your relationship. But, even if his life depended on it, Keigo could never stop wanting you, thinking about you, loving you. No one was like you, not by a long shot. No one understood him like you did.

But, you belonged to Prince Touya.

... ..

... ..

... ..

Hawks woke in a cold sweat, torn from a nightmare. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room, panting lightly in a daze. His bare chest glistened with the evidence of his agony and his wings flexed out, feathers taut and sharped at the ends, defensive.

He glared at the unfamiliar walls, legs tangled in warm blankets. It took him just a moment to remember where he was.

There was a photo pinned to the wall by your desk: him and you at a spring carnival during your first year of high school. Your hair was longer back then and he had a black eye from a fight with some upper classmen.

The pillows and blankets on your bed were so soft and freshly washed, the scent of the fabric softener still wafting. You had dug out extra pillows and sheets for Hawks when made it clear he was intending to come around a lot more often.

Your apartment, your bedroom, your bed: that's where he was. The only thing missing from the room was you.

Hawks pulled himself out of a bed with a groan and snagged his sweat pants off the floor, where they had been discarded when he arrived. He decided to skip the underwear and just pulled the loose fitting pants on with a tired groan.

He didn't need to search the apartment to know you weren't inside. His feathers weren't picking up any vibrations from footsteps or breathing. It was too still, too quiet.

Confident of where you were, he opened one of the windows in your bedroom, nearest your desk, and shimmied onto the outer ledge, hoisting his torso through first before bringing his legs in until he was hanging outside. He kicked off the side, beat the air once with his wings to gain some momentum and flew up to the roof.

You let out the most undignified yelp when he floated up over the side of the building, bare feet toeing the edge where he landed, giving you an innocent, drowsy look.

"Holy fuck, you scared me," you hissed at him.

It was almost 1 in the morning, and you had slipped on a loose shirt and baggy shorts to head up to the roof for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, you were alone at this hour, able to enjoy the ambiance of the night without one of your neighbors mouth breathing or trying to strike up a conversation. They weren't bad people; but, you didn't want their company.

Even from up this high, you could hear passing cars, the soft squeaking of breaks and the occasional squeal of tires spinning on asphalt. Distant lights were constantly changing: traffic control, cars coming and going, people in and out of their crowded apartments.

"You're not cold?" Hawks asked as he approached you.

"Not really," you answered softly.

Despite that, Hawks flattened against your back. His hands dragged up and down your arms as if to warm them before winding around your waist. You felt more than saw his head droop over your shoulder. As he pressed in close, you felt what was his very shirtless chest fall against your back and the unmistakable outline of his cock against your behind.

"I see you didn't bother dressing," you scolded him, lacking any real malice.

"You like it," he challenged, reaching for your cigarette.

Before he could grab it, you brought it to his lips for him, turning your head to try and face him, despite the awkward angle. You watched him puff the end faintly before huffing out smoke away from you.

"Ohh," he hummed. "You bought the fancy ones this time."

"They're not fancy," you retorted gently.

He flapped his mouth, about to insist you let him buy the next pack. However, he caught himself, remembering how well it went last time. It had resulted in a fight, and you kicked him out, nearly pushing him out the window, not that he couldn't handle that, of course, and it was a funny memory, now that it was over.

Besides, if he was being honest, it was really hot when you yelled at him. Maybe not so much this time since it put him in the doghouse for a week. But, the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

You didn't want his money; 'blood money', you had called it. You adored him, maybe even loved him, wanted him, longed for him; but, you had no desire to take any of his dirty money.

You weren't delusional enough to think that that made you a good person, or somehow morally superior, not to Hawks, or anyone else for that matter. It was a choice that you had made for yourself, to try and get your life on the right track.

Maybe, letting Hawks into your bed was counter productive. He was a wanted villain, after all. Business could follow, even if he worked hard to prevent that. If Touya found out-

You shuddered at the thought, mind racing with the possibilities of what could happen. You didn't want to see Touya ever again, let alone talk to him; but, there was no guarantee that your paths would never cross again. Would he be mad? Would he try to hurt Keigo?

Sharply, you turned your head and kissed at his cheek, lips smearing across the burnt half of his face, as if trying to reassure yourself that that wouldn't happen. Hawks hummed, and you felt the vibration travel along his chest and throat and onto your skin.

"Don't burn your fingertips," he scolded you softly in a hoarse whisper, snatching your cigarette from the burning end.

You had been so lost in thought, you failed to realize the cinders were nearing your fingers, the flame having almost reached the end. You watched Hawks roll it between his fingers, drawing the paper into his palm where he crushed it. The flame died and he opened his hand, letting the wind carry the burnt remains away.

"Kiss me," you breathed, so wrapped up in the moment that you didn't care that you were outside.

He obeyed with a growl, hands grabbing at your waist harshly to spin you around. One hand flattened at the space between your shoulder blades, holding you tightly to his chest while he arched down and captured your mouth.

You heard and felt his wings beat the air, powerful and unyielding: an intentional display of dominance, most likely, that should have made your eyes roll and not your heart flutter. But, you had always been soft for Keigo, and this advancement in your relationship had only made that worse, until you became putty in his hands.

He clearly really liked to play with putty. It was bad enough that he was constantly twisting and turning your body to see what kind of positions he could put you in: something that you, unfortunately, found far more arousing than you should have. He loved to poke and prod, see what kind of noises he could get out of you. He also loved to see how far he could push your limitations.

"Baby," Hawks growled against your mouth, eyes hungry as he took you in.

"Let's be crazy," he suggested, low and hoarse, with a slight edge that made him sound like a stupid teenager again.

He tugged you in close, shamelessly rubbing his erection against your closed abdomen, and making his intentions known.

"Hell no," you retorted, smoothly, sure, but lacking in any real confidence in your rejection.

"Come on," he urged, hands and arms sliding away so he could skirt away from you.

You watched Hawks step towards the edge of the roof with the kind of confidence you would expect from a man that could fly. He casually sat down, rotated to sit longways, one leg spread out for balance while the other rested right at the edge. He leaned back, spreading one wing out along the gravely rooftop, while the other drooped over the side, feathers long and fluttering in the breeze like a crimson, tattered flag.

Hawks crossed his arms behind his head and laid back in full, looking boneless as he stretched out. He peered up at you with a wicked grin, eyes bright as they reflected the distant street lights.

"You're fucking ridiculous," you snapped at him, realizing too late that you were smiling dumbly at the shamelessly display in front of you. Your words lacked any real weight. Rather, you sounded amused or impressed, not angry.

God damn it.

"You love it," Hawks retorted with a soft laugh.

"No," you commanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on," he urged, rolling your name off his tongue like it was a delicious, sinful delight. "It'll make for a great memory - great story. Tell all your friends you fucked some guy on the edge of the roof. No risk: you know I won't let you fall."

"I wouldn't say 'some guy', even if I had friends to tell," you said to him grumpily, settling a weak glare on the winged villain.

Hawks removed his crossed arms from behind his head, placed one hand on the roof for balance, and leaned up. His cocky expression was gone, replaced with something soft, almost nervous, like he feared he misheard you.

"You'd tell them it was me?" he asked.

"Obviously," you uttered back.

A genuine smile found its way onto Hawks' face. Maybe, he was more deceitful than you gave him credit for. Maybe he knew damn well that you couldn't resist that face, that smile that lit up your heart, those mismatched eyes. Only foolish girls let themselves believe nonsense.

Maybe, you could be foolish sometimes.

You approached Hawks and he leaned back, excitement clawing its way onto his face as he realized he was going to get what he wanted. You smacked his chest and he fell back with a rough laugh.

