#not to state the obvious but they are…you know…rebels

[better-call-mau1]

@jessicas-pi first off, that AU sounds awesome (and thank you for reassuring me that the “debilitating angst” is ultimately rewarded with a happy ending…I probably couldn’t handle it otherwise 😅)…you’ve got me wanting to ask a lot of curious questions, so maybe I should just start reading! And that other WIP??? 😲 Sheesh…I obviously haven’t considered the full potential (humor and angst) of seeing Sabezra through Bo-Katan’s eyes. Can’t wait for Sabine’s reaction to that question though! 🤣👌

Sabine: I can’t believe how much we have in common!

Satine: Our names, for starters —— just one letter different.

Sabine: Iconic style and fashion sense, of course.

Satine: And let’s not forget about our problems with estranged family members.

Sabine: We’ve both had precarious encounters with Maul, too!

Satine: Precarious indeed. Is there anything else you can think of?

Sabine: Hmmmmm...well...

Obi-Wan and Ezra: *standing together awkwardly in the background*

Sabine: ...nothing I’d admit publicly.

Satine: I suppose you don’t have your own Korkie, then? A ‘nephew’ of inexplicable origin?

Sabine: Sorry...a what??

Satine: Never mind. Give it a few years.

[danyllura]

Despite Snows focus being on Katniss, I would argue Peeta played a far more of a rebellious role in his part of the “star crossed lover” during their first games than her. From the moment Cinna gets them to hold hands during the opening ceremony their pairing is shrouded in a “touch of rebellion” - we know alliances among district partners is normal/expected but it is also clear that the terms of agreement are temporary and built upon the goal of their individual survival. Peeta is the one that breaches that agreement, by pushing their relationship beyond district partners to that of “star crossed lovers” with the admittance of his crush on Katniss. It is the intent behind why he chooses what to share that is shrouded in rebellion. Early on Peeta is aware of Katniss’ potential as a tribute and beyond that he recognizes that “spark” that can make her “desirable” to others. Yes, he genuinely loves her. But he shares so not to be honest, or to make himself a sympathetic character for the capitol, but to hopefully benefit her in the arena. He pushes this further by his continuous reiterating of his feelings to the audience, during his time with the careers, alone, and then eventually with Katniss. Time and time again he displays that her survival is his ultimate goal in the games, willing to prioritize her victory over his own life. And while yes, Peeta does this because he does truly love and care about Katniss, he is intentional with his actions. He broadcasts his feelings because it benefits her. And every aspect of that goes against what the games are meant to do to people; divide them.

Comparatively, in regards to the “star crossed lovers” Katniss is much more obedient to the rules of the games. She doesn’t initially portray herself to return Peetas feelings. She plays as a solo player, and Katniss quite literally states she appears “heartless” because of this when they watch back over their time in the arena. When it’s only one promised victor and she believes Peeta to be allied with the careers, she drops a nest of tracker jackets over where Peeta is sleeping and showing she views him as any other competitor. Katniss only reciprocates the role of “star crossed lovers” when the capitol has allowed that type of alliance to work within the games. And if anything her later trick with the berries, is a scene of the capitols own making. It is a final act of desperation. Katniss’ knows Peeta is on the brink of death and it’s even a possibility for the Mutts that had just killed Cato to reappear. When she’s handing the berries to Peeta and as she spills them into her mouth, Katniss is not thinking of the significance of her choice or the potential consequences it may illicit. It’s an emotional decision, not a calculated one. In comparison, laying Rue to rest in a bed of flowers was a far more calculated act of rebellion from Katniss.

But despite all this, President Snow almost solely blames Katniss for the oncoming rebellion. And while Katniss does do many things that help initiate that spark, such as volunteering for Prim, singing to Rue, risking her life for Peeta at the feast- it isn’t that he blames, but rather her lying about loving Peeta back. Because Snow is stuck in the past with his belief that Lucy Gray tricked him into loving her. And Katniss, with her singing and her Mockinjays, is such an obvious parallel of Lucy Grays ghost- he misses the fact that Peeta has been a far more calculated player that has actively rebelled from everything the games are meant to turn you into from the moment he was reaped.

[fushipurro]

The Nature of Depravity

Masterlist

☆ Synopsis: You were an angel, a saint, one of the most profound icons worshipped by mortal kind. There wasn’t a soul in paradise or the fire below that didn’t know your name. It seemed that everywhere you went, you left behind a trail of all things good.

You were one of the best heaven had to offer ─ up until the day you fell from grace and into the hands of a sinner.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, AU - fantasy, religious imagery, mentions of blood/violence, implied murder, biting, creampie, scratching, p in v, foreplay, angst, everyone's bad at feelings, true form sukuna, tonguefucking, loss of virginity

☆ Word Count: 10.7k

It wasn’t like one day you woke up and decided to rebel against the heavenly utopia.Rather, it happened like any other day while you were making your rounds to several war-torn villages recently burnt to ash. You sought to aid in the recovery of those lucky to survive, but unbeknownst to you at the time, a group of demons were awaiting your arrival.

With one precise throw, they managed to impale one of your wings with iron weaponry, effectively knocking you from the sky. From there, everything that followed seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, and the next thing you knew, you found yourself here ─ bound in chains, brought before the King of Demons.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Otherwise known as the Fallen, or the Disgraced One, Sukuna was once a proud angel of similar status to your own. It’s unknown how his departure from Heaven came to be. Some claim that he was the bastard child of an unholy couple, while others claim he was never an angel to begin with ─ merely a forked-tongue creature living under the guise of your virtuous ways. At the end of the day, he shed his wings and took over the hellfire realm with unyielding strength.

You stand before him, trapped to an iron pole that burns you to the touch. The metal rod from earlier still marring your wing ─ no doubt broken as it lays flat at your side, oozing with golden, angelic blood.

“What do we have here?” The voice of king stretches across the room, inciting the demons that brought you here to bow in his presence. Something you already have no choice but to do. The intense pain and your lack of energy from the earlier fight affects you greatly now, killing any hope of refusal.

“My lord, we’ve capture this angel we now offer to you.”

“That much is obvious,” Sukuna responds coldly, rolling his eyes. He presses a bored fist to temple. “So what? You’ve come here seeking something from me, haven’t you? Go on, spit it out.”

The demon at your side sputters with nerves before another takes over, “This is no ordinary angel we’ve brought you,” he says, stating your name to the demon king, “We desire your protection, and means for our survival. Our families are poor and struggling to keep those foul humans out of our land.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the sound of a cruel laughter meant to mock the demons uttering such filth.

“My lord?”

“Quiet,” he commands with no such amusement from moments ago. “If you’re too weak to fight then you deserve to lay down and die. Your kind is meant to be chewed up by the strong.”

“But Sir–“

A flick of his finger, and blood sprays out in all directions, some of its droplets even landing across your face. In the next second, that demon’s head rolls into view. The others behind you gasp in fear, a few even daring to step back only to meet the same demise.

“You’d do well to remember that everything you have belongs to me. Your homes, your land, your lives.” He laughs again. “All of it belongs to your one true king. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind on letting the rest of you live.”

The demons leave in a hurry, and all that remains is both you and the devil.

Sukuna approaches you slowly, like a predator cornering their prey, uncaring that he has to cross a puddle of black demon blood to reach you. With two fingers, he lifts you by your chin, allowing you to drink in the sight of someone who used to be just like you.

Black ink binds to his skin, visible across the expanse of his body from what you can make out. With four arms, and a set of eyes growing from the side of his face, he’s the textbook definition of a demon by human standards. But as an angel, well… you’ve seen more unique creations in the first sphere of your celestial hierarchy. Different doesn’t always have to mean repulsive.

“Such a pathetic sight,” he murmurs, moving your head as though you’re a fruit being examined for its quality. “A broken, pitiful excuse of an angel in my domain.” A grin appears on his face, ripe with his malevolent nature. “How the so-called mighty continue to fall.”

You should bite back. You should be saying something, anything to defend heaven from the one who for whatever reason forsake it, leaving it all behind to become the enemy of virtue. Yet, you’re unable to come up with anything like all your peers would.

Sukuna appears to be studying your expression carefully, finding himself perplexed by your lack of animosity.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks with a hint of curiosity, though his face remains neutral.

“Should I be?” you respond, and without much thought or consideration for the position you’re in. He could do whatever he wants with you, and it would as easy as it is for him to take a life.

He laughs again, letting it echo throughout the throne room.

“Most creatures tremble in fear before me. You even got to see what happens to those who annoy me.” He pauses, revealing sharpened fangs as his grows wide. “And yet, you ask me if you should be afraid. Well, I think the answer is quite obvious, don’t you agree?”

“If it is my fate to die by your hands, then so be it.” As you tell him those words, you feel your strength slipping. The weight of your head sinking deeper into his touch. Even your sight is starting to cloud with black spots.

“Fate? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.” He leans down, mere inches from your face. “You’re just like the rest of your kin, always preaching the gospel of a false king. Your paradise is nothing but a garden of lies.”

You can’t help but wonder from Sukuna’s words what happened to birth such hatred for your shared homeland.

“Being scared would do me no good. In my current state, I pose no threat to you,” you point out. “What reason do I have to fight you?”

He scoffs, “There’s a war going on, and you and I are on opposite sides.”

“That’s never mattered to me.”

He clicks his tongue, swapping the fingers under your jaw with his whole hand. His nails dig into your cheeks, but you can hardly feel it. You can hardly feel anything but coldness.

“I understand if it’s my time; do as you will with me.”

“You speak as if your life holds no value.” He seems to be evaluating you again, tracing his lower set of eyes across your broken wing with scrutiny in his gaze. The other two remain locked with yours. “I wonder if your dear paradise would even allow your return… you may as well be one of the fallen now.”

His words barely register before everything goes black and you succumb to the darkness swelling around your form. You’ve held the hands of many humans on their way into paradise, and many speak of death’s embrace being so warm and inviting.

But all you feel is cold.

So, so cold.

“Sleep well, angel. I’ll be seeing you again soon enough.”

Slowly but surely, everything starts falling back into place. Reality returning to your lifeless form as you awaken from your slumber.

With a tired groan, you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. Nothing about where you are screams paradise, and in fact, it’s more of the opposite. Currently, you lay atop a large bed, surrounded by red silk sheets and pillows. The room itself is especially decorated with lavish details and portraits bordered with gold, its imagery ranging from acts of debauchery to icons painted with blood. Something about those specific paintings raises an unsettling feeling in the back of your mind.

“You’re awake,” a voice calls from the doorway. The richness of his voice makes it obvious without turning your head that you’re not actually dead, but still within Sukuna’s castle of sin. “How are you feeling?” he asks, though his demeanor remains calm, devoid of any underlying concern or true empathy.

You try and sit up, but quickly fall back from the pain, almost forgetting the trauma you had been through. You only realize now the number of bandages wrapping your body, the majority contorting your wing into a makeshift sling.

“You saved me?” you ask with disbelief in your tone. You thought for sure your time was up, yet your heart still beats, quicker now in Sukuna’s presence. “Why?”

“Yes, I saved you. And as for why…” He crosses his arm, maintaining his cold stare. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.” A subtle smirk appears.

“Whatever the case may be, thank you, for not letting me die.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for charity,” he says bluntly. “In due time, you’ll be fulfilling your usage to me. That is the only reason you’re still alive.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words. “What use would you have of me?”

That devilish grin makes a reappearance on his face as he strides closer to the bed, towering over you. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, you need only to focus on your recovery.”

So much for getting any answers or having any chance of leaving.

“Charity or not ─ I still thank you,” you say back to him, smiling all the while despite the fact you’re now akin to a bird confined in a gilded cage. Better than an iron cell, but not the same as the freedom that calls to you. At the end of the day, however, and for whatever reason he has, he still chose to help you.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he chuckles, eyes darkening. “It’s far too early for that.”

Sukuna’s amusement fades as the doors to your room open, revealing a white-haired servant holding a tray of sorts.

“My lord,” they greet, bowing to the King of Demons.

“Good, you’re here, Uraume. See to her recovery now that’s awake. I have work that needs to be done,” he announces, stepping out of the way for the one called Uraume to approach. Sukuna eyes fixate on you again as their servant helps you sit up. “I’ll warn you now, angel. You’re in my domain.” His tone is stern, full of unspoken promise. “If you so much as try to escape, I’ll clip both of your wings and leave you to rot this time around.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony in his words. “Don’t worry, I think we both know I’m in no condition to leave. Nor do I plan on trying either.”

Despite the humor of it, one look at your wing is enough to question what life will be like for you from now on. There’s a question that when you recover, will you ever be able to fly again? You can’t help but feel off about the dull coloring of your wings now.

All angels radiate a celestial glow across the span of their perfectly white wings ─ like light scattered through a prism in every hair and fiber. That glow is seemingly gone from yours, and you think you spot some gray forming at the base. To be absent of that symbol of your connection, one can only assume it to be a sign of what’s to come.

“See that you don’t,” he remarks, turning away to let Uraume work.

Uraume makes careful work of changing out your bandages. They work quick and with deft fingers, trying their best not to aggravate your wing further. All the while, you face away towards the head of the bed, hiding your now exposed chest with your arms. You feel them pause, tracing a finger down your back. In your mind, you assume it to be one of the many marks left behind from the demons that captured you, and thus, you don’t focus too much on it.

You fail to notice Sukuna’s gaze transfixed on you from the doorway. Although silent, a darkness looms over his features. He exits the room moments later, shutting the door with more force than necessary, making your body jolt.

It’s a while before Uraume finishes, and they leave you with some fresh fruit to dine on. While you’re supposed to be resting, you find it difficult, especially after learning you’ve already been asleep for several days. That knowledge is precisely why you ditch the sheets to walk out onto the veranda connected to your room.

The moon is high in the sky, basking the courtyard garden with its sheer, red-toned light. Down here in the realm of fire, it’s as though the moon forever mirrors the flames conjured up from demons. That, or it reflects the many pools of blood from a millennium of suffering.

“Don’t you look like a broken bird,” Sukuna comments from behind you. For someone of his stature, it’s a wonder you didn’t hear him approaching.