A slight tug pulled his pants down enough to spring his cock free, already fully hard and leaking against his abdomen. Some distant thought was that you should have been surprised; but, Hawks had proved to be quite the animal, with such a miniscule refractory period and ready to go without much persuading.

You carefully slid on top of him, one leg braced on the roof against his side, while the other dangled over the edge. The weightlessness had you reeling back with a frightened whimper. Hawks grabbed your leg and pressed it tight against his side, keeping you planted on his lap.

"I got you," he whispered soothingly. "I got you, baby. I won't let you fall."

The bastard could fly. He was used to feeling weightless, to feeling nothing beneath his feet. You were not, and the very real risk of slipping over the edge was ever present when you felt the breeze, felt the lack of something beneath your heel.

However, when you planted yourself on Hawks, who was partially dangling over the side, you felt grounded. He felt sturdy and strong beneath you, no fear in his posture, arms and legs firmly planted, wings spread out to balance himself. He wasn't waddling back and forth with uncertainty.

It barely took you a second to relax, to feel safe when his hands gripped your thighs, holding you securely against his weight. Of course he could catch you; but, you doubted he would let you fall in the first place.

Sooner or later, you were going to have to learn to tell him no; but, that didn't have to be today.

"Have you done this before?" you dared to ask.

"Not with a partner," Hawks answered quietly.

You barked out a laugh at his answer, and watched a cheeky grin appear on the villain's face.

"What? Can a guy not jack off on the roof?" he barked.

"You're fucking horrible," you chuckled, slapping at his bare chest.

"I didn't splooge over the edge," he added on.

"You're ruining the mood," you scolded him.

Still, despite those words, and the obviously fact that he had in fact not ruined anything, you reached between your legs and grabbed at the hem of your shorts. They were wide enough that you could just pull them to the side-

Hawks choked on his next breath. You glanced up at his face. His head was angled down so he could steal a look at your sex so effortlessly becoming bare.

"Fuck," he wheezed, as if he hadn't seen you naked dozens of times by now.

Bare of underwear, fabric loose enough to just shift aside, you angled your hips until his cock caught on your folds. Hawks moaned when your wet slit trailed across his length, literally dripping over him.

"-ooohh, you're wet," he hissed softly, sincerely surprised at the discovery.

"You fucked me just a few hours ago, you animal," you retorted smoothly. Your level tone contrasted sharply with the sudden whimper that escaped you when his tip hooked on your entrance.

"Heh. Made you scre-"

Ah, you loved when Hawks gave you perfect opportunities to cut him off. You shifted your hips and sank down, enveloping his length in moist heat, and Hawks' words dissolved into a weak moan. There was no ache, as you were still prepped from earlier, likely still leaking some of him, as well.

Hawks wasted no time laying a hand against your lower abdomen. His thumb dipped between your folds and flicked skillfully at your pearl. The harsh texture of his calloused fingerprint had you whimpering and twitching. His other hand gripped your waist and guided you slowly up and down his length.

"Look down," Hawks instructed, not demanding, not crude, but soft and guiding. His eyes displayed a sort of devotion and hunger that had you helpless to do much other than obey.

Your eyes directed to the ground below, over sweeping floors, dozens of windows and a couple fire escapes. This high up, the ground looked so far away, cars like pill bugs you'd see waddling along the concrete at the community garden. Something electric shot through you, catching your breath in your throat, and Hawks let out a hoarse curse, hips shuddering.

"Fuck, you got tight," he hissed.

His hand let go of your sex and lifted up to cup your face. He turned you to face him, nudging your cheek lovingly with his knuckles. Immediately, you realized, it was his burnt hand.

You turned your head to kiss at his skin, tinged red from thick scar tissue and wrinkly. Slyly, he dipped his thumb into your mouth, the same that had been dipped beneath your folds.

"Don't be scared. I got you, baby," he cooed while you sucked the digit clean.

You smiled and laughed softly, popping his thumb out of your mouth with a lewd, wet noise. "Normal people are scared of heights, pretty bird."

"You're special," he protested, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip.

That praise had your heart fluttering, and you mentally scolded yourself for acting like a school girl.

He pressed down and dipped his thumb back inside, coaxing your tongue out until it lulled over your bottom lip. Normally, you swatted his hand away when he did things like that. But, it was difficult to resist when he was looking at you like that. One gold and one milky eye took you in with a heated gaze while he gently panted through slightly parted lips.

"That's a good girl," he praised, dragging the pad of his thumb over your tongue.

You likely looked ridiculous like this, impaled on his lap with your tongue hanging out. You almost wanted to smack him and tell him to quit; but, Hawks' hand retreated before you could tell him off.

That same thumb returned to your pearl, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He lifted his lips a little, encouraging, the corners of his lips threatening to break into a pleased grin. You gently moved along with him, finding harmony in a steady rhythm that had pleasure sparking at your guts.

Your eyes wandered, taking in his aroused expression, exploring the plains of his muscular chest, across the burnt skin on one half of his body, to the red feathered wings that jutted out from behind him. You didn't look over the edge again; but, the sounds of the city were ever present, reminding you of where you were.

"Someone could see," Hawks suggested darkly.

You shuddered, head lulling back, and let out a weak moan. You didn't consider yourself much of a voyeurist; but, that was oddly exciting. You were covered up well enough. They wouldn't see much of you, but the act couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was.

Hawks shifted his hand away from your pearl and grabbed at your hip, long fingers curling around the thickest part for purchase. You didn't have a chance to consider the lack of stimulation before one of his feathers replaced his thumb, twirling and flicking insistently at your nub.

You moaned again, and let yourself go partially limp, somewhat held up by your hands braced against his chest, but more so by his stronger hands holding your center. You couldn't keep up with him, letting his hands guide you up and down to his length to his liking.

"-know how good it feels," he continued, some strain in his voice as pleasure spewed in his core.

He lost balance a little and the wing drooped over the edge flapped once. It wasn't particularly strong; but, it was enough to startle a jolt and soft yelp out of you.

Your hands slipped, and you were suddenly chest to chest. Hawks bent one leg to lift you higher on his lap, shifting the angle enough to bring him deeper and amplify the pleasure. His cheek slid against your neck and his lips met your jawline.

"You want them to know what a slut you are?" he snarled, less of a question and more of a suggestion.

The sensible side of you wanted to deny it. What good could possibly come of that? The feral side of you, that Hawks so expertly brought out, disagreed. You weren't ashamed of him. You were the happiest you had been in years. He made you laugh, he made you smile, and he made you come harder than you ever thought possible.

He kissed and bit a burning hot path across your jaw, drawing some loose skin between his molars beneath your ear, before wandering across your throat. He mouthed at your pulse, and the reality that he was a wanted murderer rang loudly in your ears.

You didn't recoil of fear or disgust. You moaned, loudly, arching your back and exposing one of yourself to him. He had to resist the urge to lift your shirt and bite at your breasts. If not for your modesty, than because your poor nipples had already been quite thoroughly assaulted not too many hours ago.

His dominant hand slid up your thigh, long, thick fingers effortlessly venturing up the leg of your shorts. He curled his hand around the back and dragged the pad of his finger along your union, gathering slick and remnants of his earlier venture.

Your cloudy thoughts didn't consider what he was doing, until that finger, now wet and slippery, was suddenly circling your other hole. That had you letting out a confused gasp. He didn't press in, just traced the tight ring of muscle curiously, and took your noise positively.

Hawks knew well enough, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes gave it away.

"Aww. Did Touya never touch you here?" he teased.

He pressed in slightly, being answered by your muscles flinching tightly, if your lewd expression didn't tell him enough. You looked confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but the arousal was still present, thick behind the glare you tried to give him.

As inviting as the heat was, he didn't venture beyond the pad of his finger, which felt like a lot more than it actually was. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. You didn't know what to make of it, but found yourself arching into the touch, and downright mewling when he slipped out and returned to circling the ring of puckered muscle, which surprisingly did feel good.