“In a way, I am,” you muse, moving your eyes forward again. “One that flew too far from her nest.”

“Fallen from the nest and into the hands of a monster, how your precious fate seems to curse you.”

“Monster?” You snap your head in his direction with an incredulous look. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself with that comment.”

“You would deny what I am?” His voice is tinged with arrogance as he comes up beside you, not bothering to spare a glance. “I am the King of Demons, the most despised of life’s creation. How am I not a monster?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you respond, tilting your head. “Whatever the case may be, you chose to let me live, and even saw to the treatment of my injuries. You could’ve kept me in chains, plucking my feathers one by one, but you didn’t. You even have me in a room made for royalty.”

He scoffs, but you don’t let it stop you from continuing.

“Your title aside, I don’t assume anyone to be a monster ─ only a victim of circumstance. Is someone truly born evil, or is evil nurtured?”

Sukuna appears mildly surprised by your speech, giving you his attention. You spot the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “A victim of circumstance, you say?” he repeats with an added air of mockery. “You raise an interesting point, but that doesn’t make you any less of a fool. Tell me, do you believe that because you’re an angel, you’re exempt from the original sin?”

“Not at all,” you answer quickly, and full of conviction. There’s not a drop of fear or hesitation as you openly speak your mind to Sukuna. “All of us ─ angels, demons, humans… we’re all doing what we can with the lives we were given. Angels rise and fall; some sinners beg for forgiveness while others let it define their nature. What’s important to me is how you treat others.”

“By that logic, what of the demons that maimed you? What of me, who has already killed in your presence?” Sukuna refutes. “Most would agree those to be the act of monsters.”

“Does being a demon mean you automatically deserve to be punished for the title you brandish? Does one act define your whole being? The demons who brought me before you sought help and protection ─ for that, I cannot blame them for their actions upon me. What difference is there between heaven and hell if I’m blinded by namesakes instead of looking at all the good and evil that can come from anyone, even of my own kind?”

Sukuna appears almost at a loss of words from your rambling. In truth, he wasn’t expecting such philosophy from someone so high in the celestial hierarchy, but he can see now why the humans would think to praise you as a saint.

“You make it sound so simple… so noble.” He’s looking at you now a deeper gleam in his eyes, intrigued enough to forgive your bold speech to him of all people. Most beings would never get away talking to him like you have after all. “So you would say there’s no difference between you and me after everything you’ve witnessed? How many in heaven would even agree with you?”

“I believe morality is a wild card that’s been muddied one too many times. There’s good and evil in everyone, even the almighty creators that chose to allow lesser beings to suffer in order to achieve growth. I can’t say I know many who would agree with me, but I understand their feelings and I’ll continue to trust in the potential for good.”

“You speak with a passion despite your predicament,” he huffs amusingly. “Still, I must admit, you have a unique way of thinking for an angel that’s uncommonly seen.”

You acknowledge his words with a hum, drifting your eyes to your wings lying flat at your side. “Most likely why heaven doesn’t seem too keen on my return,” you murmur, referencing the missing glow. “In return for saving me, I’ll see if I can be of use to you.” You’ll need a new purpose if you are to fall from grace.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound almost sinister. “An angel, offering her services to a demon. How… poetic.”

Silence takes over as you both admire the red glow of the garden. All that can be heard is running water from the fountain pond, and the occasional splashing of its scaled inhabitants.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may,” Sukuna responds with one of his lower eyes pointed your way. “Whether or not I’ll answer is a different matter.”

You choose your next words carefully. This back-and-forth debate has been an unexpected treat after the pain you’ve endured to get here.

“You were an angel once too, yes? What happened that led your fall?”

His jaw clenches from the sudden inquiry. “There was a time I too preached the seven virtues; as for how I came to become the monstrosity I am today is a long, dark story.”

After telling you this, Sukuna starts to walk away.

“I see… I hope one day I’ll have the chance to hear it.”

He scoffs, giving you a sidelong stare over his shoulders. “I’ll consider your words, but it’s best now you return to your quarters and rest. Don’t go flying off anywhere.” His twisted laugh echoes from down the halls, and despite the cruelty of it, you can’t help but smile.

Days pass, and while you’d like to say you’ve gotten into a routine, even an angel like yourself isn’t immune to going stir crazy. To be grounded like this for as long as you have now is unnatural, and as your feathers seem to darken each day ─ so do your thoughts on the situation.

Currently, you’re seated out on the veranda again, admiring the servants working from afar to keep the courtyard clean and the shrubbery trimmed to the king’s liking. There’s a feeling that bubbles from within at the sight of those taking to their wings to reach the heights of certain trees, or cleaning along the palace rooftops. A feeling you aren’t sure just what to call as of now.

“Bored, are you?” That familiar tone reappearing. His arrival is the only bearable part of your stay as he forces you out of your own mind.

“I have the gift of life; I could never be bored,” you state, not taking your eyes off the demons that cling to the skies. “I am however… longing, I’d say.”

Sukuna’s eyes find you, moving from your face down to your wing. You’ve gotten to where you can feel his burning stare at times, even when he’s not around. While it may come off as intrusive, you find it a comfort.

“You miss it, don’t you? Being up in the skies, untethered from the earth.” he asks with understanding, but also that same recurring hint of his typical mockery.

“The wind between each feather, the sights you can only see from above…” You can’t help but sigh at what now feels like a distant memory. You’re certain your wing will recover, but whether you can maintain flight is a mystery in itself until the time is right. “Will you tell me now what purpose you have in keeping me around?”

Purpose is something you need right now to stave off the thoughts.

“Impatient, are we?” He holds your gaze silently for a moment before continuing. “I have my reasons, but I’m not ready to divulge them. For now, let me make it clear that you’re too valuable of a prize for me not to keep around.”

“A prize, huh?” You ponder the thought, leaning your body against one of the columns for support. “Am I even worthy if my connection to paradise has been severed?” you mumble on instinct, not intending for him to hear such thoughts you never knew you had.

He does though, and it leads to him furrowing his brows, and averting his stare to elsewhere in his domain.

“Who cares about heaven?” he starts, keeping his voice low and full of what you believe to be spite. You wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled his eyes as well. “Even if they abandoned you, your existence still holds value to me. Fallen or not, you’re a walkingcontradiction that’s piqued my interest. As far as I’m concerned, heaven was holding you back from your true potential.”

Moments like these are why you’ll argue with him for as long as necessary to prove he’s more than what he makes himself out to be.

“Is that so?” You smile. His eyes flicker back to you at the sound of your giggling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sukuna finds himself grinning as well. “Am I?” he questions while reaching to your feathers, running his fingers along them with a delicate touch. “And what would that be in your eyes?”

“The best way I can explain it is that you’re simply you ─ Sukuna.” You lean back one hand, gesturing with the other. “You try and present yourself as some monstrous demon that burns everything you touch, but here you are treating me with such care. I don’t doubt your strength, but I believe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“You’re a perceptive one, I’ll give you that, angel.” A beat of silence, and the flash of what could be read as vulnerability in his typically guarded demeanor. “But remember, I’m still a demon. My nature is not a kind one, so don’t go forgetting that detail.”

You chuckle, “I won’t, but I stand by my point. It’s my nature to see the good in everything that shares the same life as me.”

“Sounds tiring,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. He removes his hand from your wing, tucking it back into his robe.

“Tiring? Oh contraire.” You smirk, feeling a spark of confidence ─ and maybe some defiance. “Do you only see the bad in everything? Always assuming the worst of others and thus feel the need to extinguish their life before they have a chance to bear their fangs? That to me seems tiring if you must always need your guard up.”

His face darkens considerably, and you realize too late that you’ve struck a nerve.

“You know nothing of what I’ve been through or why I do the things I do, so don’t pretend that you do,” he spits. The underlying wrath in his tone has your feathers puffing up. “Power is all that keeps me alive and keeps me going in this god-forsaken world. When you’ve been betrayed and hunted like I have, you learn quickly that you can only truly rely on yourself and not to trust others, especially not an angel.”

Guilt pangs in your chest alongside hurt from his choice words. You don’t regret what you said, but you maybe regret the timing of it, or not having considered his feelings before letting it all out. Life isn’t as fair to everyone as it might’ve been for you, but his anger has shown you the likelihood that his lifestyle was something nurtured ─ not the nature of sin one might argue.

He couldn’t have been born evil. It had to have been the acts of others that left him no choice but to become the embodiment of said evil.

And you can’t blame him for it, nor can you turn back time to right all of the wrongs. Fate must have brought you here for a reason, and in time you hope Sukuna realizes he doesn’t have to suffer alone. Even if he never pleads for forgiveness, you’ll show him that life is more than the negatives.

“I apologize if I upset you.” You stand up from your seat, tipping your head. A sudden act of submission even he can’t argue with. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning to my quarters now to rest.”

His glare seems to soften, if only a slight change. “…Fine. Go rest,” he quietly sighs, shifting back towards his garden view.

You take your leave, unknowingly leaving behind one of your fallen feathers in your previous spot. Sukuna notices this, lifting it to the moon’s light, watching it filter through the hairs. He kisses his teeth before stalking back to his own quarters across the yard.

You don’t see Sukuna much after that, almost like he’s trying to avoid you. Is he really that upset with you? It begs the question whether he still wants you around, or if his anger outweighs your worth enough to kill you and be done with it.

It’s another night where you find yourself out in the garden, enjoying the semblance of freedom it offers. You no longer have a bandage around your wing ─ which now is half covered in shade coloring ─ and Uraume has instructed you to begin stretching it to work back into a routine of physical therapy.

It can’t hurt to see if you can at least lift yourself off the ground, right?

So, you stand at the center of what appears to be Sukuna’s training grounds, as it offers plenty of space to move. With the moonlight against your back, you stretch out your wings in full, covering a good portion of the area around your body. You feel nervous yet eager to fly, enough to push past the dull pain you feel when you finally begin to lift yourself up off the ground.

Already you’re sweating ─ so out of shape from rest ─ but you don’t want to give up. It’s too soon and knowing now you can be off the ground makes you hopeful that this is the day you can take to the skies again. Only you don’t realize how much strain you’re putting on yourself, and how your unharmed wing must compensate more fiercely.

“Come on…” you strain, flapping harder than before when a sudden jolt of pain pierces through your wing, sending you crashing back into the dirt with a yelp. It only gets worse as your weight ended up landing on your recovering wing.

“You idiot!” Sukuna appears, shouting with alarm as he comes up to your side. His usual calm demeanor having been replaced with both anger and concern. “You’re not fully healed yet, what were you thinking?” he snarls, forcing you to sit up off your crooked wing.

You start to tear up from the pain, feeling a wave of emotions crashing into you all at once. Feelings you never knew existed outside humanity. You let it all out by sobbing into the dirt, and out of sheer frustration, you begin clawing at it too, angrily flapping your wings like a child throwing a tantrum.

Sukuna is surprised by your sudden outburst. The sound of your tears and the flapping of your wings is like a desperate cry for the freedom you once felt. He grabs at your shoulders, commanding you with his voice, “Cut it out, you’re only making it worse.”

“It’s already worse!” you shout back at him, surprising him yet again with this new side of you. “Let’s face it, Sukuna ─ my wing is ruined, I’m falling into ruin, there’s nothing left of me!” Your cracked voice tears through the garden, its serenity now clouded in the anger and hopelessness you feel.

This is the first moment of your life you’ve ever felt suffering like the mortals you’ve guided, and for the reason to be something as selfish as self-loathing… it shows how far you’ve fallen from grace.

“Stop being dramatic,” he growls. “If you don’t give yourself time to heal, then how can say for certain you’ll never fly again?”

You throw yourself into Sukuna’s front, unsure how else to cope with the weight of your emotions. An angel seeking comfort in a demon. You may be free falling into sin, but you have to agree with the poetry of it like Sukuna suggested.

He wasn’t expecting you to suddenly cling to him, but besides the mild annoyance he feels, he doesn’t make any moves to push you away. His awkward embrace is warmer than you would’ve thought, but this is the ruler of flames we’re talking about.

You don’t feel as cold as you have when he arms shield you from the world, and the depths of your mind.

When your tears settle and your breathing mellows, Sukuna lifts you from the ground with ease. He carries you back to your room, placing you gently down onto the edge of your bed. His hand moves with practiced care to your wing, feeling for any discomfort. You wince of course, and he lets a frustrated sigh after a minute of testing.

“I’ll send Uraume in to deal with this,” he tells you, and you notice his tone lacks the usual authority or contempt. He shifts his gaze from your wing to your face, reading for any signs of life in your distant eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, and it’s the truth. As an angel, you were designed to only feel emotions such as humility, kindness, patience… but now you don’t know what to label yourself with, or how to get through it. “What’s wrong with me?” you ask, not daring to look up from your knees.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” One of his hands comes up under your jaw, lifting your chin to meet his crimson gaze. All four eyes staring into yours with the visage of understanding. “You’ve lost your light is all.”

Your light, your home, your paradise.

“I’ve lost everything.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” His thumb traces your skin.

“Is that even worth it anymore? I’m no prize in this state, merely a broken bird like you had claimed.”

He furrows his brows, annoyed that you’re using his words against him as you wave the proverbial white flag with your voice.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snaps ─ harsh, but a necessary evil. “If you had no value, I would’ve killed you long ago. You have the mindset I’ve only seen in one other of your kind, and your knowledge and resilience are quite admirable in my eyes.” He lets go of your chin, stepping away from the bed. As he moves to leave, he stops, and without turning to look at you he says, “In time, you’ll realize how worthy you are.”

You weren’t sure if it could get any worse, but as the days continue to pass, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the abyss that is your psyche.

Uraume has been hovering around more often than not, urging you to stay in bed and rest, but you hate it. You hate this feeling of being powerless, of being empty, of not being able to live as you once had. From the moment you could fly, you were wandering the human realm, helping everyone you came across from the largest of creatures to the smallest of insects.

It’s your nature to help others no matter the cost. What’s not is putting yourself first. But now, everything’s changing ─ faster than you could have ever imagined.

You think this is what humans would refer to as fear, and what an unpleasant feeling it is.

Sukuna comes by every day, sometimes more than once to check in on you, and each time he finds you in the same, curled up position with your face buried in the silk.

He’s had enough of this slothful behavior.

“You need to eat, angel,” he says firmly, tapping his finger loudly on the bed post.

“’m not hungry,” you respond, though your voice is muffled and weak.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and the force he puts into tapping his finger threatens to crack the wood. “You can’t just ignore your needs forever,” he retorts, “You need to eat, now.”

“Why do you care so much?” You don’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do, but luckily Sukuna is a patient man, most of the time.

“I didn’t save you just to watch you die in such a pathetic, mortal way.”

“Haven’t I always appeared pathetic since the day we met?” Bound in chains, bloodied with no celestial shine. Weak, broken, a pitiful excuse of heaven’s most revered angel. Complete, and utterly pathetic.

He kisses his teeth. “You’ve had your moments, but if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself, then you would see all that you are. All that you can be now.”

You’re silent for a few moments as you ponder his words. His unrestraint in speaking his mind may not always be a virtue, but it’s a comfort you’ve come to welcome all the same.

You turn your head his way and ask, “Was it like this for you when you fell from grace?”

“I wasn’t moping like you are, if that’s what you mean.” He then sighs and takes a seat along the edge of the bed, cautious in avoiding your sprawled out wing ─ which has become increasingly black as the days pass by. “But yes, I too had to overcome human emotion to get where I am now. It won’t last forever, I assure you.”

“You were right before,” you murmur, staring past Sukuna into your view of the garden. “I don’t know all the struggles you’ve had to face, or anyone for that matter. It doesn’t matter if I’ve visited one village or a thousand burnt to ash. Until now, I’ve never truly felt pain like this in my heart.”

Both set of eyes look down at you, but not in the sense that you’re beneath him. His gaze is understanding, regretful even for how he spoke to you before. You’ve stirred up Sukuna’s emotions without realizing, forcing him to come to terms with how he feels.

“What you’ve seen in the past has always been the aftermath of war. Until you’ve faced suffering yourself, you never would understand the pain behind it.” There’s a bitterness lacing his words as he remembers that period of his life prior to becoming king.

The moment that changed the course of his life forever.

“For whatever you’ve been through, I’m so sorry.” Tears rush down the side of your eyes, collecting into the sheets. “I always believed heaven had everyone’s backs, even those who hadn’t redeemed themselves, but I was wrong, so wrong. I’m just as guilty as every other celestial being for turning a blind eye and letting you suffer.”

Sukuna’s demeanor softens up at your apology, and he reaches a sharpened nail out to catch one of your tears. “Your apology is unnecessary… but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

The two of you sit in silence as you let the tears flow freely. The only sound aside from your own being the windchime Uraume had put up along the garden doors one evening. It’s the normal glass bulb shape, but the papery sheet that catches the wind is black, with red-spider lilies painted across. The flower’s coloring continuously reminds you of another with that same hue painted four times over.

Your stomach eventually disrupts the scene, cueing what you both were already aware of.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry; are you going lie again?” he teases, now poking his finger into your back.

“I guess I could try and eat something,” you playfully reply, moving to sit up. You feel discomfort immediately in your head, your vision darkening in turn from how long it’s been since you’ve last had a proper meal.

“Rest,” he orders after noticing your grimace. “I’ll have food brought to you immediately.”

Before he gets too far, you call out to him, “Sukuna?” He turns, giving you his attention. “Thank you,” you tell him, the moonlight hitting your face just as you smile. Its red glow is accentuated by your glossy cheeks, almost like a blush.

“You’re welcome,” he replies gruffly, but with the hint of his own smile hidden buried under his scarf.

From there, the days only get easier. Resting has felt less of a routine, and with Uraume’s help, physical therapy has been going well. There’s plenty of new growth in the form of pinfeathers across your wingspan, and the oldest of such white at the very tips still. It appears your broken wing will forever remain deformed ─ no thanks to the stunt you pulled ─ but you find yourself embracing the change.

The same can be said for many things now in your new life, such as how you’ve come to enjoy the night over day. The moon’s light is a comforting touch, as is the serenity felt in the late hours. You let that light guide your fingers across your wings, preening the darkened feathers to look your best.

Another change you’ve noticed are the appearance of marks stemming from the center of your back. According to Uraume, they were present at the time of your arrival, but since then have grown to wrap around your body in a filigree type pattern. You’re reminded of Sukuna’s own markings as you examine your body, and you’ve begun to question if this is how heaven marks their fallen.

Reaching the feathers closest to that part of your body is a challenge, and one you’re struggling to overcome. Angels typically preen each other’s wings in a show of chastity, and companionship. You’re certain Uraume would help if you ask, but the idea stirs a sense of intimacy now for whatever reason.

“Having trouble there?” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the night from behind you as always, making you jolt in surprise.

“Oh– uhh, yeah, just a bit.”

“It’s not an easy task reaching those feathers on your own, is it?” he muses with a snickering laugh. His footsteps are silent as he comes ever closer to the edge of the veranda.

“It isn’t, but I’m positive there’s feathers there ready to be unfurled.” You have a focused look on your face as you try once more to bend your arms in outrageous ways to try and reach.

“Let me help,” he says, brushing your hands away.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your response before his fingers deftly land on the center of your back. His touch sparks a shiver down your spine, arching yourself upright. Your wings have never felt this sensitive before and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep them steady for him to work.

There’s a sudden influx of emotions you don’t recognize bubbling up, and a heat that pools in the base of your body. At times, it feels like Sukuna is purposely working slow to make your feathers all nice and pretty. His knuckles brush you in a way that hitches your breath.

He hums closely by your ear, “Your wings are quite sensitive here, aren’t they?”

Has his voice always sounded so melodic? So intoxicating? From the way he laughs at your reaction, you can tell he’s enjoying himself. Like he knows what’s going on in your mind.

He does.

You shoot up from your position with sudden urgency. “T-thanks for the help Sukuna, if you’ll excuse, I’ll see you later and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!” you stammer out with the hurry of a freefalling eagle, retreating back into your quarters before he has any chance to respond.

Sukuna can’t say he wasn’t caught off guard by this, but at the sight of your reddened face and eyes desperate to avoid his ─ he’ll forgive you.

On the other side of your folding screen door, you fall to your knees in a near pant to catch your breath whatever that was about. Temptation has never looked so good than in the form of Ryomen Sukuna, for all that he is. And while you came so close to the edge of a decadent abyss, you realized something.

You’ve grown fond of Sukuna, and in ways that can only be described with one word.

Sin.

From the window view of his study, Sukuna catches you out of the corner of his eyes stepping out from your room and into the courtyard. He doesn’t think much of it having gotten used to you being at the core of his picturesque view night after night. The moment he realizes you’re heading towards his training yard, however, is the same moment he ditches the scroll he was reading to follow..

He’s aware Uraume has given you the all-clear to attempt flight, but that was but a few hours before now. Truthfully, he should’ve known better. Of course you’re going to start right away.

Leaving his study, he makes haste to catch up, hoping to avoid what happened last time. He stands at the edge of the arena stealthily, watching as you stretch your now fully black wings to their limits. The first few flutters betray the confidence you showed in your steps to this place. He can tell you’re fighting a battle in your mind, but to Sukuna ─ those thoughts are useless.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, closing the distance after watching you deflate to your knees into the dirt.

“What if I get hurt again?” you confirm his inner thoughts with that meek voice. Foolish angel.

“What if you do?” he retorts, blunt as ever. “Are you just going to stay grounded forever because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve come this far; it would be a shame to give up now.”

“I don’t want to be on the ground ─ hell, I’ve been waiting for this day for so long and now that it’s here…” Your voice trails off, falling back to the low, despairing tone. “I’m afraid it won’t be the same.”

“It won’t be the same,” he says with an added huff. If anyone is in the position to give tough love, it’s Sukuna. “You will always carry that scar”-he gestures with a pointed claw at your wing-“a reminder of your fall, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fly. You won’t know until you get back up in the air.”

“But if I can’t, then what use could I possibly be?”

Sukuna crosses his upper pair of arms, leaving his lower pair to hang off his waist, one finger tapping away at the fabric at his hip. You’re in despair, and your main concern is whether you’re useful or not?

If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about making you his next meal. The weak are meant to be chewed up, but why can’t you see the potential you have already? (It’s standing right in front of you after all with a scowl on their face.)

“If wings were the defining point of who you are, then would you claim me to be useless?”

The day Sukuna fell from grace was the same day he tore his own wings from his back, tossing aside the last reminder of that accursed realm to embrace his demonic half in full.

“Of course not!” you refute with the same fire he saw when you argued how he isn’t not a monster. You’re not a lost cause yet if you can still manage that passion.

“Then get up and show me what you’re made of,” he commands. “You’re an angel ─ albeit a fallen one. Not the same broken bird you were before.”

Your eyes flash with realization, and with newfound determination, you’re back on your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I just need to return to my roots.”

“Return to your roots? What exactly do you mean?”

“You said it yourself,” you casually say in passing, walking over to where the courtyard backs up against the edge of a cliff overlooking Sukuna’s domain. “I may be damaged, but I’m still a bird, aren’t I?”

Sukuna’s eyes widen.

“And where exactly are you going with this, dove?”

You can’t possibly be doing what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, but he also wants you to see this through. Impressive, angel. A manic grin appears.

“Sometimes all a bird needs is for their parent to push them from the nest. Dive right in, even if you’re too afraid to try.”

You spread your arms out with your wings, backing off the edge and into freefall.

Sukuna’s at the cliff’s edge in a fraction of a second, his heart beating uncharacteristically loud in his chest as he watches you fall. It’s a harrowing sight, even for him, but the relief he feels when you manage to catch the wind between your feathers is unlike the emotions he felt before your arrival. Since that day, it’s like he’s had to fall from grace all over again with you, only that much harder this time around.

His smile doesn’t falter either, morphing from smug arrogance to a proud shine. The way you’ve taken to the skies is like you never left. If Sukuna’s domain is fire, then yours is the air that fans the flames in a mesmerizing dance. With a heavy thrust, you push yourself up ─ higher than his palace and the mountain’s peak before diving back down, returning to Sukuna’s side.

“I did it,” you mumble victoriously, a crazed grin of your own that Sukuna loves to see. “I did it!” you repeat, this time turning that smile towards Sukuna, with eyes brighter than any glow a halo could muster.

“See what happens you don’t give up?”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you tell him breathlessly.

He finds himself liking this moment better than when you soaked his robes with tears.

“For what?” he asks, placing a hand on the crown of your head.

“For the care, the healing, the late-night conversations… for everything. For saving me.” Your arms tighten almost possessively around him. “You’ve shown me a kindness like no one before, and I am forever in your debt.”

Sukuna brushes his hand from your hair down to your jawline, tilting your head upwards. Something about the way your eyes shine from his doing makes his cold heart feel that much warmer.

“What kind of saint or angel are you to find kindness in a beast like me?” he mutters, lowering his head closer to yours.

“Like you said ─ a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.” His face now a mere breath away from yours. “And like I’ve told you ─ I see you only for what you are, demon or not. To me, you’ve always been just Sukuna.”

The moment your lips meet is when the cord connecting you to paradise officially snaps, thrusting you into an unholy matrimony. You feel a burning sensation come along the markings that brandish you, but it doesn’t hurt. Right now, all that runs through your blood is one thing, and one thing only.

Desire.

As your body rises in heat, so does the intensity of your kissing. You’re doing whatever feels right, and most of all good. Sukuna feels this, just as you feel his lips smiling against your own. His tongue dips into your mouth and for the first time in your life, your body lets off a moaning sound.

It drives Sukuna near feral hearing it, and with his lower pair of arms he tugs you close to body, enough to feel his own desire straining for relief. His mind is quickly becoming a mess of both need and longing.

He pulls you down with him to the ground, settling you over his hips with your legs at either side. Those same hands now driven with lust roam your body in tangent with yours that have found their way to his chest, feverishly working to unveil his body. He grows tired of the struggle, and in a split second he severs your robes clean off, and his to follow. Only now do your lips part, leaving a string of drool to keep you connected.

The moon offers the perfect glow needed to highlight your features. He leans back onto his elbows, admiring the rise and fall of your heated chest, the red hue clinging to your feathers, the half-lidded stare revering his own sculpted figure… there’s only one word that comes to mind when he sees your soul laid out before him.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly and in full confidence. His upper set of hands trace your sides before coming into contact with your chest. He brushes the padding of his thumbs over each nipple. His other two hands holding you by the hips, pulling you down deeper onto his core. “Oh, so beautiful, my sweet angel.”

You gasp at the feeling of something twitching below you ─ or rather, somethings. The sound makes Sukuna groan again with pleasure, the slit along his stomach opening to reveal a second mouth before your very eyes. To others, this would be enough to incite fear. But for you, it only ignites a fire between your thighs.

“Come here,” he demands, rhetorically it seems as he pulls you right over the freshly parted maw. A thick tongue flicks upward along your sex, frazzling your mind with symphony of whines. He groans again ─ much deeper this time ─ feeling his four eyes roll back into his head. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the most divine tasting meal I’ve had to date.”

Sukuna finds himself struggling to keep you still as his tongue enters your body. It’s at this moment the veil of your chastity is no more, your purity claimed by the King of Demons.

Your body continues to squirm as his tongue shifts around your velvety walls, your wings continuously twitching and fluttering when it taps your sweet spot.

“So sensitive,” he laughs with that familiar mocking sound, but his eyes show only a carnal need with how pleasantly you respond to his touch.

“Feels s’good,” you mewl, a breathy sigh staggering out. You try to balance yourself with your hands, digging into his shoulders with talon-like grip.

“Yeah?” He continues to toy with your breasts, pulling one into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh ─ eager to mark ─ has you gasping once more. “I know it does, you needy girl.”

“I need you,” you confess with a depraved stare that’s only heightened by the glow of the bloodied moon. It’s so close to mirroring his own, like your soul has already been claimed by the devil himself. After your purity, that’s the next step in this journey of love.

He chuckles, slithering his tongue back into his mouth. “Let’s see if you can handle me then without breaking.”