"O-obviously, that's not-" you hissed at him.

Still, through all his teasing and adventuring touches, his hips never ceased, forcing his cock into your sopping wet cunt again and again. The wet, fleshy sounds was loud enough to drown out the bustling city beneath you.

"No more than this," Hawks promised in a hoarse whisper, hot breath fanning out over your throat.

His fingertip eased back in, met with blistering tight heat, and you let out a strange noise, confused and perhaps a little discomforted. No, that was definitely not a place you were used to being touched. But, he wandered that territory carefully, ever akin to your desires. As new as it was, there was no denying the way that touch made your skin prickle.

"You like it," he observed slyly. "Dirty girl."

It probably would have sounded more teasing if he didn't already sound so debauched, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to touch you as much as you enjoyed being touched. He had you wrapped around his finger. That much was certain. But, you weren't oblivious to the power you held over him.

"Keigo," his name slipped past your lips, breathless and dripping with lust. It wasn't really forced; but, you were intent on getting a rise out of him. "Keigo," and again. "Oh, Keigo," and again.

His teasing finger stopped and his hand shifted to grab at your meaty behind with an almost bruising grip. His pace was suddenly punishing, bouncing you in his lap almost ferociously while his hips pivoted to chase the sensation. He had you wheezing out breathless moans while he grunted and snarled beneath you.

"Close," he suddenly grunted, the word little more than a rumble in his throat.

"Yes," you agreed, deliriously high on the pleasure he pummeled into you.

It was impossible to know how he managed to hold off long enough to get you there first, or if it was specifically the tightening of your walls that got him there. You were mewling and twitching long before he howled out, and the heat of his seed burst inside you.

He was making a mess. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, sputtering out from his thrusting and leaking over his abdomen. Hawks didn't care, obviously, turning his head to kiss greedily at your mouth while his hips kept moving.

When he pulled back, you found yourself disappointed at the realization that he hadn't knotted. However, there was no way you were going to say that out loud. His ego was swollen enough already.

Careless to the mess, he lifted you off his length and helped you to your feet before adjusting his wet pants to at least clothe himself. Your combined fluids had made a mess all over the crotch of his pants, no doubt worse now that he tucked himself away. Your shorts were no better, and you could feel his seed leaking down your inner thigh.

The high wasn't quite over and Hawks was sporting an attractive red tint along his shoulders and chest, blonde locks an absolute mess. Still, at this moment, your focus was solely on getting back inside and cleaning up.

"You're the worst," you scolded him, sounding incredibly fond despite your insult. You took his arm instead of his hand and guided him back into the building.

Hawks swallowed a laugh and, together, you stomped noisily down the stairs. No one passed you by. If anyone spotted you, it went unnoticed. You hardly needed to drag Hawks, who was right on your tail. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed you inside, one arm wound possessively over your waist.

"Keigo!" you whined, flinching when his head ducked into your neck and gnawed at your skin.

"You got me riled up," he growled, pressing into you so you could feel how hard he still was. The sticky mess of his wet pants felt gross; but, you couldn't be bothered to care.

You wanted to tell him off; after all, you had done nothing, and he had done that to himself. But, you felt a tinge of discomfort at your core, aching and eager to be filled again. Your clit throbbed between your thighs, eager for more contact.

Hawks manhandled you onto the nearby wall, taking you by the elbows to plant your hands on the smooth surface. You didn't hesitate to make your consent known, arching your back and propping up on your toes as he roughly dragged your shorts down.

The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving your oozing sex presented to him. Your felt and heard his wings flap, so widely that they smacked against the walls in the small space. Knowing full well what he was doing, the sudden intrusion wasn't quite as surprising; but, still, he managed to force a startled moan out of you.

"Fuck," he snarled, forehead falling against your upper back.

His dominant hand reached around, circling your pearl as he found a steady rhythm. His seed from earlier oozed out, and it was equally disgusting as it was amazing. His free hand gripped your hips, holding you still so he could use you to his liking.

It felt amazing, and each shift of his hips punched a broken moan out of you. It didn't take long for you to feel it, the swell at the base of his cock, catching on your entrance, slowly working you open to take his growing knot.

"You want that, don't you?" he uttered harshly, tilting his head up to breathe the words into the space right above your ear.

Even though it was unnecessary, he made his point clear by shoving it all in, as deep as he could, and grinding, rolling his hips to let you feel the swell at the base.

You removed one hand from the wall, curved your arm back and reached blindly, skillfully finding his hair. Your fingers grabbed a fistful, rough but not enough to hurt him. Hawks snarled when you tugged him in, nails gently biting into his skull.

"You better," you whispered, demanding and hoarse, and apparently delicious enough that he had to stop his thrusts and tilt his head in for a kiss.

Suddenly, the closeness was everywhere, back to chest, thigh to thigh. You tilted your head back to make it easier to reach, and let Hawks kiss his way into your mouth possessively, first with soft lips before his tongue edged the soft skin apart. He dragged along your teeth before trailing your palate like he was tasting something divine.

Eventually, he was satisfied, parting from your lips with a loud pop, licking his own lips as if he had just enjoyed a delicious meal. He carefully peeled back, cock slipping free from your heat, hands letting go when he was confident you wouldn't fall.

An open palm collided with your behind, and the sound echoed around the apartment, drowning out your surprised squick.

"Get on the fucking bed," he all but snarled, the words clawing out through gritted teeth.

Your legs, steadier than you expected, carried you to the bedroom. Hawks, however, tackled you onto the mattress before you could make it, forcing you onto your back with his weight.

He chuckled into your skin and you squealed with laughter. Despite the impact, he was surprisingly gentle, mindful of his strength. Crimson wings flapped, nearly smacking into the ceiling. You briefly feared that he would get hurt on the ceiling fan, but immediately determined that he would be more likely to break it than be injured by it.

He peeled your shirt off, leaving you nude beneath him.

"I've made you such a slut for knots, hm?" he observed, leaning up on his knees to hover over you, and give you quite the view.

His cock was an angry shade of red, thick and heavy where it hung between his legs, almost tinted purple on the tip with the need for release. He had just a moment ago, and it made you wonder if the lack of knotting left him unsatisfied.

The beginning swells of his knot was an enticing girth right at the base, stretching the velvety skin of his shaft, and also tinted a dark shade of red. He was glistening all over, the tip oozing pre as if he hadn't come just a moment ago.

"-and I've made you a slut for me," you teased back, carefully placing your legs on either side of his waist.

He skillfully slipped into you with a pleased snarl, body slotting over yours carefully. He might not have been a giant, but Hawks was still bigger than you, enough to shadow you and leave you feeling small. He rolled his hips slowly, giving you a taste of that swelling before he began a steady rhythm.

Noises punched out of you, whimpers and moans and broken sounds that were almost his name. He balanced on his forearms, one on either side of your head to cage you in, while his legs planted on the bed and his tense abs did most of the work.

"So fucking good. Gnhnn - I don't deserve you," he babbled, uttering the words harshly into the space above your ear, tickling at your hair. "Beautiful and f-fucking perfect."

Hawks was a talker with almost no exception; but, still, despite having heard it all many times, he still managed to get a rise out of you, sweet nothings that made your heart flutter and skin prickle.

"Say you're mine," he demanded, tilting his head down to gnaw gently at your throat.

You swallowed, managing to catch your breath long enough to utter weakly, "'m yours, Keigo."

He lifted his head and dragged his forehead along your temple, huffing out dramatic breaths with each thrust of his hips. A bit more experienced now, you knew when he was close, when the catch became almost too much, the fullness dizzying and almost frightening. Your eyes fluttered open long enough to see his lustful stare, admiring the beauty of pleasure etched across your face.

You dragged your nails down his back, crying in ecstasy when the sparks ignited and pleasure soared through your core. Hawks' dominant hand roughly grabbed a fistful of the sheets, a frustrated grunt bursting from his throat before he roared, likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

His thrusting ceased, less he timed it incorrectly and missed this. You made a very distinct noise at the intrusion, the same sound every single time, and it echoed so loudly in his mind. He felt overwhelmed with pride, that he could make you make a sound like that, so utterly debauched and in beautiful ecstasy.

Hawks' own moans, that came out of him like a chuffing tiger, were drowned out by your delicious whimpering. If the fullness wasn't enough, his cock jerked and spurted thick, hot streams of his seed. You could feel each twitch, until he shifted forward, as deep as he possibly could go, and finally stopped.

The muscles of his knot tightened as they finished expanding, locking your cores together. Hawks' head dropped and smacked onto the sheets by your ear. You tilted your head back, nose pointed towards the ceiling as you panted, and felt his rough, staggered breath as it burned your throat.

You felt more than heard the rumbling of his chest where it pressed down on yours. It was unmistakable: the sounds of a satiated beast. The thought had you stuttering out a breathless laugh.

Hawks' nose nudged your cheek and he hummed questioningly.

"You're purring," you answered softly.

"Oh," he answered bluntly.

Luckily, he didn't try to stop it; or, he was consciously unaware of it. Either way, you hoped he wouldn't stop. You loved the sensation of being trapped with him, impossibly close and stuffed like a used sex toy. Just as much, you loved knowing that he was pleased. Shameful as it all was, he had a way of making you feel shameless.

"Baby," he cooed, voice soft and breathless, a little hoarse, like a dying engine. "Are you okay?"

Your arms and legs were still around him, clinging tight like you didn't want to let go. You were strung out and limp, sinking into the sheets, head lulled back and clearly, very pleased. Still, Hawks kissed at your jaw like he was uncertain.

"Are you okay, pretty bird?" you repeated back to him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own.

He kissed you back as opposed to answering, the soft rumbling continuing until you felt it in your own throat. One of his hands tangled in your hair, kneading gently at your skull. Eventually, he peeled back and stared down at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, like you were a specter that would disappear if he glanced away.

He was the one who would be gone in the morning, leaving only an ache in your tummy to remind you that he was here.

But, you knew he would come back.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝓤𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓔𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂 (𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷)

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)× 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐴𝑈, 𝑉𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝐸𝑟𝑎 𝐴𝑈.

𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛: "𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑒. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑒, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑: 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒."- 𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝐸𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦: 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑟

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.4+𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑀𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡, 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @multidreams-and-desires @brie02 @deja-vux @galaxteez @yunhoiseyecandy @rvse-miingi @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

~May 17th, 1859~

When their eyes met it was as if time had effectively stopped moving. The sharply dressed male stood immobile by one of the pillars across the ballroom, feet glued to the floor and unable to pick themselves off it. Likewise, the elegant and ethereal lady sitting at one of the tables looked just as mesmerized by him as he was enchanted by her. For a while both of them just stood there, admiring one another as they tried to comprehend what was that tugging sensation they began to feel in the middle of their chests. The chatter and music in the background faded, their ears no longer registering any sound, scent, or object around them. Even their vision blurred everyone else, the only clear image they saw was the person they were currently fixated on.

As if he was in a trance, the male managed to regain his sense of control and began walking towards where she was. As their distance started to get smaller, the pounding in their hearts became more agitated and rapid, their lungs desperately trying to grasp air. When he stood right in front of her, a sense of calmness fell upon them that was even more strange to them given that they had never been acquainted with each other nor had any connections between them. Placing one arm behind him while the other came up just below his chest, he bowed to her, letting her glimpse and admire the top of his head, his hair as golden as the rays of the sun that would shine through her slightly parted curtains during the sunrises. Since she was sitting down, she acknowledged his greeting by lowering her head in a respectful manner. Coming back up, the hand that was placed behind him outstretched towards her.

"If my lady is not otherwise engaged, may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?"

Unable to reject him, partly due to etiquette but mostly because something pushed her to accept, she smiled sweetly at him.

"You may kind Sir."

As soon as their hands connected, a rush of sparks flowed through their bodies, the feeling so electrifying and magnetic, it became more intense when he placed one arm around her waist while hers found a resting spot on his shoulder. Their other hands intertwined themselves together, their fingers perfectly molding against one another, a rather improper gesture to do at a ball especially between two individuals who had absolutely nothing to tie them together, but neither of them cared. It felt proper and necessary, even more so as their bodies glided across the floor, dancing in tune to the orchestra's music.

"I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of seeing you before my lady." He suddenly spoke up, voice slightly buffering with nervousness.

Luckily she either didn't notice or chose not to care about it.

"No I'm afraid not. Such a pity if you ask me, you seem like a lively and agreeable person to be around." Although she had always been encouraged not to judge by outward appearances, she could not fathom the gentleman right in front of her to have any sort of evil or fault in him. He was beautiful, his features so sharp and his eyes although looking so mysterious and deadly seemed to hold so much tenderness and frailty in them. Despite his strong and bold looking frame, she could tell he was a man of delicate emotions and gentle feelings. No alarms or voice in the back of her head were warning against him, instead they were silenced as her heart urged her to stay by him and with him.

"And you seem like a lady seeking adventure and freedom." He boldly stated.

She quirked an eyebrow up, puzzled at how he could possibly ascertain such a theory.

"And may I ask what makes you say that?"

Lips curling into a smile, she swore she could melt when tiny dimples appeared on each of his cheeks, a true rare beauty that one hardly saw in those times and were very much admired.

"I look into your eyes and I see yearning, longing for something. As if you are searching for a hidden gem. And there's a hint of gloominess in them as well."

His description shocked her to the core. How could this perfect stranger, whose name she still had not known, possibly see all of that from just a few minutes of interaction?

"Do I look that forlorn?" She began to worry about anyone else being able to see what he saw.

"No...... I guess you could say I just...felt it." His eyes held a lively sparkle in them that just seemed to captivate her even more.

He hesitated to speak out what was on his mind, but seeing as the music was about to come to an end, he knew he had to say it before it was too late.

"If it's all right with you, would you mind if I came to call at your house and be introduced to your parents?" A faint pink hue spread across his cheeks and even his straight nose had a rosey tint at the tip of it.

Although she was no stranger to having young men call for her in hopes of establishing a courtship, it was the first time she was actually excited and looking forward to any future meetings with the man in front of her.

"I'd be delighted if you wished to do so." Her smile was more dazzling than all the glimmering chandeliers that decorated the ceiling and it made her dance partner feel more at ease to know she was just as jolly about a possible acquaintance as much as he was.

As soon as the music ended, they properly bowed to each other but the male, even himself unsure of what came over him, took hold of her hand and held it up to his lips, placing a feather light kiss to the tips of her fingers which left quite a few shocked faces on those who were close enough to witness the act.

"Consider this as our formal meeting my lady."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

August 23rd, 1859

The pair walked side by side across the pastured fields, bright and vivid dahlias acting as their chaperones, all arrayed in either red, yellow or purple coats that had already bud into full bloom. The river nearby had tiny ripples flowing through it due to the light breeze that was refreshing during a rather warm summer day. Behind them, her home was still bustling with excitement and anticipation of what was going to come, hence why they allowed the couple to wander outside by themselves, fully trusting them to maintain propriety. Ahead of them, a vast expanse of trees were to serve as witnesses for such a joyous occasion.

Gazing over at his loving companion whom he had learned to cherish and care about immensely in the short time they've spent together, he felt his hand shake as he touched the side of his pants, feeling the weight of the small black case he was hiding in his pocket.