You’re confused at first what he means until suddenly you’re lifted into the air, watching as he pulls both cocks from his hakama. You knew they were big, but you had thought it was due to how they stacked over the other. How wrong you were to not expect the nine-foot-tall demon to be as equally blessed below.

“What do you think?” he teases, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Why don’t you let me show you what I’m made of? I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Good girl. That you are,” he praises, helping you align yourself with one of his cocks. “I look forward to seeing you worship me with your body.”

It doesn’t take much for you to sink down onto him in full, your cunt a dripping mess thanks to his saliva and your freshly discovered arousal ─ like an untapped spring now bursting forth. There’s little pain that follows from the stretch, your body instead erupting with pleasure. It’s as though you were made for him. That your purpose in life was always to please him in every way possible. Everything you experienced so far was to bring you to this very moment in time.

“Embrace your instinct,” Sukuna says as he guides your starting motions. “Let it fuel your potential.”

You work with his motions, eyes fluttering shut at the incredible sensation. “I’m so full,” you sigh, and he chuckles.

“You’re doing so well; I knew you had it in you,” he purrs. “Soon enough you’ll be taking both in one hole. Would you like that?” You clench hard around him at that, and he can tell you’re getting ever closer.

“W-w-what is this feeling?” You move your hand downwards with unknown purpose to where his body meets yours, fingers gliding along his upper shaft, down every vein, and even rubbing it against your own clit for more of that wonderous sensation that’s building.

Using his own dick to pleasure yourself? My, how far you’ve fallen into his sinful embrace. The primal need he has for you is exceeding what he thought possible. How perfect you are for him ─ a match made in hell.

“It’s euphoria, my dear. Heaven,” he mutters gruffly, hissing with pleasure. “Let it break you and I promise you’ll feel better than ever before.”

“I need you, ‘Kuna.” Your voice comes out as a pleading whine that hitches his breath. The words a desperate plea for something you’re still learning to embrace.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he growls, his eyes searing into yours. A set of hands glide upwards, one over your breast, the other at the base of your skull. “Say it,” he commands this time, pointed nails digging into your flesh, pushing even deeper into your body.

“I want you ─ no, I need you, Sukuna,” you declare with such staggering force to match your desire.

“Then you’ll have me. All of me,” he responds in turn, flashing his canines greedily. “So take me, angel. Take me for whatever you need.”

That’s all you need to feel your inhibitions slip away. You lean forward until his back is against the ground, kissing him from his lips down to his neck, feeling an urge like no other to sink your teeth into his flesh ─ to mar him as yours.

“More,” you mumble, moving your hips faster, intent on reaching that cascading high. “More, more, I need all of you, ‘Kuna.”

“You’ll have it all. Everything,” he promises in the form of a whisper, so close to your ear. “As much as you need, as much as you desire. I’ll give you everything the world has to offer if you stay by my side.”

You dig your nails into his body as your own begins to unravel before him. Waves of pleasure crashing down with all its might as you preach his name for all to hear. Tears slip from your eyes as you curl in around him, and he soaks each one up with his tongue as you ride out the high.

“Fuck, you’re so… divine,” you purr a sinful tune. “Nothing ─ not even in paradise ─ has ever made feel this way.”

Forget being an angel. In the state you are now, Sukuna believes you could put a succubus to shame. You feel and look so incredible on top of your new throne. Divine as you put it.

“You feel like heaven yourself,” he claims through ragged breaths. “Everything about you is addicting; you’re a drug I can’t get enough of. Mark my words, I’m going to indulge myself in your soul for all eternity.”

“Take me then. Claim me, ruin me, I don’t care so long as you make me yours.”

Fuck, if you knew the power you have over him.

“You’re already mine,” he hisses, and before you can blink, your positions are swapped. His figure towering over yours. “But incase that wasn’t already obvious, I’ll prove it to you here.”

Sukuna leans his head down, kissing you on the lips. The calm before the storm that’s to come.

“I’m going to claim you and make you completely and utterly mine.” He pulls his hips backwards, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. “…and I’m not going to stop until you’re completely wrecked, completely mine.”

Sukuna thrusts forward, slamming his hips into you. There’s no second to spare, no second to adjust before he does it again and again, forcing you to cry out to the heavens how good he’s making you feel. It serves them right for abandoning you, leaving him to pick up the pieces. It’s the only thing he’ll thank that pathetic realm for, because you truly are one of the most divine creations to have existed alongside himself.

It isn’t enough for you yet it seems, no matter how rough he’s being. Your legs try and wrap around him, but you’re only hindering yourself. So, with two arms, he lifts your legs to your chest, placing his knees at your side. This new position allows him to reach even deeper, fulfilling what he knows you need.

He lowers his forehead to press against yours, sharing the air you command like a goddess those beautiful, encapsulating wings of yours. If you can’t wrap your legs around him, you at least try it with your wings. Like a moth’s cocoon, making this moment in time all your own. So selfish; it’s exactly what he’s wanted to see.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” he asks, his hips refusing to slow. If anything, they’re only getting faster ─ more erratic in nature.

“You are!” you cry out.

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

���Say it,” he growls, and you know exactly what he means.

“I’m yours, Sukuna! Only yours!”

“That’s right,” he chuckles darkly, drawing out his words. “You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to claim and take forever.” His voice is strong, carrying his decree like the word of the gods. “Do you see now the prize that you are to me?”

You nod your head feverishly, scraping your nails along his back. Your wings flutter with frenzy at the incoming high you both are flying so close to reach.

“So. Damn. Divine,” he groans between thrusts, almost threatening to truly break you if he isn’t careful. “You’re going to take every last drop of me, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, please, I want it all,” you plead and whimper, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. “I want all of you.”

He bites down on your neck before stilling inside you, a rush of warmth hitting you both inside and out. You open your mouth in a silent scream at the force your climax hits you with. Desire overwhelming you from the depths of your being. Near the end, Sukuna slowly rocks his hips into you, fucking his seed back into you before leaning back to admire the view of your stomach painted in white.

As he does, you notice the blood trickling from his mouth is black in color. No longer the same angelic gold it once was.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you confess, making him smile with that all too familiar arrogance you’ve come to love, just like him. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life until now. I’ve found purpose again with you.”

“I told you that in time your worth would be realized.” He pulls out from your body, casually pushing his seed back inside with hand. His stomach mouth opens, splaying out his second tongue to clean himself off the front of your body. “You have the makings of a queen ─ one who could stand by my side through the end of time.”

When he’s finished cleaning you off, he helps you up onto your knees. You then take to embracing him in your arms, and even your wings just to hold him close to your heart. “I never realized how constricting the heavenly principles were until you set me free. Thank you for showing me how life should be lived.”

Sukuna tightens his four arms around you, feeling that same possessive desire in his chest that goes beyond carnal need. There’s pride in his eyes to know what he’s taken from those bastards above. Nothing compares to you.

“You don’t need to thank me; you were made to be free. True paradise is removing all restraints to live as you please under no guiding order. Strength is power, and you’ve found it at last.”

“This right here is better than any paradise I’ve seen.” Sukuna feels your smile growing against his chest.

“Damn right it is,” he laughs, grinning like the devil he is.

And who would’ve imagined that heaven’s most revered angel, the guiding saint of humanity, would have fallen from grace, and into the hands of the sinner you love more than life itself now.

Fate is a fickle thing, and you know that now.

In the days that followed that night to remember, new changes began sprouting up. Symbols of your life renewed, risen from ash.

For starters, your wings have taken on an iridescent glow ─ like a black devil boa. No one, not even Sukuna has ever heard of such a thing happening to a fallen angel, but it’s become just another feature that makes his proudness of you show.

You’re one of a kind, and entirely his.

Your old room and clothes are no more. Now, you wear only the best money can buy, tailored perfectly to your form. Sukuna’s hoard contains many riches on top of gold, including a stockpile of gems he’s taken to adorning you with. All are reminiscent of his ruby red eyes ─ perfectly fitting with you. He’s a king in every way, always eager to indulge in the pleasures life has to offer.

You trot through the halls of his palace, making way to his throne. You’re eager to be reunited after a morning spent dancing in the skies, your heart tugging you to his side. He’s hosting an audience by the looks of it, but that doesn’t stop all four of his eyes from landing on you as you enter.

“Perfect timing, angel.” He smiles wickedly, displaying his vampiric fangs in full. “Come and take a seat, the show has only just begun now that you’re here.”

At his words, you come bounding up the bone-riddled steps, arriving before him. Sukuna’s hand reaches out, guiding you to rest atop one of his thighs. That hand remains on the small of your back, with another resting on your own inner thigh ─ his thumb rubbing shapes into the plush.

“You remember these demons, I’m sure?” You turn your head and look down, finding the very demons who had brought you here in the first place. They don’t dare meet your eyes as their gaze bores into the marbled floors. “You see, they’ve come demanding a meeting with me. They seem to be hoping I’ll reward them now with something other than their lives for bringing you to me.”

“Is that so?” you muse, ultimately ignoring their presence as your lips meet Sukuna’s with passion, your hands resting on either side of his jaw. “What do you think of that, my king?”

He chuckles, “I think they were foolish to try and demand me to do anything for them.” Sukuna snaps his fingers once, filling the room with an intense warmth. Fire has never looked more beautiful than when it reflects into yours from the depths of his eyes. The weight of his soul, resting between the palms of your hands.

“Wouldn’t you agree, my queen?”

You do, because all that matters now is one thing, your purpose, pleasure, and every depraved feeling in between ─ Sukuna himself.

☆ Notes: got inspired by a sukuna c.ai bot by @ vittovitto with a similiar premise

I like to imagine that as angels who live by the 7 virtues, that when they fall, they go through like an awkward werewolf kinda phase like I’ve detailed where they start to feel each of the 7 sins. Kinda liked a fucked up puberty with all the hormonal changes idk, I thought it was cool when I thought of it.

Overall though, I had a REALLY fun time writing this. I’ve always loved the idea of fallen angel Sukuna but writing about biblical stuff throws me off a bit. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while I force myself to get back into my other five ongoing series!!!

song inspo: heaven's a lie - lacuna coil | parade's lust - granblue fantasy (i'm horny for belial, what can i say)

[ashtavula]

Hihihi! Could I please request a royalty/nobility au with the housewardens? Like them as a dashing Mr. Darcy, if that makes sense.

So, since this is pretty open ended, I'm just going with headcanons on what sort of role they'd have in this au. Though it might be more like an otome au? But if you like it, or want to see more, please don't hesitate to ask!

Royalty AU - The Housewardens

You are the only heir to the throne, and now, you've been given a "simple" task. Find someone to marry before the year is over! Your butler clears his throat, and names some of your potential suitors...

Riddle - The Marquess' Son

-Riddle is the sole child of Marquess and Marchioness Rosehearts. His family is well known for funding medical research, and they're generally well respected. At least, publicly. In private, many nobles whisper about the cruelty of Marchioness Rosehearts, and Riddle's overbearing strictness. Your butler also states that, when your parents announced your eligibility for marriage, she was the very first to put her son's name forward. It makes you think that Riddle had no say in being a candidate.

-Riddle himself is rumored to be at odds with his family, considering his friendship with the local baker, Trey Clover, and other commoners. His mother has publicly denounced the idea that her family mingles with the lower classes, but Riddle continues to be spotted around the bakery regardless. It makes you wonder if he's not quite as strict as the rumors claim...

Leona - The Second Prince

-Leona is the second born prince of a neighboring country. His brother, King Falena, has maintained his country's status quo, but it's becoming rather obvious that Leona doesn't approve of his family's excessive lifestyle while their kingdom's poorest starve. Supposedly, Falena is growing increasingly desperate to marry Leona off to a foreigner so he can be removed from Sunset Savannah's political sphere. Leona's own people talk about him being a lazy, power hungry rebel, and this gives you pause. You haven't heard a single positive thing yet. There must be more to the man than this...

-Your butler goes on to mention that this is merely what your country's spies have found out. According to official correspondence, Leona is a laid back man with a handsome appearance, and a sharp intellect. The sheer difference in those descriptions startles you, and makes you wonder. Who exactly is Prince Leona?

Azul - The Information Broker

-Azul Ashengrotto is the head of the country's biggest information guild. Hiring his Octavinelle Agency is the best way to dig up dirt on anybody, and no one knows just how he acquires that much intelligence. Your parents have listed him as a potential candidate in the hopes that, should you marry him, he would give you access to the wealth of information he has at his fingertips. According to rumors, you must give him something of equal exchange for anything he tells you. You frown as you hear about people selling things like their voices, and their magic to him. He can't be that cruel. Right?

-According to people who have made deals with him, he has a taste for the finer things in life. He'd certainly jump at the opportunity to court you, as you are the heir to the throne. Before your butler can finish, a strange man enters the room. His mismatched eyes gleam as he hands you a letter, stamped with the Octavinelle Agency insignia. The letter is simple, but it sends a chill up your spine. "Your Highness, if you are considering marriage, then please come by my agency. I can tell you anything you wish to know about your suitors, and I'll even waive my usual fees. The only thing I ask in return is for your company. Signed, Azul Ashengrotto." Before you can question the man, he slips out of the parlor. How peculiar...

Kalim - The Merchant Prince

-Your butler clears his throat, and moves on. Next on the list is Kalim Al-Asim, heir to the Al-Asim Trade Company. Merchants under their banner travel far and wide, bringing wondrous things that many people have never seen before. In his country, rich merchants practically become royalty, and Kalim's family is the wealthiest of those families. If you choose him, it will invigorate your country's economy, and your parents approve of this. Also, according to the people who have seen him, he's cheerful and compassionate.

-However, your butler warns that his family has a dark side. In the Scalding Sands, poison is the weapon of choice, and Kalim's life has likely been threatened numerous times. And that his own siblings and cousins are likely his biggest enemies. If you married him, you'd be subjected to the same treatment. You'd constantly have to watch your back, and worry that every sip of wine would be your last. Is that truly a life you wish to lead?

Vil - The Duke

-Vil Schoenheit is the youngest Duke to grace your country's nobility. He's also the fairest. Countless numbers of men and women fawn over his beauty, yet he has rejected every advance that has come his way. This had led to nasty rumors that he has impossible standards, and that his heart must be made of ice. He apparently also has a keen mind, though there are some whispers that he uses that intellect to brew deadly poisons. Who those poisons are meant for, nobody knows.