"You are on edge." Her sudden statement startled him.

"Once more you hit the nail straight on the head." He chuckled, his hands going back to their previous position of staying behind him.

"Do you trust me enough to tell me about it or would you rather we pretend I didn't say anything?" She offered.

Hearing his footsteps suddenly halt, she too stopped walking. Facing over to him, she couldn't read his expression as he had lowered his face, no doubt thinking about how to proceed about with the conversation.

"May I ask......how do you feel about me?"

She was not prepared for that question and yet she had hoped to one day be asked just that. She didn't even need to think too hard, she knew the answer to that already.

"I believe you to be a very kindhearted, caring, and vibrant sort of fellow. And I am extremely grateful to be able to have you in my close circle of friends."

Although he was happy that she felt joy in his company, he felt a little saddened and worried about her use of the term 'friends'. But pushing past his fears, he gathered his courage to speak his next words.

"And have you ever wondered if there's a possibility of us becoming closer than just friends?" He looked at her with in a hopeful daze.

He could sense, feel her uneasiness. It seemed as if their emotions were so intertwined that whatever one was feeling, the other would soon get a notion of it. And right now, he could feel how she slightly panicked at his suggestion.

"If it displeases you, please just let me know right now and I swear I'll not make you uncomfortable with anymore talk of-"

"I would love for nothing more than to be more than friends with you." She didn't want to be rude and interrupt him like so, but she found she could not control herself. Her fingers fidgeted with the lace trimming of her dress, agitation clearly shown in her countenance.

"From the very first moment I saw you, I felt this strange and utterly overpowering attraction towards you, as ridiculous as it sounds. And having come to know you, I was ready to say yes the minute you asked for my hand if the moment ever came...."

She paused to collect her thoughts, taking in a deep breath.

"But at the same time I'm afraid. I know, because I was raised as such, that women are brought up to be good wives, be docile, pliant, obedient and stand behind their husbands and do what society expects of them. And I don't know if I can do that...no... I don't want that. To be locked up in some beautiful golden cage for the rest of my life, with no freedom and my liberty stripped away from me...... I'd go mad." She admitted, immediately turning away from him, not wanting to see his reaction to what some would consider her brazen speech.

"So if what you are seeking is a wife who will be content to sit at home and wait for your every command I suggest you go look somewhere else. I refuse to be that sort of woman, even if it means becoming a spinster for the rest of my life." Her last words got choked up due to tension rising in her voice as she fought back tears, not wanting to cry in front of him.

She felt him right behind her and did not flinch when one of his hands came forward to caress the smooth skin of her cheek.

"My pretty little dove....don't you know that's why I wanna marry you?"

She turned her head to look at him with incredulous eyes.

"Remember when we first met? When I talked about how you seemed to be searching for freedom? Adventure?"

She nodded, never able to forget how she felt the first time they glanced upon another nor the conversation they had. Taking a hold of her waist, he shifted her position so she could face him and see how in earnest he was.

"I'm willing to offer you all that and more. I don't want you walking behind me, I want you by my side as my equal. I won't ever lock you up in a cage. On the contrary, I want my little dove to spread her wings and soar up further than the heavens........ and I want to be by her side to see it."

Her hands came up to clasp around her mouth as she let out a sharp gasp when he suddenly dropped down on one knee. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a black velvet box that contained a stunning ring inside.

"I've already asked for your parent's permission, all I gotta ask now is if you'd make me the happiest man alive and accept to spend life by my side.... and love me?"

She allowed him to take her hand and slide the gem onto her ring finger, tears already pouring down her face. Sniffling softly, she took her hand off her mouth to reveal an emotional and awkward smile as a wave of emotions took over her.

"Yes!"

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sprinting back up, he picked her up and spun her around gleefully. Once he put her down, his hands cupped her face and he leaned in to give her a passionate kiss. Even after pulling away, he still kept her at a close distance.

"I love you.....from now until eternity."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

October 9th, 1861

"You sure you're going to be ok?"

Pushing her hat out of the way so she could look down at her doting husband who was standing right next to the open carriage, she couldn't help but give him a mischievous smirk.

"I'll be fine. I should be the one asking you that."

He gave her a puzzled look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

"That I give you 10 minutes before you're moping by the fireplace, missing me to no end." She snorted softly at his pouty expression.

"You're actually wrong..."

Hopping on top of the step so it could be easier to reach her, he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"I'm already missing you and you haven't even left yet."

She giggled at his cheesiness, allowing him to press a tiny kiss on her lips, which was then followed by another one, then another, until she finally had to push him off before he delayed her trip any further by peppering more kisses across her face.

"All right all right, I get it. I'll be back before supper, it's not that long of a ride to my parents house. Think you can wait until then?"

He shook his head negatively, which made her roll her eyes.

"Well you're going to have to deal with it."

Bending down, she gently stroked some of the hairs that were tussled against his forehead.

"I love you." She smiled at him.

Taking her hand to place a kiss on top of it, her husband never took his eyes off her.

"I love you too. Please stay safe."

With longing eyes, he watched as the carriage was being hauled away in the direction of the woods that surrounded the estate. He didn't look away even minutes after the carriage was out of sight, watching as some of the white flowers fell from the immense trees, petals scattering across the pavement and on the freshly cut grass. Something about the way the flowers fell sent some sort of uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he chose to ignore it, thinking it was probably nothing.

Making his way back in the house, he suddenly stopped when the same feeling crept back up to him, this time more intense than the previous one. His palms which were tightly clenched behind him, were sweating profusely. His heartbeat making more agitated and there was an unusual pounding resonated in his head, that although didn't exactly hurt, it was sending off alarms. He could sense that something bad was going to happen, he could feel it.....

With a sharp intake of breath, he raced over towards the stables where all the horses were kept. Unlocking the door that held his personal horse, he didn't even bother to saddle up or even put a bridle on him. He simply jumped up and threw his leg over the horse, who stood in place to allow his trusted master to get properly seated.

"Go!" He exclaimed as he gently yet firmly kicked the horse on its side, the stallion immediately taking off in the direction that the carriage had gone, the rider hoping and praying that he was only being delusional about the strange sensation that was striking fear in him.

Meanwhile, not far off in the distance, the young lady quietly sat in the carriage, listening to the conversation her two drivers were having amongst themselves, sometimes even laughing at any jokes they cracked along the way. She looked very peaceful, looking forward to paying her parents a small visit, the presents she had purchased for them rattled against her side, all neatly wrapped in white with light blue ribbons decorating them. Her eyes would often drift away whenever she heard the rustling sounds the tiny woodland creatures would make or when a bird would start chirping a little tune.

She was startled abruptly by the sound of gunshots and before she could even ask what was going on, she watched in horror as the two men in front of her fell to ground, blood pouring out from their heads as their soulless eyes stared back into her. The horses were going berserk, letting out loud neighs while fretting about uncontrollably. Standing up, she carefully maneuvered herself and got off the carriage hoping to hop on the driver's seat and regain control of the horses, but she was stopped when a strong hand gripped her wrist and harshly tugged her back.

"You're a really pretty thing." She stared up into the cold eyes of a marauder who scanned her face before looking at his partner.

"How much do you think they'll give us for selling her off to a whorehouse?"

His accomplice shrugged nonchalantly.

"Beats me, but I guess we're going to find out."

Not backing down without a fight, she kicked her arms and legs as much as she could, putting up an intense struggle against her kidnappers. She made sure to scream at the top of her lungs, hoping it would reach someone's ears and come aid her. She nearly freed herself when she hit one of them right in the jaw and bit harshly down on the other's arm which was draped across her neck. She could only take two steps before she was being manhandled once more. She elbowed and kneed at the man, trying to break free from his grasp. Getting frustrated and fed up by her struggle, he took out the pistol he kept by his belt.

"You fucking bitch!"

Pressing the barrel against her stomach, the bullet pierced straight through her, making her choke on the scream she was about to release. Her senses went numb, all she could feel was pain as she felt her life being stripped out of her body.

"No!"

Arriving just as the bullet was fired, her husband swiftly yanked out his own gun. First he made sure to aim at the one who had just shot his beloved wife, the bullet striking him right on his forehead, giving him an instant death. When his partner tried producing his own weapon, the rider was already two steps ahead as he shot him straight through his throat, this time the death was more painful and elongated, but eventually he too met the same fate as his dead companion. Quickly getting off the horse, he ran over to his wife, tears already brimming down his face. Taking a hold of her hand, he first made sure that she still had a pulse and was conscious.

"Love. Darling. It's ok, you'll be ok. All right? Just stay with me, keep your eyes open."

She could feel him rip off a part of her dress and use it as makeshift gauze to press against her wound in an effort to stop some of the bleeding. She could not bring herself to cry, she had no strength left in her to do that. Still she managed to bring one of her hands up to clasp one of her husband's hands.

"I love you.......I always will..." Her voice came out rather raspy and strangled.

Knowing what was happening, her husband began to cry even harder, his arms desperately clutching onto her.

"No! Don't say that my little dove! You're going to be fine! Trust me." He seemed to be saying that more to himself than her, trying to convince himself that this was not real, that it was only a nightmare that they'd get through with together.

But she had already resigned herself to her fate. Knowing she had no time left, she reached up to cup one of his cheeks, her thumb stroking his skin softly.

"Remember.....we'll meet again someday..... I loved you now....and I'll love you in another life."

With one last faint smile, she held her final breath before her head fell back, eyes closing as her spirit left her body. Her lover's body trembled erratically, eyes scrunching tightly, teeth clenched so fiercely they could nearly break apart by his sheer strength. He clung his soul mate's lifeless body against his own, sobbing violently against her neck. Looking up, he let out a heartwrenching and agonizing scream that echoed across the forest.

Part of him died that day just like the love of his life.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

~April 15th, 2019: Present Day~

"Man...that is one sad, depressing story."

One of the members of the group sighed out as his other mate read out the history behind the beautiful and seemingly enchanting forest that they were currently touring across.

"I know right? To think that such a tragic love story occurred right here." One of the taller members said, stepping carefully around the branches that were scattered about the field.

"Enough of this romantic soulmate nonsense, how long is this trail anyways? I'm tired, I'm sweating, it's hot and I'm hungry. Which one of you guys decided it was a good idea to go into nature and explore it? Especially with all these bugs around." The nagging individual slapped his arm once more, killing off another mosquito that seemed to take a liking to his blood.

While all of them continued on ahead, forming pairs or simply admiring the view alone with their phones to capture memories, the lonely member all the way in the back kept his head down. His cat like eyes often looked around, taking in some small details that hardly anyone paid attention to. Brushing some of his black bangs away from his eyes, he felt some sort of nostalgic feeling as he walked along the semi even path laid out for tourists like them. He stopped in his tracks when he came to a particular spot. Looking to his right side, he saw a very narrow off trail that led into the more dense and deep part of the forest. Although his mind told him to stay on the trail so as to not get lost, he found some strange force pulling him in the opposite direction. Without even second guessing it, he wandered off, not caring about if his group mates saw him or not.

As he past all the trees, shrubs and even the tiny squirrels and butterflies that still inhabited those regions, he couldn't shake off the deja vu feeling that fell over him. He strangely felt familiar with his surroundings, even though he was kilometers away from his home country. As he made a sharp turn to avoid hitting against a wide tree, an image suddenly flashed in his head. A galloping horse, the rider, whose face he couldn't see, passing right by where he just past.

"Weird..." He brushed it off, thinking that perhaps the rays of the sun were starting to get to him.

As he came upon a more wider path, he stopped immediately at a certain spot. Another image seemed to pass through his mind, although more blurred, he could faintly make out a silhouette of a man holding onto the body of a woman. Just as soon as it came, it soon vanished. He didn't understand why, but standing right on that spot seemed to cause him pain. Indeed he could feel tears welling up in his eyes and he had absolutely no idea why.

"God what is wrong with me?" He thought as he wiped them away, perhaps he was being extra emotional or something, especially after hearing that story about the forest.

A snapping branch made him aware that someone else was approaching where he was. Looking up in the direction, he felt his breath being taken away as two [insert color] eyes were locked on him. He couldn't even blink, he just continued to stare at the figure standing mere feet away from him. The same energy that pulled him in that direction was suddenly making him pull his feet off the ground and make their way towards the person. He had never seen them before in his entire life and yet.....

He felt as if he knew them, his heart feeling some sort of longing and aching for them. And he could sense that the other person was feeling the exact way he was, for they too were taking careful steps toward him, keeping eye contact with him. Soon they both stood right in front of each other, both had mesmerized expressions as they studied the person in front of them. Without knowing what caused him to do that, the male reached a hand out towards his partner, which she did not hesitate to hold in her own. A wave of shock ran through both of their bodies when they touched, their emotions suddenly burning with passion and love that only grew stronger as their fingers clasped against each other. Swallowing hard, the male decided it was time to speak up.

"Hi..... my name is Choi San."

The woman smiled at hearing his voice. Even though it was the first time she heard it, she knew it, it was oddly familiar.

"I'm Y/N L/N." She responded.

Neither of them flinched away, they simply continued to stare at one another. Although strangers, they felt as if they knew each other for centuries. Unable to help himself, San lowered his face so he could press his forehead against hers.

"It sounds insane..... but I feel I love you." He confessed, his lips brushing against hers.

She let out a soft hum at his statement.

"Then I guess we're both insane, because I feel like I love you as well."

Closing the gap between them, San cupped one cheek with his hand, giving her the faintest whisper of a kiss. The feeling was so raw and so endearing that it sent a warm sensation to their hearts. When they pulled away, his arm snaked around to wrap around her waist.

"It's like we were destined to be."

She chuckled at his words before finishing his sentence.

"Yes....you and I.....

Until eternity."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

[hansoulo]

you’re just a bottomless pit

part one of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - explicit language, allusions to violence, discussions of mild harassment, mentions of being royalty, kissing, choking, light non-descriptive smut, slight elements of dubcon, boba’s a big dick gotta be what you have amirite

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this is empire strikes back boba when he was just fucking around and finding out so i took a lot of liberties with canon don’t @ me. i offer u this picture as a helpful visual aid. merry christmas xx

༓ series masterlist ༓ 

Darth Vader was to be a house guest, and you promptly dunked your head underneath your bathwater.

The perfumed pool burbled for a few seconds while you groaned, listless and in the throes of dramatics, but your attendant only clucked in sympathy. Mila was long accustomed to your disdain for the Imperials who had come to occupy more and more of the palace. So, it seemed, was everyone except the Imperials.

After a long moment you emerged from below the water, droplets of it clinging to your face and trailing into your mouth. “Another Lord?” you asked incredulously, groaning even louder when the servant nodded.

You swam the two short strokes it took to go from one end of the small pool to the other, then floated bare on your back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Is he the one with all the strange…” motioning towards your mouth, you made a vague gesture. “Apparatus?”

“I believe so, your Highness.”

Humming noncommittally, you let your gaze trail off for a moment and stood rightside up again before returning to the bath’s edge. Its intricate tiles were cluttered with bottles, little glass tinctures and oils and soaps that all wrapped themselves around the room in a heady, heavy incense. You inhaled deeply and sighed. Lord Vader with the strange apparatus.