-His dukedom also contains some of your country's most beautiful locations. Lush forests and thriving apple orchards span his lands, and his people prosper under his rule. However, people do wonder why all of his citizens seem to be good looking, and why nobody seems to oppose him. Is it just a coincidence, or is there a darker reason behind his seemingly perfect dukedom?

Idia - The Inventor

-Idia Shroud is, without a doubt, one of the smartest men in your kingdom. However, his reputation, and several rumors, precede him. He's known for being extremely reclusive, and he's almost never been seen in public. Instead, he trusts an automaton, Ortho, to complete various tasks. And the few times he has been spotted sparked a frenzy of strange rumors. There's talk around the capital that he's been cursed, marked by unholy fire. Your brows furrow. Is he truly one of the candidates for your hand in marriage?

-Aside from the rumors that swirl around him, he's genuinely skilled. Ortho is a completely sentient automaton, and several of his other inventions have changed the average citizen's quality of life for the better. He's the reason your kingdom is more advanced than any other, and that counts for a lot. He's a bit bizarre, but rumors about his supposed "curse" stirs your curiosity.

Malleus - The Briar King

-Your butler shivers, and mentions King Malleus in a hushed tone. He is the King of Briar Valley, a strange land that nobody has ever actually seen. There are old tales about his kingdom. Stories that state that the land is populated by the fae, and that their king is not truly a fae, but a fearsome dragon. These tales claim that any being who opposes the Briar King will be incinerated in a plume of dragon fire, and that he demands complete loyalty from his subjects. As you begin to wonder why your parents would give you such an option, you get your answer. For the first time, Malleus has left his kingdom, and is visiting yours. This might be your kingdom's only chance to forge an alliance with the powerful, mysterious fae.

-There is a bit more information than just wild tales. According to your butler, an odd fae visited the castle yesterday, and told your parents a bit more about Malleus. This fae stated that his king was not quite as intimidating as the stories claim, and that Malleus yearned for companionship more than anything else. Your gaze softened. You, as the heir to a kingdom, knew that a royal life could be a lonely one. If he also felt the ache of solitude, then, he surely couldn't be a monster, like the people say.

Now that you've heard about your potential suitors, only one question remains...

Who will you choose?

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[cloveroctobers]

MONOPOLY — Armando Aretas [September Prompts] 🩶

A/N: I guess I’m remaining in my Armando writing bag but this was a request from: @dasaniswrlddd & this is mostly a Drabble small work that was also inspired by my boys who’s EP you should check the rest out after reading. It’s only fitting 😉 & you’re welcome!

S/N: the request included Armando dating an older woman, he’s twenty-eight so maybe the reader is thirty-eight? Forty’s? or as old as you are if you’re a older reader lol + mentions of a certain character from the film, “Rebel Ridge,” IYKYK 😉 + a little 🌶️ in there somewhere!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: ¹³⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise + ²⁰⁾ rich vanilla perfume.

SYNOPSIS: Armando’s not as good at hiding his feelings for you.

<- read my previous September anthology prompt here.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

when Armando was informed that you got hurt out in Italy, he made it his mission to get on the next flight. AMMO was working on a case that would require them to fly out there by the end of the week so he just went earlier, despite the knowing look detective Mike sent his way.

He knows his son became fond of you quickly once they worked with your team, although Armando tried to hide it, it became obvious to Mike. Watching Armando analyze every move you made with admiration and how you commanded orders within your own team. When your team got involved that meant it was more than serious and Secada always made your team the last option if AMMO needed back up. Things tended to get reckless in the moment but you always made sure to clean up well.

Over the last few years you haven’t been getting your hands as dirty, something Armando overheard you sharing with Secada and Detective Lowrey, having your team do most of the work while you supervised but that didn’t mean you forgot everything that you’ve learned. Which is why you have a dagger jammed up right against Armando’s throat, bag of frozen peas dropped to both of your feet as you had Armando pressed up against the wall of the villa out in Collesano.

“Armando,” you stated, “did you really think it was the best idea to sneak up on me?”

He lowers his raised hands, “that wasn’t really my intent.”

“Find that hard to believe.”

“…so you don’t trust me now?” He questioned while peering at you underneath his eyelashes and brimmed hat.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Armando exhales at this. He doesn’t take it personal since it was someone on your team that ended up being a rat in the first place. Setting you up to be killed while also murdering one of your members you were closest to in cold blood and the way the rest of your team was ambushed, was the ultimate betrayal so he understood where this was coming from.

“Then why am I not dead yet?” His low voice inquires.

You smirked as you lowered the dagger, “the night is still young.”

Armando can’t help but to roll his eyes as you step back from him but he can’t help but to reach forward and pinch your chin, turning your face to the side as he viewed the damage done to your face first. He feels his jaw tighten at the long scar that traveled from the bottom of your ear to the curve of your jaw. It was the beginning of the symbol of an Italian gang here, blade pulled just right to begin the markings of an, “X,” in cursive but they didn’t get to finish the job.

Yet this would scar in more ways than one.

“Be a doll and grab those peas for me?” Your attempt to bring Armando’s attention elsewhere was noted as his eyes flicked back to yours for a moment, silently telling you that he wanted details and he was going to get them from your mouth instead of Secada’s and Mike’s.

He lowers himself, eyes locked on yours still as he reaches for the frozen bag, “where?”

You take the peas and place them underneath your shirt, where Armando gets a peek of your ribcage wrapped in a white bandage. He exhaled at that, relieved that you actually went to the hospital to get checked out. He knew how much you dreaded those visits.

You’re leaning against the island for support, as you take most of the pressure from standing upright and shift to your right—where there’s no bruising on that side of your ribs. “So…what brings you to Collesano? Did you finally decide that you needed a change of scenery from Miami and Mexico City?”

Armando gives you a deadpan glance as he fires back, “I never would have pictured Italy as a place to live low for you. Tell me, when did you buy this property?”

You scoff, stiffly shifting to grab that hard liquor that’s waiting in the square glass for you. Throwing it back with clenched eyes you respond, “Maybe I’m borrowing it.”

“From who?” Armando crossed his arms, “Terry?” He almost spits out the man’s name, which makes you quirk up a brow.

You start, “I’m not…doing this with you tonight so if you came here to brood or whatever—I’m not here for it.”

Armando stepped to you then, “I came here to be with you, no bullshit. Got here as fast as I could. Something the other guy isn’t even here doing.”

Sighing you dip your head as Armando has his heated stare locked only on you, “…while I appreciate that…I can take care of myself, thank you. I’m grown.”

“That you are,” Armando unapologetically scans his eyes over your frame before settling comfortably back on your face, “but there’s nothing wrong with letting someone in from time to time.”

“You should take your own advice, Aretas.” You huffed, as you searched his eyes, making him blink his own stare away as he rubbed at his beard in annoyance.

He was aware of what you were getting at. You’ve been around to see his interactions with Detective Mike Lowrey, even worked with him and Marcus previously when you first got your team together. Mike was certainly a ladies man and was damn good at his job…a little sloppy at times but as well as you knew Mike, you genuinely believed if he knew about Armando, he would have made an effort to be there even if it was painfully awkward. That was a conversation that was just as old as Armando’s opinion on “the other guy,” you were legally married to.

That’s right, you were technically spoken for.

To keep it simple it was a MACP thing really and a story for a different time!

“Yeah well clearly the both of us have the patience.” He states, his gaze going back to the scar on your face, “I’ll be back.”

Sarcastically you say, “aw but you just got here!”

Armando snorts as he starts backing away, “don’t worry mami, I’m not goin’ too far but try not to miss me too much.”

He winks.

“Oh, Please.” You scoff, turning to pour yourself another shot.

When Armando returns, it really wasn’t that long as you just managed to sit yourself up at the high chair by the island counter. That was a a job within itself thanks to your bruised ribs and you knew you could have easily picked one of the many couches in this villa, preferably the two seat sofa that’s right by the open window next to the kitchen but of course you liked to be difficult.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you feel Armando’s hands dig into your tense shoulders from behind. He gets a light whiff of your vanilla perfume, it’s usually potent—rich—enough that it lingers in the air whenever you’re near. Right now it’s faint but it still makes him want to trail his nose up the slope of your neck.

“Hey,” he begins, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

Looking over your shoulder, the exhaustion has settled on your face and in that moment it almost shocks Armando that you don’t put up a fight. He holds onto your hand as you take your time getting down from the chair, a firm but gentle hold goes around your waist as he leads the way to the full bath he managed to find on the first level of the home.

The water is steaming and just what you needed. Armando was always onto you and knew the moment he caught sight of you tonight, he no problem providing. You manage to peel your clothes off and Armando’s concern is all over his face once he gets to see the black, blue, and purple bruises with your back turned to him. Those weren’t the only ones on your beautiful body but the ones on your ribs were the most upsetting.

He regains his composure, springing forward to help lower you into the water, head going right back against the pillow along the tub. Your eyes are closed and he almost coached you to sleep, running the pad of his thumb against the apple of your cheek. He was falling deep and he only had himself to blame if you ever broke his heart.

Part of him believes you won’t.

This has been going on long enough for Armando to have faith in whatever this was. Even when he was locked up, your connection never seemed to falter. Call him a fool but Armando was certain he’s never felt this kind of a way about anybody before you.

He’ll cater to you and sure you’ll give him a hard time, initially finding it all fun and dangerous games at first but that all shifted pretty quickly although in Armando’s mind, it felt like forever for you to admit your truth.

That you were feeling him more than you wanted to too. Which is why you allowed him to stay with you, help you bathe and briefly come to terms with what all transpired, even if you tried to block it out.

Even when you laid on top of him afterwards in one of the foreign bedrooms, he didn’t let go of you as you listened to the thud of his heartbeat and he took on the weight of you, all of it because he loved you—even if you didn’t want to hear him say it.

You felt it then and even more now that he came all this way for you.

The both of you wouldn’t be getting any sleep due to past traumas but that was left in the dark of the room. There’s buzzing that fills the heavy silence, you reach out clicking on the phone to silence it before flipping it back over.

“That could be important.” Armando mumbled.

‘Could be your husband,’ He thinks to himself.

You sniff, shifting to rest your chin onto the back of your hand, “Nothing else is important right now.”

“Yeah?” Armando quizzes, tucking his own chin to look at you, heart beating even harder now underneath your hands.

Wincing you lean forward, lips hovering over his, “Yeah.”

That was all the confirmation Armando needed as he moves to cradle your head and quickly places his lips right on yours. There’s a sigh of relief that escaped your lips as you both go into a battle trying to take the lead, which makes you laugh and a usual faint dimple appear on one side of Armando’s cheek. It’s when his tongue touches yours and he gets a nice grip on your ass with both hands that the humor fizzles away.

Armando’s attentive as you slowly take your place on top, hands gripping your hips against the silk night slip that you’re in now. “You sure you should be—

He starts but one move, has his hold digging into your hips, his head thrown back while biting down on his bottom lip. A laugh escapes your lips and Armando has to peek at you while he soaks in the real feel of you, your hair is a curtain around your face shape and the smirk on your face picks at his ego but he can’t complain and say he isn’t fond of this position.

“What was that?” You tease, “Don’t worry about me baby, I got you.”

Armando has to remind himself to breathe and you haven’t moved yet. His suddenly damp hands slip against the material of your nightwear, but he had to watch as he slides it back. That image alone makes a grunt spill from his lips and that’s enough to let you continue but Armando is always ready for your games.

When you separate just enough, he gains leverage himself, angling his own hips upwards while choosing to guide your hips downwards this time, erupting a pretty noise from your mouth. It’s his turn to smirk up at you, when you snap your attention back to his eyes while you fall over. Your elbows are beside his head now since sitting upright wouldn’t work at this time and especially with Armando’s own move he just pulled.

“Hi.” He smiles at you.

You scowl, “pendejo.”

That scowl releases when he places a lingering kiss right above where your new scar is. Gently he flips you both over and gazed at you so lovingly that some might say it was too much to bear.

It’s a pecking fight between your lips while Armando is on his knees but you can fight dirty when you want to and that gets him to move against you. Rocking you into the bed and loving you properly just like you knew he could.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

Continue with my September anthology prompts here.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Swords in the Court: Wedding Bells

Secret Garden

Yandere Don John x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: Nothing but the fact that Don John is hypnotic

Note: This story is set in a fictionalised historical setting. Though there are clear inspirations drawn from the real world and history, this tale in no way tries to explain, change or state any historical, political, communal, geographical or religious 'facts'. Kindly treat this short-series as it is, a fiction

Unedited

You pay no heed to the stares of passing court ladies and lingering servants while making your way towards the Queen’s chamber. You have grown accustomed to them now. Of course, people will stare—you are a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, despite having no house or regal title to your name. As the daughter of a blacksmith, you should not be even in the Queen’s chamber—any royal chamber. But here you are, serving and accompanying. the queen wherever she goes. 

Your father used to say that he was a self-taught man, a person of his stature, should have been illiterate. But he not only taught himself but you as well. And one day, by a twist of fate, you found yourself in the Queen’s presence. She took a liking to you and appointed you as her chambermaid. But by the time the seventeenth summer of your life passed, you were elevated to the position of her lady-in-waiting. You later realised that she needed a true trustworthy lady by her side. The court was divided, and the Queen needed a loyal companion by her side, and she put her confidence in you. 

You are no Lady by birth, but you have learned the court's ways and a Lady's mannerisms. You will never be accepted, of course, you do not expect them to. But as long as you have the Queen's favour and know your place, you are safe.

“What took you so long.”

“Apologies, Your Highness,” You bow down before gesturing for the maid following you to serve the Queen her tea.

“The physician is certain that this shall help you sleep better, Your Highness.”

The Queen nods, taking a tentative sip of her tea. 

“The Prince of Spain will be here tomorrow. And here I am, unable to earn a wink of sleep. How shall I welcome and accompany them if an unrested mind grips me.”

“Forgive me, My Queen but you have taken great troubles, arranging the union, pursuing the King and preparing for the Prince and his companions’ welcome. Sleeplessness might be a result of such responsibilities.”