You couldn’t remember a time before your father, the sovereign ruler of Quas Killam, was a puppet for the permanently stationed General and a yes-man for Emperor Palpatine. Then again, you supposed it wasn’t really his fault his planet just happened to be Mid-Rim and full of exactly what the Empire needed. Being a yes-man was probably the only thing keeping his planet intact during the civil war that was supposedly raging right now.

But it was hard to feel sympathy for a man who dressed you up like a paper doll and never let your mother talk.

A soapy sponge was brought up against your back, smelling of lavender. Closing your eyes, you let Mila’s motherly hands scrub at your shoulders and arms until the skin tingled in a pleasant burn.

You picked at the tile grouts with a polished fingernail, head swimming with rows and rows of grey uniforms and white shelled armor. “Wonder why they’re here this time,” you said, speaking softly to no one in particular.

“Princess, if I may...” the older woman began.

“You may.”

“I believe they’re building another weapons factory to supply the Empire, in the north fields. Lord Vader was invited to oversee its induction.”

You kicked your legs lazily in the water, half-asleep and lulled into slowness by the refresher’s warm steam. “And I suppose he’s bringing along an entourage?” you asked, already knowing the answer. They always did, those Imperial sorts. It was just a question of how many and for how long they decided to stay, having taken any real power from your family royalty years ago after they’d discovered the trinium mines your planet was known for.

Your title had rotted of its relevance, made even lesser by the fact that you were the youngest daughter of seven. Your infant brother was being groomed for ventriloquism and you, you were being groomed for obsoletion.

Mila’s hands, roughened by years of laundry and lye soap, rubbed warm oils into your skin. “There was talk of a bounty hunter, your Highness.”

Your eyes shot open.

A bounty hunter?

 ⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You saw him a few weeks later, in the flurry of transport arrivals and mindless, droning ceremony. It was only a flash of his helmet, but it was enough to keep your imagination spinning for days.

Whispers from entreating servants and talk from stormtroopers that couldn’t keep their mouths shut had informed you of his reputation, his station, and his name. Boba Fett.

A particularly loose-lipped security droid regaled you with rumors of his being hired by Lord Vader, hunting a man named Han out in the Outer Rim. Quas Killam was on their way, apparently, good for information and heavy on the underworld dealings you’d always been shielded from. Truthfully, you didn’t much care. You knew no one got close to the Empire without blood on their hands. Whether they be kings or bounty hunters.

When you actually talked to the man, having been caught trying to eavesdrop on the chamber meeting he happened to be exiting the moment you leaned your ear against the door, any delusions of decorum were shattered the moment he opened his mouth. “Out of the way.”

You bristled, gathering up your skirts in a huff as you stepped away. Rude.

He was taller than you thought he’d be. Taller and broader than he looked before back on the cargo bay, a mere smudge in your peripheral vision. Now that he was alone save for you in the cavernous hallway, his words echoed on the marble tile. So much for espionage.

“My father’s in that meeting,” you replied shortly, putting on airs and doing your best to look like your mother, regal and cold.

Boba only stood there, thumbing the notches of his blaster until he caught the thin sparkle of the diadem crowning your head. A scoff, dismissive. “Then out of the way, princess.”

It wasn’t the title that bothered you. After all, it’s not like he was wrong. It was the way he said it. It was… it was patronizing! Condescending. Absolute inappropriate to a person of your station.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, more than a little attractive.

You shifted your weight onto one hip, scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, static-y and made even rougher by his helmet. “What? Princess.”

Stars, you heard that word a million times a day for a million different reasons. His saying it shouldn’t have felt so warm in your mouth.

Before you could volley back a reply, something equally biting and smarmy, the double doors he stood in front of began to groan open again.

“Better scram, little one.” Boba jerked his head towards the sound of your father’s advancing footsteps. “Daddy’s coming.”

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You often dreamed about what it’d be like to leave. Your title. Your station. All the bloody bores that came along with it.

But you had never even been outside the palace grounds. Probably never would, unless your father found someone willing to marry a low-ranking princess and hoisted you over their shoulder, a piece for a game you were never taught and never allowed to play. You’d already resigned yourself to that fact and half-way convinced yourself you were okay with it. But prisons were still prisons. Even if they were made of silk.

On the eve of Lord Vader's departure, everyone in the palace was preoccupied. Your father was most likely schmoozing some Imperial officer. Your mother, in bed with yet another headache. Your governess spent the day preening over your younger brother and your handmaiden was nowhere to be seen. You had a sneaking suspicion she was with one of the guards in a dark hallway.

So you slipped out behind a servant’s entrance and looked for a place to breathe.

Hardly anyone knew about this part of the palace gardens. It was sequestered behind so many winding footpaths and barely-oiled gates that the security droids never bothered patrolling past the main entrance, making it simple to duck underneath the overgrown hedges. The air was quiet; heavy-scented with all the flowers that had been planted and forgotten, left to grow wild across the footpaths and be crushed underneath your feet.

You used to come here quite often, when you were younger and it was easier to slip away. There were long spaces in your memory made of cotton, with hazy sun-soaked afternoons and the fountain that somehow still spouted out streams of cold water from the hands of a statue, some relic of an ancient ruler who had long since died. It was only a small courtyard, made smaller by the thick surrounding hedges and large chunks of cobblestone, but it felt like a whole galaxy to you.

A few minutes passed, then an hour. Two hours. A long, slow, summer stretch of day that just confirmed the fact of your irrelevance. It was filled in only by the mindless reading of your holopad and a few short naps. But better out here alone than stuck back inside, surrounded by those insufferable stormtroopers.

Maybe you spoke too soon, because a few seconds later you were toe-to-toe with Boba Fett, your back pressed to the garden wall. Stars, you didn’t even hear him walk in.

You’d think by now you would have learned to be more careful. Listening and being listened in on.

The helmet tilted up and then down, examining your sour expression. Rolling your eyes, you slumped against the ivy-covered brick, still smarting from your encounter with him a few days prior. “Why are you here?” A haughty, affected wave of your hand. “Were you sent here to fetch me?”

The man straightened out, stepping back from you with a broadening of his already broad shoulders.  Chips in his armor reflected tiny bits of sunlight, little silver speckles on green armor that looked even greener surrounded by wild flora. He hunted people for a living, so the fact that you were made quick work of didn’t really bother you. Still, it was a bit disappointing. Having to go back to the palace was the last thing you wanted.

“The king was concerned for your safety.”

Oh for Maker’s sake. “You mean he was concerned for his reputation.”

“I was told to find you-”

“-and bring me back so I could sit in a parlor and be supervised like a child.”

“Princess,” he sighed.

There was that word again.

A heavy swallow bobbed the lump in your throat, your chest flushed and littering the space between your bodies in a low buzz. You narrowed your eyes, not trusting your own head for something more articulate, and spit the question out. “What?”

He motioned towards the footpath, one hand resting on his belt. “Let’s go.”

You only crossed your arms with a raise of an eyebrow, mind floating an acknowledgement that you were very much acting like a child who needed to be supervised.

“I don’t make a habit of tracking down spoiled royalty.”

No one had ever called you spoiled before.

It was sort of refreshing.

The man cut an imposing figure, you’d give him that. With the helmet and blaster and… armor and such. You weren’t even entirely sure you remembered to put on real shoes before coming out here, still slippered and in stocking feet. What a pair you must’ve made. Incongruous.

You cocked your head and leant against the wall with the fabric of your dress swishing out around your ankles. Caught by warm, humid winds, its layers separated themselves into thin sails before falling down together again. Rhetorical questions were blooming alongside flowers. “Are spoiled royalty below your paygrade, then?”

A tip of his helmet said yes, yes they are.

You supposed as such, with the sort of reputation he had. Skilled bounty hunter. Feared mercenary. Expensive and coveted.

A lap dog.

Maybe there was more in common between you than you thought.

Another breeze whistled past, but the man in front of you was silent. “Well,” you finally spoke, brushing away the imaginary dirt on your dress. “I don’t make a habit of following around strange men, so we’re in a bit of a bind.”

There was an edge in his voice when you moved to walk away, a gloved grip snaking up and resting a deadweight on the back of your neck. You pushed up against him. Lothcat and mouse. You were both, but he was too. “I’m not telling you again, Princess.”

If he called you that again you were sure something would happen. What that something was you had no idea, but the epithet, mocking as it was, felt too good soaking in your sternum for it not to be a catalyst.

A breathy smirk left your lips when your hips canted downward and the gauzed fabric of your dress caught on his cuisse plate. “If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, reaching to flatten your palms across his chest, “I’d say you almost enjoyed chasing me.”

The hand on your nape tightened and his leather fingerprints dug unspoken threats into your skin that simmered, burning up and down your spine. You faked a pout. “Shame you already caught me, isn’t it?”

The grip surrounding you loosened just slightly, letting your back slide down the garden wall whose ivy-covered stone dragged at your bodice back. A small voice chirped up in the back of your head, chiding you for dirtying the delicate fabric before you willed it away, done with listening.

Boba almost growled. “Don’t push your luck.”

“My, my,” you clucked, shaking your head. Your fingers trailed towards the edges of his helmet and traced stripes where his brow bone would be. They were gold. For vengeance. “Aren’t we feeling insolent today?”

The man underneath the beskar scoffed, the palm that was at the back of your neck now wrapping itself around your outstretched wrist and pulling your hand away. You let out a quiet whine of protest, both at the loss of contact and just to see what it might do to him to hear it. When he stiffened, leaning away with every muscle seeming to tense and release and tense again, you were unreasonably pleased. There was still red blood underneath all that red paint.

Boba’s voice was clipped when he finally replied; the vowels came through strained and raspy. “I could say the same for you.”

Yes, he probably could, couldn’t he?

Then again, maybe your two wrongs could cancel out into being right and not at all compromising.

It’s not like you really did anything erroneous. Well, besides the running away part. But that was par for the course for you. All that was new was… him. And his hands. And his being alone with you. Which could possibly be construed as something wrong and compromising but how wrong could it be, really, if neither of you did anything?

Of course, this all hinged on neither of you doing anything. Compromising.

“Take the helmet off and I’ll go with you,” you offered, knowing how juvenile you sounded. You just wanted to see if he’d hear you. If he’d listen.

He did.

Boot spurs clinked as he stalked towards you, closer than he was before. It was invasive; almost chest to chest with no room for breathing as you were pushed up against the wall again, and you were met with the revelation that whatever you were toying with was probably a really, really bad idea.

Static filled your ears from the husk of his vocoder. “You know I can take you back whether you want to or not.” The roof of your mouth went dry and you remembered how Boba’s palm spanned the entire back of your neck, cradled delicately by leather fingers. He could crush your throat in one hand. Squeeze until you went limp. You wouldn’t be able to stop him. “I don’t need your permission.”

Your thumbs reached up to the lock mechanisms on either side of his head anyway. “I know.”

Fire felt good when you were close enough to be warmed by it. Whether or not you’d be burned was left to be seen.

The helmet lifted with a soft click.

Truth be told, you’re surprised he let you do it.

You dangled the helm almost carelessly by your hip, curling your fingers around the lip of it whilst your other hand stayed hovering near his face. He looked a bit older than you imagined, mid-thirties maybe, scarred and stern-looking. Handsome.

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead but all you wanted—stupid, stubborn, and yearning for a plaything—was to feel the black curls cropped close to his ears. Which probably counted as compromising.

Without the modulator Boba’s voice was deeper, the rumbling kind of richness that was used to giving orders and used to having them followed. It bore down on you as a concrete weight. “I’m not a kind man, princess.”

He forgot that you were used to giving orders too.

The coarse material of his collar chafed your palm as you held it, gripping a lifeline, and tilted your mouth up to his ear. The softness of your voice disguised your intention. It sounded innocent when you whispered it. Gentle, even. “I never said I wanted you to be.”

His lips bruised you and tasted like salt.

It was all tongue, teeth, barely cloaked violence, pressed until your throat felt raw and your heartbeat dropped below the ground to join whatever was left of your dignity. When your knees buckled, a gloved hand settled large between your shoulder blades.

You didn’t think your first kiss would be like this.

Hypothetically it would have been clinical, fumbling and awkward in your own inexperience. Out in front of a crowd somewhere after you met the eyes of a stranger at the altar. Or maybe in secret, like it was now, with a tryst of boyhood and a peck on the cheek.

Boba Fett was a stranger, but he wasn’t a boy. And this wasn’t a peck on the cheek.

You didn’t realize he had lifted you up by your hips until you were placed back down again, his having crossed the few steps from the wall to the nearby fountain with arms firmly wrapped around your middle and not so much as a strain of his hips. His strength should have scared you. It did scare you, a little, but the same hands that had gripped the blaster still at his side were deceptively gentle around your waist. You let yourself be brought down by his bended knees.

“Easy there,” Boba said, still crouching on the ground beside you as you slowly lay back on the lip of the waterwork, white noise burbling from the quiet fixtures. The flat, curved slab surrounding the shallow pool was wide enough that you needn’t worry about balancing, speckled gray stone warmed from weather and soon by skin. There was one moment where Boba allowed you to catch your breath and then it was gone, knocked out of your lungs in another assiduous touch.

“Poor thing,” he mocked, sardonic even as he cooed gently into your open mouth. Your back arched in an unwitting presentation and blood pounded a drumbeat in your ears. All you could see was Boba; his face and his shoulders and his arms braced beside your head, leaning over your horizontal form. Like you were prey. Maybe you were. “What would your father say if he saw you like this?”

He wouldn’t be able to say anything. Would stand there, mouth agape and his eyes doing that strange bulging thing it always did when you did anything besides sew embroidery squares. Fainting wasn’t out of the question. It would be ridiculously fun to watch.

You huffed, chasing Boba’s mouth with your own when he shifted above you. The midday sun hung high, edging the bounty hunter’s tanned face in white. You could see your own eyes in the reflection of his pupils, could smell his warm skin. His canines scraped your collarbones. Everything was fast, blurry, and burning.

Stars above.

The whole situation was ridiculous. Twenty minutes ago you’d never been kissed on the mouth and now you were letting a killer-for-hire grope you like you were a back-alley harlot.

It wouldn’t end well. You’d curse after he left and hate yourself for letting him stay, because his staying would be brief and shallow and cruel, but right now, lying on the edge of a fountain with sunshine on your neck and a low voice in your ear, staying was the only thing you wanted him to do.

What an egregious lapse in judgement.

What a beautiful, electrifying lapse in judgement.

“You’re so—” a slurred pitchiness invaded your vocal chords, coating everything in bitter syrup. Your jaw was starting to numb from unforgiving lips. “—so rude,” you choked out, mind struggling to find footing amid its own dizziness. You felt like an overheating droid, full of bad code and faulty wiring that made your words and your actions discordant because even as you insulted the man, your hands were curling around his shoulders to pull him closer. “Always so rude, so… so mean to me. Makes me want—” you panted, voice breaking off into a whine when a calloused palm slid across the back of your thigh, “...want…”

His accent curled the consonants into a dance. “Want what, Princess?”

Expectant in their heaviness but teasing a smile in their lined corners, Boba’s eyes were the color of charred umber. Squirming in his arms, you nosed your face into the junction of his collarbones. “Want you,” you finally mumbled, admitting it in one long, pathetic exhale.

His promise had sharp teeth.

“You can have me.”