The Queen smiles faintly and takes another sip “You always know what to say, clever girl?”

“I merely state what is obvious, Your Grace.”

“I haven’t been able to keep track of the court, I have been engaged with the matters of the Princess’s marriage. Anything worthy?”

“Not much, Your Highness, the King has taken an interest in Lord Beecham’s eldest daughter.”

“The Earl of the Walden?”

“I’m afraid so.” You pour some more tea into her cup.

“Wasn’t it he who rebelled against my father when he was King? My dearest husband started a rebellion and won, and now his favourite dogs wag their tails in the court. Strange are the times.” That’s all she says before picking up on her letters to read.

Such news comes as no surprise to her, as long as those ‘pretty playthings’ as she likes to call them do not try to influence the King in ways she holds the power to, the Queen doesn’t mind. The King has his entertainment, the Queen has hers, and only one has it in the public eye—the other needs to be discreet.

“Prepare to welcome the Spanish Royalty tomorrow, and tell the Princess to be ready. The looming war could be thwarted with the Spanish by our side. Your King doesn’t seem to understand that, but as the Queen, I do. They’ve sailed for days, are bound to be haggard, and make sure the supply of wine, and food never runs out, and hopefully, the capital's brothels are ready as well?”

“All has been taken care of, My Queen.”

She nods before assessing you, as if stuck by a sudden realisation “How old are you again?”

“I turned twenty, two moons ago, Your Highness.”

“You mean two months.”

“Yes, My Queen, my apologies.”

She makes a dismissive gesture and puts aside the now-empty tea cup.

 “Don’t be, you should never forget your roots, your reality, where you came from, where you are, and where you can end up. Wear this knowledge like armour, and it can never be used against you.”

“Yes, My Queen.”

“Now go, it is late and tomorrow you must be up earlier than the rest.”

With a greeting of good night, you make your way out of her chamber.

—-----

“Do you see them, now?” Madeline asks, quivering with excitement. 

The young and handsome Crown Prince of the foreign empire, his brother and fellow loyal soldiers riding into the capital—a visual straight out of those romantic fables and poetry that court maidens love so much.

But you are not them. They see the idyllic image of a handsome prince marching towards the palace. You see their banner and the potential this alliance has. The Queen has seen the possibility of a looming war years before it actually might happen and after all these years with her, you know that the Queen is seldom wrong when it comes to politics.

“Look! That’s the Crown Prince. Look at his dark curls, he's magnificent, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Maddy, he is.”

“And there, his brother siding beside him…Oh, and his bastard brother too, riding behind.”

You frown and fix your gaze on the man riding right behind the Princes.”

“I thought bastards do not join such official ceremonies.”

“I heard that the Emperor has recognised him, some say he might even become a Duke there.”

“A Duke? But, he’s a bastard.” You turn to your friend, surprised.

“Birth does not always decide our place in this world. We were lowborns as well. Your father was a blacksmith, mine was a butcher. Look at us now.” 

“We still are lowborns Maddy, this will never change.”

Madeline nods “You’re right, but here we are, overlooking the Prince of Spain marching into the Palace.”

“What is his name?” You ask, intrigued as your gaze fixes on the man in black and white.

“The Prince? He is Mechor Bohorquez de Alvarado, and—”

“Not the Prince, his bastard brother, what’s his name?”

“Him? That’s Don Juan—that’s in Spanish. John,  his mother was not from Spain as I’ve heard.”

“And where do you hear all these from?” You turn to her.

“From the letters I carry.”

“Maddy! They would have you imprisoned at the least for this!” Your eyes widen as you hiss into her ear.

“Take a breath, nobody knows, or suspects. I have been curious, you know?”

“Still, this is dangerous. You will not do it again.” You touch her shoulder to assert “I mean it, Maddy. No playing around dangerously…Please.”

Madeline sighed “Okay, I won’t do it again.”

—--

With a grand welcome has come the dinner— an even grander affair. Pies, cakes, ale, roasts, meat, sweets and chocolates, lots of chocolates, a gift from the Spanish Empire—-the food and drink flow in and empty trays and plates leave the grand hall where the Spanish princes and their men make merry, laugh, drink, and eat. The Crown Prince sits with the King, the Queen and the Princess by their side. The rest of his friends and companions enjoy the never-ending flow of wine and delicacies. At the same time, they play charades of words and intentions with noble women, from the newly blossomed to the ripened, the maiden and the sourly married while their father and husbands go off with other women. 

The norm of the court.

You have seen plenty of it already. You sit with Madeline, tired from running around and ensuring everything is perfect. Your eyes wander around the hall without any particular purpose, until your gaze lands on the bastard Prince—having been granted recognition and now holding the prospect of dukedom, you expected him to be tangled with women in a corner, drunk out of his mind. But he simply stands with a shorter man, that you surmise is some advisor or friend of his, too old to be a squire.

As if feeling eyes on him, his gaze meets yours. 

You like to think that you are above all those silly notions and admirations, that you only want to learn the ways of the court and survive it, excel in it, even. 

But the moment your eyes meet his, you are frozen. Everything seems to stop, everything but the electrifying sensation of his gaze–deep, dark and intense– meeting yours. You feel it in every part of you, because suddenly, everything comes alive in you, things you never existed. 

Your heart thuds uncontrollably.

 But your mind is not racing, it’s not going anywhere at all—there is no thought other than the realisation, that he is beautiful—not exactly the sharp, princely, kind–although it is there, he has something more, something different—he is beautiful with his big brown eyes–sharp but not exactly arrogant, there’s something worse. 

No, no, no. Don’t do that. You are no royalty, you will get no chance to clean up your mistakes.

You chastise yourself and look down at your empty goblet after offering him a polite smile, deliberately making sure that it is no different from the one you offered while welcoming the rest of the guests for the evening. 

But it does not help that you still feel his gaze.

—--

You wish you could wake up to the position of the sun you wanted. But that is the luxury only the royal family enjoys here and the noble ladies who aren’t the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting. Besides, you are to oversee the cleaning of the Grand Hall before the King wakes. Everything is supposed to be pristine and shining.

“The corner is still not done, and carpet—is that…” The putrid smell of vomit greets you as soon as you step closer to the ‘mysterious’ stain on the carpet in the hall. “Forget cleaning this, the carpet needs to be replaced.” You dismiss the servants, urging them to be quicker.

You look around the place. Wine stains on the walls, splattered food, some pearls, some shoes, even some clothes left behind. It seems like after you left the place has been through a wild ride.

“Much to clean up?” 

Turning to the entrance of the hall, you find an unexpected face.

“My Lord.” You greet him in your Kingdom’s fashion of formality.

“Don John. That’s my name.” He saunters inside, looking around before your eyes again for an official greeting. 

While something tells you that the belated greeting was neither custom nor negligence, you do not pay heed to his boyish attempt to ruffle your feathers. Subtle, typical of courtly politics but never amiss.

“Prince Don John, it is an honour to meet you, but I’m afraid this…” You look around, partly embarrassed with the mess, though it was most definitely, the Spanish guest’s doing. “Is no place for any of our esteemed guesses to be.”

“Please, you embarrass me, My Lady, I’m afraid my brothers and men have much hand in this…mischief. They get drunk so often and so easily, lose their gentlemanly coats.”

This makes a genuine smile press press out stubbornly. He sports no accent that might give away his Spanish heritage, you notice.

“We are most honoured to have your brave and virtuous men in our palace, and the Crown Prince, for the Princess’s hand.” 

Don John smiles down at you, he is tall, you notice–lean but athletic.

“The court here is most polite and charming.” 

Oh, only if he knew the thrones hiding under the roses.

“Of course it is.” You reply. 

His smirk tells you that maybe he is not as new to this game as you surmised.

“They say my mother was from this land.”

“Here?”

“I am not sure ‘here’, but, somewhere from this beautiful land. His Highness, my…father, says I have her eyes and his temperament.”

“The Emperor of Spain has been most generous with us.”

Don John smiles and looks ahead as you both make your way towards the spring garden—now beginning to turn brown with the onset of autumn.

“I assume this court is not too different from ours, after all, people like us get the opportunity to rise,” he comments, lightly tracing the vines as you two make your way deeper into the garden.

“I’m afraid, my Lord, unlike you, I have no royal blood or upbringing.” 

Don John frowns, you read the questions before they come to his lips and explain yourself.

“My father was a blacksmith who forged a few good swords for the nobility. God bless our kind and generous Queen, she took me under her wing, and took care of my learnings of books and mannerisms.”

“I see” 

There is a slight smile, that does not seem anywhere near mockery. You know what a smile veiling a scowl looks like. His smile has no malice peeking subtle, it is just a courteous smile---either that or he is good at hiding it. It confuses you more. There is no straight line he can be read through. He is no open book. A puzzle, yes, that he is, a puzzle that has all its pieces scattered around. 

All.

Nothing is hidden from you for long.

—----

“And I wish I could smack his head—-” Maddy bursts into another fit of giggles, narrating her adventures during the welcome feast “Have you heard, it’s said that the Prince has never lost a single battle.” 

You shrug, fingers racing the leaves and flowers as you two stroll through the gardens. The Queen’s courtyard had some of the most stunning autumn blooms, along with the fallen leaves on the damp ground. The faraway mist gives the stretches of land beyond the place walls an eerie beauty.

“But some say that he has never lost a war, because in every war, his half-brother, Don Juan has fought by his side. Crushing the enemies like ants.”

“Ants?” You chuckle. I do not doubt Don John’s capabilities on the battlefield, but  slaying enemies like ants is slightly an exaggeration.”

“Yes, could be, or perhaps he is indeed the finest sword Spain has ever witnessed? No wonder the Emperor wants to keep his loyalty.”

“And is he not a threat instead?”

“Why would he be so?” 

You sigh and gaze at the forming mist beyond the palace walls. Most of the view is interrupted by guards standing taut like stretched bows.

“I’ve heard rumours, the Queen, sometimes, I heard her say, that Don Juan, though, to the world younger than the Crown Prince, is in reality, two autumns older.

“What?” Maddy ducks her head and looks at you in disbelief “None of….” Licking her lips, looks around before lowering her voice to whisper “None of the letters ever mentioned.”

“It’s just a rumour, we don’t know the truth.”

“If the Queen’s spy says that…”

“Never heard her mention the source, it was a passing comment.” You explain

“Why would the Emporer give him Dukedom then? He’s a threat to his succession.” 

Maddy is right, Don John indeed is more of a threat than an ally if seen through the shrewd lenses, and you know that all the glories and virtues are nothing more than grand shows— carnival under the roof of sorts.

“Maybe, they want to keep him close. He crushes the enemies like ants, you said it yourself”

“They say he swings his mind in battle strategies more than his sword.” She adds after a moment of thought.

“Then he is a dangerous man.”

“If the Princess marries the Prince, they must produce an heir as soon as they can.”

You sigh and turn to a wilted rose.

“They must. We need the Spanish Ships, a war might be stirring soon.”

******

[classicanalyzer]

LEGO Star Wars Rebuild The Galaxy Thoughts

"Nothing makes sense, and everything's mixed up, and that's okay. Things fall apart, but maybe they can come back together better than before." Sig Greebling

Rebuild The Galaxy is my favorite out of all the D+ LEGO SW specials. I really love the connections to LEGO and SW, including the previous LEGO SW shows, especially Freemaker Adventures. Michael Kramer did an amazing job with the soundtrack, Sig's and Yesi's themes were well-composed.

Part I

"For someone who spends all his time telling stories about heroes, you have no idea how to be one. Maybe that's why you like history so much. It's over and done, but your life isn't. There's so much ahead of you if you'd just try, but you're afraid." Dev Greebling

Sig Greebling is such a cool name. I really love how he's a literal in-universe SW fan, yet someone who actually wants to be normal despite his Force sensitivity. I find it funny he's a literal Nerf herder. I do emphasize of how he wanted to avoid all the expectations if people know he's Force-sensitive.

I love the reference to Wookiees originally being a part of RotJ before being replaced with Ewoks.

Fennesa is a cool-looking world. Yesi Scala is another cool name (I get reminded of Scala Ad Caleum from KH haha). It's too bad Sig's indecisiveness and inability to step out of his comfort zone translates to his social life, even his crush. The background painting showing the sunset is so beautiful.

I really like how the Ackbar Troopers are the Clones in this universe. They must have chosen Ackbar as the main host due to his skills since he was a skilled warrior and leader, but definitely also for the memes out of universe. I also love how Phase I was used because the Kaminionans designed the Phase I suit based on aquatic species like themselves and would fit the Mon Calamari Clones.

The fighting animation and choreography for Yesi's fight against the Ackbar Troopers are so well animated. I laughed seeing that one Ackbar Trooper shooting with two blasters. I can see why Sig likes Yesi. Also ooff, Yesi lost her father in this timeline to the Empire. You can feel the bleak state of this galaxy under this Empire. At least, Yesi's desire to fly among the stars and not live in a backwater world is still there. I like how Sig also mentioned how Rancors are actually misunderstood intelligent creatures.

Double ooff, Sig's brother is now Darth Devastator "Dev". At least we finally get our first on-screen appearance of Jedi Bob!

Part II

"Being a hero is easier when you don't know the cost...Sig, the Force doesn't work that way. The dark side is loud and obvious like a big, mean Gamorrean kicking you in the head over and over. But the light side, the light side of the Force is just a whisper in the back of your mind." Bobolian Afol "Jedi Bob"

Darth Rey as Dev's apprentice feels so wrong about the intentional nature of aspects of this new universe. Jedi Bob!...or rather Bobolian Afol lmao (I also love how the markings seem a bit faded which signals his age). I love this cynical Jedi who sucks at fighting but is amazing at the Force...which is what a true Jedi should specialize in.

FREEMAKER LORE! THE FORCE BUILDERS ARE BACK! I love seeing them once again and hearing Bob recap them feels cathartic.

Ewok Bounty Hunters is one thing but bounty hunter C-3PO channeling his Triple 0 and HK-47 vibes in a Naboo Royal Cruiser with gold plating feels so right yet so wrong in the best ways possible. Yesi really has a lot of baggage with her wanting to prove herself and redeem herself for accidentally getting a rebel base captured.

Mos Eisley Marina made me die on the inside lmao. Tatooine isn't boring anymore lmao. I do love how this is a nod to how the BoBF and Legends mention Tatooine being once covered with oceans before becoming a desert world.

Like father like son indeed, however, even Anakin wouldn't go that far to cheat. I do love how Luke and Anakin use the same Podracer. Poor Max Rebo.

I love how Maul in this galaxy is much more relaxed and happy. At least, in this galaxy, Maul gets to live his life without the tragedies in his main galaxy life.

I love the implication that Nubs is well-known in the main galaxy that Sig knows about him. I'm incredibly confident that Darth Hammerhead is Rusty. Even in another universe, nobody remembers his name lmao.

That brief Duel of the Fates theme playing when Darth Jar Jar appeared was so hype and chilling. His line goes unironically hard.

Part III

"I know you can't restore a galaxy once it's gone because I tried to restore my own, and I failed. In the galaxy I'm from, things were simpler. I was a Padawan on Alistan Nor, learning the secrets of Force Building. I'd heard rumors about the Cornerstone. The more I read, the more obsessed I became. Was it possible to remake an entire galaxy? I needed to know the truth. My Masters forbid me from searching for the Cornerstone, but I wasn't exactly good at following orders. There were so many rules. I just wanted to do things my own way. I thought I could control the Cornerstone. I never thought -- When I left that temple, everything was different. My galaxy was gone, Sig. And yours had just been born." Bobolian Afol "Jedi Bob"

We truly reached the pinnacle of miniaturized Death Star tech with the Dark Falcon lmao.

Darth Jar Jar definitely isn't dead and I love what little time we had with him.

I love the lights looking like the Binary Sun and the music playing as Luke looks towards them.

I love how Palpatine in this universe is a cynic who gave up on fighting. I like that fascinating take on this alternate Palpatine. The new Jedi Council (I like the faded and scratched markings similar to Jedi Bob signals their age and tiredness of a seemingly hopeless war) is insane with Jedi Vader (I love that this is a SW Infinities comic reference, it felt cathartic to see it realized in visual media), Dooku, Cad Bane, Jannah, Lobot, IG-88(?), and even Jabba. I really love that Jannah has more to do here including her actress returning to voice her.

Greedo being the Han of this universe was so funny. He even has the Rodian ears for his Slave I Firespray ship lmao.

I love how Yesi recreates the energy in TFA when she does smth incredibly insane with Greedo's ship. Sig saying I do feels like his and Yesi's "I know" moment. And a Star Trous mention. I also feel like Yesi's point of how you fix the mistake got to Jedi Bob and got to him into revealing the truth. I love how Grevious is one of the rebels in this universe.

Alistan Nor!!! THAT'S THE FORCE BUILDER WORLD AND IT WAS MENTIONED IN FREEMAKER ADVENTURES.

Damn, this Han really became just like his mentor in the old universe. A true scoundrel.

God that twist of the old universe never coming back is gut-wrenching...especially since Jedi Bob is the only survivor of his old universe. The story of Jedi Bob is beyond tragic. One simple curiosity into the cornerstone left him the only survivor. Spending all that time alone in the Temple to make sure it doesn't happen again...only for it to happen again. I also really love how the simple galaxy is represented by 4:3 aspect ratio and all LEGO figures are the classic yellow designs.

WHEN SERVO WAS DESTROYED, I FELT MY HEART BREAKING APART. God that was heartbreaking to see, just like many heroes before him in his stories, to save his friends Sig gave himself up.

Part IV

"The tales of my galaxy. The tales of people like Dev. My Dev. I don't wanna forget them. They matter." Sig Greebling

God the intro with the sad music and Servo shutting down just hurts me in ways I cannot comprehend. The collapsing logo really showcases we're in the endgame.

I love how Yoda is voiced by his Young Jedi Adventure VA in this show. It is heartbreaking to see Ian Han hate Yoda given the very first major LEGO SW special (The Padawan Menace was one of my first non-SW movie experiences in my childhood).

Even if Dev is mentally messed up, I really like how he came around to having a brother and want to be brothers. I like how Sig realizes this is all a fantasy of a galaxy he can never restore. He fights to save this galaxy now.

I'm happy Tico got to a substantial role in this show alongside Rey. Reusing the Nobody line toward Darth Rey was pretty cruel.

The space battle was shot very well and I love the designs of the Calamari Destroyers.

Dev's breakdown was pretty disturbing to see and how he took the rage and lack of happiness in his life to put his idea of "order" and to take control of his life. Especially how he sees himself as beyond redemption and the point of no return.

The quote I used for the introduction quote is beautifully anti-nihilist.

The fight is so well choreographed and so peak, especially when the brief moment the windows were destroyed and the energy shield was activated. The fact the Nerf herder stick came back to be a major turning point in the fight against Dev is great. It was heartbreaking and I got a bit misty-eyed to see Dev ultimately decide to remain evil.

My heart repaired itself as Servo was reconstructed. The old galaxy is gone but the stories will live on. And leave it for Servo to interrupt Sig and Yesi's tender moment haha.

The ending shot with the new crew really felt like the passing of the torch between the Freemaker Adventures to Rebuild the Galaxy. I hope we get to see the Freemaker cast, especially the Freemaker family on Alistan Nor.

Also, The Landolorian and Evil Grogu has been so hyped as the sequel hook alongside Darth Rey and Tico being in charge of the Empire.

This is such a great show and I can't wait to see more LEGO SW stories set in this universe.

I love the score by Kramer who is also responsible for Ninjago’s score (alongside Jay Vincent):

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[david-talks-sw]

I was watching the Clone Wars featurette about the Holocron arc and Dave talks about the scene where Bane threatens to kill Ahsoka. He says "we're seeing a dark side of Anakin, and in a very clear illustration of why Jedi should not have attachments, we see that attachment get exploited." So clearly at what point in time he understood the whole attachment thing. What happened?

Unlike Karen Traviss, I think Dave Filoni actually understands what "attachment" means, in Star Wars. Apparently, it's the Star Wars theme that he and George spoke the most about.

"The biggest area of the Force and the Jedi [that] George and I have gotten into discussing the whole deal with attachments. And, arguably, that's what Anakin whole life is hinged on, is this - like you've mentioned - he has a lot of attachments to Artoo and how how right or wrong is that? Is it that the Jedi have made themselves dispassionate, that they are actually deceived by the Sith and they fall apart?" - Dave Filoni, Rebel Force Radio, 2012

What I've noticed is that, while understanding the meaning of attachment... Filoni doesn't seem to agree that the Jedi embody the concept of compassion.

He has acknowledged sometimes that "attachment is bad" is the theme of Anakin's story (but question if it's really so bad, unlike Lucas who says it's understandable but bad) but disagrees that the Prequel Jedi represent the obvious counter-theme, "compassion is good."

If you read what Filoni says, he argues that:

The Jedi have lost their way, taken the "rid yourself of attachment" rule and pushed it to an extreme where they've rid themselves of any empathy and thus compassion. They've focused so much on being selfless that they've forgotten how to love.

All except for Qui-Gon, who is the only one that truly knows how to love without getting attached, to love selflessly.

And personally, that strikes me as a coping headcanon, a way of reconciling the theme and feeling the Jedi like Mace, Ki-Adi, even Yoda and Obi-Wan are stoic, unlikable and too different from Luke.

Sure, they're not perfect, but nowhere in the films is the Jedi's stance on love framed as "bad" by the narrative. The narrative agrees with their philosophy, and George echoes it.

In fact, among 772 collected George Lucas quotes, I've never seen him state that theme while adding the asterisk that "of course, the Jedi of the Prequels have forgotten how to be compassionate, except for Qui-Gon who was the true Jedi."

And of course he doesn't do that. Because doesn't that muddy the waters so much?

Supposing Qui-Gon truly is the only character that embodies the concept of "compassion"... doesn't killing him off in the first film confuse a targeted audience of children?

Bearing in mind that the Prequels are about how greed makes people and institutions become the very thing they swear to destroy, and Star Wars as a whole is about being selfless instead of selfish:

In one corner, we have Anakin and the Senate showing what you're not supposed to do.

In the other, you got Padmé, Shmi and the Jedi, showing you what you should do instead.

Simple. I can see a kid getting this (and I did). But according to Filoni, that second point is incorrect. Instead, it's:

In the other, we have... Qui-Gon, who is one of the first film's four protagonists that dies at the end, without openly stating anything about the trilogy's theme. Theoretically, there's the Jedi who state and address the theme, but they don't themselves embody it so they don't count. So really... in this corner we have nobody (?)

That seems overly complex, a whole lotta hoops to jump through. Doesn't make sense. But hey, good luck learning the lesson, kids.

So yeah, Dave Filoni gets what attachment means. He just doesn't think it's as bad as Lucas' films frame it as, and disagrees on the Jedi narratively embodying the concept of compassion.

And I think it's coping. It's connecting non-existent dots, Always Sunny-style, to justify not liking characters that weren't meant to be developed much, due to their calm, collected nature and secondary/tertiary role in the story.

Coping and coming up with headcanons are what any irritated Star Wars fan does when they're confronted with something they're unable to make sense of.

“I care because I passionately believe that important stories ought to make sense.” As well you should—and when a story does not, you apply that passion to finding a way to make it make sense. [...] When a rational and inquisitive mind is confronted by the engaging yet irrational, it often responds in this manner. This process is not usually appreciated by those undergoing it; the most common reaction is a deep irritation. But isn’t that always how pearls are formed?” - Don DeBrandt, Star Wars on Trial, 2006

Unless they choose to make documentaries and click-baity YouTube video where they decide to spew hate and get angry pointlessly. Which I'd argue is still worse.

[afictionaladventure16]

hi!! maybe a fic where pedro has been away from his daughter for a while due to filming and just before a few days before he’s supposed to come home, he calls her saying he has to stay for a couple more weeks. she gets upset and maybe rebels and acts out in some way. the eventual reunion could either be a angsty or fluff depending on what ur goin for!! love ur writing btw!!

Broken Promises (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 4,516

A/N: First of all, thank you for your kind words! It means a lot! <3 I live for angsty requests! This one was fun to write! I kind of took what you asked and did some twists... I hope you like it, though!! Requests are open to anyone who wants to send something in! Also, I don't know if Pedro's older sister has a husband so, i made it up. ALSO, 4.5 k words! This might be my longest one yet. I stayed up till 4:30 am writing this one....

You anxiously looked over at the clock that was mounted on the wall, “The more you look at it, the slower it’ll move,” your tia commented as she noticed you looking at the clock for the seventh time in the past five minutes. “He said he’ll call before he got on his flight, his flight isn’t until Seven. Hours away, so would you please finish your homework before your father kills me because your grades slipped while he was away.” 

You groaned, “It’s killing me that he hasn’t called to let me know he made it to the airport, not even a text!” 

“He’s a busy man, Y/N. Plus you know how he is, he forgets where he places his phone like ever single minute, that’s why he’s so attached to that damn iPad,” Your tia commented as she continued to chop up vegetables for dinner. But she had a point, he could have let his phone in his carry on, or some obvious place that was in plain sight. 

You knew your dad too well, sometimes you thought you knew him better than he knew himself. Sometimes it was true and it scared you. Why? Maybe it was because he was everything to you and you were everything to him. It had just been the two of you since your mother passed and it was as if her passing brought the two of you closer. You bonded over her death in a morbid way. 

His mother passed when he was young, so he knew how to be a shoulder to cry on.

 He knew the right things to say and the wrong things to say. 

He knew the things you would want to avoid, the people you wouldn’t want to see. Overall, he just knew the pain you would go through. Ever since you were just this dynamic duo. 

When he was away filming, you missed him dearly, but it gave you time to spend with your cousins and family you don’t get to see as often. 

“Any plans for his return home?” your tia asked, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Well, I do have my tournament coming up, which is out of state and papi said we can go on a road trip. Take the scenic route and do all the stops.” 

“He did mention that, he sounded pretty excited.” 

“Yeah, plus this tournament is a pretty big deal, the top four teams will be competing to go to championship,” you explained. You wouldn’t say that soccer was your life, but you did love playing soccer. There was something about being on the field and just leaving everything on the sidelines, leaving all your trauma and past for a few hours and just being free. 

You had gotten into soccer when you were fairly young. You remembered your parents always cheering for you in the sidelines and then it was just your dad, then sometimes it would only be your tia who always had her phone up with most likely, your dad on the other side of the phone. Slowly the emptier the sidelines got, the reason for you to play grew, the more you wanted to just be free from your mind. 

The sound of your phone ringing interrupted your thoughts, you jumped up and ran towards your phone that sat at the kitchen counter. “Papi?” You said as you answered the call. 

“Y//N,” he began to say. 

“About time you called, I was beginning to worry you had missed your flight or something. Are you at the airport already?” 

“No,” He sighed. 

“You’re kind of cutting it close, you know that right?” you glanced at the clock, six thirty, it had read. 

“Cariño, I need you to listen to me,” he sighed. 

You sat back down at the kitchen table, “What’s wrong?” you asked. Your mind was quick to race to certain thoughts, someone could be dead, you thought. Who could it be? You had been with your tia Javiera for the past month and she was the oldest. Usually she was the first to know everything. 

“I’m sorry, Cariño,” he began. Your heart began to race, an uneasy feeling crept over you like storm clouds. “I’m gonna have to stay here for a few more weeks.” 

“A few more weeks? B-But you’ll be here for our road trip right?” You were met with silence, a sinking feeling took hold in your stomach, “Right?” you asked again. 

“Mija,” he muttered. Pedro spent the whole day putting off this phone call for this reason. He had gotten your hopes up and he knew you weren’t going to take it easy. 

“Did you tell them no?”

“I can’t tell the directors no,” he answered. 

“Did you even try?” Your voice choked with disappointment, he couldn’t be doing this. He promised he wouldn’t become that parent.  

“Mija, I can’t say no, I have to stay here and do reshoots.” 

“But our road trip!” You exclaimed. 

“I know and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

“Just like you promised to take me on this road trip?” 

“Mija, por favor, Don’t do this to me,” he said, Pedro felt his heart heavy, he knew he was disappointing you and as much as he wanted to tell the directors to shove it and say no, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Or like how you promised you’d never do this? How you promised you wouldn’t become that person.” 

“Y/N,” When the first name came out, you knew he was beginning to get upset. 

“Mija, give me the phone,” your Tia stepped in. She knew someone might say something they might regret and she didn’t want to see either of your hurt. But she forgot to realize you were her brothers daughter and just like him, you were stubborn too. 

You held onto the phone, “You promised,” disappointment written over your voice, tears began to well up in your eyes. 

“I know,” he whispered. If you had only seen how torn your father was at the moment, maybe you would have been okay with situation. Or maybe things would have turned differently, but you could only hear his voice and although, you heard the disappointment in his voice, you couldnt be bothered to care about it. All that mattered to you was that he had broken his first promise and you didn’t know if this was going to be the first of many and if so, what was next? 

Would you be one of those kids that grew up only seeing their parents on the holidays and eventually writing a book titled, “My Parent, the Mandalorian, and the neglect I endured.” You never wanted to be one of those kids and when your dad first began to get bigger roles, he had promised you that you wouldn’t. That he wouldn’t become one of those famous parents. 

You remained silent, hoping it was some kind of sick joke and maybe he’d say something along the lines of ‘Gotcha!’ or maybe he’d say ‘I’ll be there tomorrow, don’t worry!’ But seconds pass and he didn’t say any of it. “Okay,” you finally said. 

“Mija,” Pedro began to say but you handed the phone to your tia. 

���Pedro, it’s Javiera,” your tia said, a somber look fell on her face when she had heard him apologizing when she first took the phone. She felt bad for her little brother, but she also felt bad for you. 

“Is she still there?” Pedro asks

Javiera looked at you, you wiped away tears that were managing to escape. You groaned to yourself, irritated with everything around you, you left the room. “She just left,” she replied. 

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“How do I fix this?” Pedro pleaded. Ever since your mother passed away, Pedro called his big sister for any little thing on parenting, he felt like every choice he made was the wrong one. Most of the time, it wasn’t, he was just overthinking it. 

“There really is no way out of the reshoots? No way to reschedule?” 

“Directors call,” he sighed. “I really fucked up, Javiera. No me va a perdonar” (She’s not gonna forgive me). 

“No mas nicesieta tiempo. Let me talk to her, but for now… give her some space.” 

“Are you saying not to call her?” Pedro questioned. 

“Or text… just for a couple of days. If anything send her a goodnight text, but let’s not anger her more.” He let out a small sigh, Pedro always texted you. Even if he went the whole day without responding, he made sure to send a goodnight text every night. 

“Alright,” he muttered. “I’m gonna need you to get in contact with the school, she’ll have to go with her team to the tournament.” 

“I’ll contact them, and Pedro?”

“Mande?” 

She let out a deep breathe, “It’s gonna be fine.” 

Pedro tried his hardest to give himself a smile, to reassure himself that it would be fine and eventually it’ll pass, but he couldn’t. At the moment his heart was utterly broken, he had broken a promise, what felt like a sacred vow and now he had disappointed you. It probably wouldn’t be the first, but he sure as hell, hopes it wouldn’t become a habit. 

Over the past week, you only left your room to go to school and shower. Your cousins dropped off your food in your room every day, you felt like they were somehow on your side. Your friends eventually began to blow up your phone, not only had you been distant with your family, but you’ve also been distant with them. 

You felt your phone vibrate beside you, you groaned at the thought of getting a phone call from anyone. Picking up the phone you realized it was one of your teammates, Cassandra, “Yeah?” 

“Finally you pick up,” Cassandra muttered. “Look, a bunch of us are going to go on a drive later tonight with Justin’s brother, he just got his license and we wanted to know if you want to join.” 

“Can’t.” 

“Oh come on, Y/N! You’ve been so distant and what will it hurt? You’re dad isn’t home anyway so he can’t say anything!” 

You let out a sigh, she had a point, “I still have curfew.” 

“So? Sneak out.” 

You had to admit that Cassandra was a bad influence. She wasn’t your best friend, she was one of the girls in your soccer team. She was part of the older group in the varsity team, but she always invited you out. Part of you felt like she only did it because of your dads social status which is why you always declined her offer. That and because your dad didn’t really approve of you hanging out with her, he could always tell when someone was a bad influence. But Cassandra was right, he wasn’t here. 

“Fine.” 

“Really?” Cassandra asked taken back by your response. 

“Like you said, my dad isn’t here, so it shouldn’t matter right?” 

“Trouble in paradise?” She chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes, “What time should I be ready?” 

“We’ll pick you up at midnight, we’ll shoot you a text when we’re down the block,” Cassandra said before she hung up the phone. You felt your nerves beginning to get worked up, you had no idea what you just got yourself into, yet something inside you felt carefree. 

If your dad were home, you knew he wouldn’t approve of you going out so late. He definitely wouldn’t have approved of you going on a joy ride with someone you didn’t even know and had just gotten their license. He wasn’t here though. 

You remained in your room while you waited, your Tia Javiera came to check on you before she went to bed. Soon after you heard your phone vibrate on your desk, for a moment you thought it was Cassandra but it was still an hour away from midnight. You glanced at your phone, 

Goodnight, Mija ♥️ 

It was a message from your dad. You rolled your eyes and put your phone away. You spent the rest of your time getting ready, you wore something simple, but made sure to cover up from the cold. A few minutes past midnight you received a text from Cassandra saying that they were waiting down the block. You began to quietly make your way out of the house.

“Where you going?” you heard someone whisper. 

You turned around to see your cousin Pedro in the middle of the kitchen, “Pedro, what are you doing up?” 

He held up a sandwich, “where you going?” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, “I’m only going to be gone for an hour, it’s just a drive around the block with some friends.” 

He chuckled, “I don’t care what you do, Y/N. I’ve been there before. Have fun and if you go to McDonalds bring me some fries, kay?” 

You rolled your eyes, “whatever.” You playfully flipped him off before walking out of the house. You made sure to close the door softly behind you. Once you were in the clear you booked it down the street. You spotted Cassandra waving you down from a dark green Tahoe. 

“This car is a piece of junk,” you commented as you got into the Tahoe. 

“Hey, no disrespecting Hilda!” The driver who you assumed to be Jasons brother, exclaimed. 

“She’s a piece of junk but she’s Marty’s piece of junk,” Jason commented. 

“Correct!” Marty said. “Now let’s get this party started!” 

~~ 

Pedro woke up in a startle to the sound of his phone ringing, at first he had thought it was just his dream, but the sound slowly began to get louder and louder until finally he woke up. He groaned, “who the fuck is calling so early?” he muttered to himself. 

“Hello?” he answered in an annoyed tone. 

“Pedro?” he heard his sister on the other line, her voice sounded strain. 

“Javiera?” Pedro quickly sat up. 

“Pedro,” Javiera’s voice trembled, there was some ruffling sounds on the other line. 

“Javiera?” No answer. “Javier, que te pasa?” 

“Pedro?” Javiera’s husband had taken over the phone. 

“Augustine? Que esta pasando?” (What’s happening) Pedro was no sitting on the side of his bed, he no longer felt drowsy. 

Augustine sighed, “Pedro, no se como dicier te. Y/N snuck out a few hours ago,” 

“Shit,” Pedro let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His mind had been racing to a million scenarios. “Well that’s a first,” he chuckled. 

“Pedro,” Augustine said softly. 

Pedro closed his eyes, the way Augustine said his name, he knew what it meant. “Is she okay?” Pedro asked as his voice trembled. 

“She was in a car with a bunch of her friends and some drunk driver, he was driving over a hundred miles, the kid didn’t have a chance to react.” 

“Augustine, is my baby okay?” Pedro was beginning to get ansty. 

“She’s in the ICU,” Pedro could hear his sister crying in the background. 

“Is she okay?” Pedro asked again. 

“You need to get here as fast as possible, Pedro. She’s at Saint Mary’s Memorial Hospital, you know where that is?” 

“Saint Mary’s, yeah,” Of course he knew where it was. He could never forget, it was the same hospital you were born at and now you were there again, but in different circumstances. Pedro was quick to hang up, calling his Director in the middle of night was something he would never do, unless it was something like this. Something like his daughter was hanging on by a thread and he didn’t care about anyones sleep, he just needed to get on the first plane back to New York. 

The directors were understanding of the situation, they even helped Pedro get back to New York within the hour. He had never received treatment like that, but he was thankful for it. 

Pedro had just a carry on, leaving most of his luggage back at the hotel with his assistant. He didn’t need much anyway, just the essentials. 

Once he got out of the airport, he flagged down a taxi. The ride to the hospital seemed to be the longest ride ever. Pedro was anxious to get there, anxious to see you and to make sure you were okay. She’s in the ICU, Augustine’s voice kept repeating those words in his head like a broken record player. The sound of his sisters cries over the phone brought back memories he had thought he buried. 

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the brief halt of the car, Pedro looked out of the car window to see that he had arrived to his destination. “Thanks,” he said to the cab driver as he handed him some cash before bolting out of the car and into the hospital.

The sun was beginning to rise when Pedro finally arrived, he rushed over to the front desk. “May I help you, sir?” 

“Uh- my, my daughter,” Pedro let out a shaky breath. 

The receptionist knew that look too well, she had seen it so many times. “What’s the name?” she asked softly. 

“Y/N Pascal.” 

SHe was quick to type the name in, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was wait any longer. “Take the elevator to floor three.” 

“Thank you!” Pedro ran over to the elevator, punch the button for floor three. 

He ran out of the elevator once they opened. 

“Pedro!” He heard his sister exclaim. 

Pedro let out a sigh of relief, he ran over to her and gave her a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. 

“It’s alright,” he looked over at his nephews, they both were distraught of the situation. “You boys okay?” 

Young Pedro looked over at his uncle, tears in his eyes, “I should’ve stopped her, Tio. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he pulled his nephew into the hug. Pedro didn’t know why he was trying to comfort everyone at the moment, maybe a part of him felt like it was his responsibility because he felt so much guilt. “Where is she?” 

“The doctors have her in surgery right now, she had some internal injuries they hoped to repair.” Pedro choked back the tears, he sat down on one of the chairs nearby. “They said by the looks of the crash site, she got the worse of it. She was sitting in the spot the car impacted with.” 

Pedro pinched the bridge of his nose, “How bad is it?” 

“The doctors said something about possible physical therapy,” Javiera added. “It’s still all unknown at the moment.” 

“This is all my fault.” 

“Don’t say that, Pedro.” 

“She isn’t that kind of kid, Javiera! She would’ve never done this unless she was really mad at me,” Pedro let out a shaky breath. Javiera placed a comforting hand on her brothers shoulder. “I can’t lose her, Javiera,” Pedro sobbed. 

“I know,” she whispered. She let Pedro cry into her shoulder and he cried for a while. After about an hour, he began to calm down, everyone sat in silence as they waited for the doctors to come out. Hours passed by when finally a doctor walked out of the doubled doors and to the Pascal family. 

“Family of Y/N Pascal?” the doctor nervously figeted with his hands. 

Pedro stood up quickly, “How is she?” 

The doctor cleared his throat, he never like this part of the job, speaking to the family. “There was a lot of damage and we did the best we could,” Pedro felt a sob make its way into his throat, he tried his best to hold it back, it wasn’t bad news yet. “But she’s steady now.” Pedro let out a deep breathe. “This isn’t the end of her journey yet, she has a long road of recovery. She’s lucky to be alive.” 

Pedro had tears falling from his eyes, his baby girl was okay. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor, “Can I see her?” 

“Of course, I’ll take you to her.” The doctor led Pedro through the doubled doors, “She’s in the post Surgery, we’ll be moving her back to the ICU later today.” The doctor stood beside one of the doors, “She’ll have a lot of wires surrounding her, it may look scary but it’s what’s keeping her alive. She might not wake up right away, if anything we don’t expect her to wake up for a few days. It’s common in severe crash victims,” the doctor explained. “The tube in her throat will be taken out once she can breathe on her own.” 

“Can I touch her at least?” 

The doctor nodded, “It’s like handling a newborn, you have to be a bit careful.” The doctor tried to give Pedro a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you,” he said softly before opening the door. The doctor was right, the way the wires surrounded you scared Pedro. “Oh baby girl,” he said softly as he walked up to the bed. “I’m sorry,” he let out a sob. He sat on the chair beside your bed, taking your hand into his, he placed a kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m sorry I broke our promise, but you need to wake up for me okay?” He slowly moved a strand of hair out of your face, careful to not touch the tubing and wires. “Te quiero mucho, Y/N. No puedo vivir sin ti.” (I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t live without you). 

As the days passed, Pedro stayed beside your bedside during the day and during the night. He never left your bedside, not even to shower although he was beginning to get remarks about how he smelled. He didn’t care, he wanted to make sure he was there when you woke up. 

It had been a full week and you still hadn’t woken up. The doctors were beginning to worry, they started to do more tests to make sure they didn’t miss anything before or to see if anything new showed up. 

“Pedro, you need to go home and at least shower,” Augustine said as he placed a plate of food on a small table nearby. 

“I’m fine,” Pedro said as he kept his eyes on you. Augustine sighed, it was no use, there was really nothing that was going to convince Pedro to leave the room. 

“Come on, Cariño,” Pedro said softly. “You need to wake up.” he squeezed your hand gently. Pedro was about to let go when he felt you squeeze his hand, his eyes widen and he squeezed your hand again. Few seconds later your squeezed his hand, “Yes!” he exclaimed. He got up from his chair, “She squeezed my hand!” he yelled out to the nurses that were outside the door. They came rushing in, beginning to check your pupils and your vitals. 

“Get the doctor,” one of them commanded the other. 

The doctor was ecstatic to see the vitals go up, “Y/N, if you can hear me, squeeze your dads hand.” You squeezed your dads hand again. Seconds later your eyes fluttered opened, you winced at the brightness of the room. You felt something lodge in your throat, you lifted your arm to touch it, “no, no we’ll take it out for you, dear.” 

“She’s awake,” Pedro said in disbelief. 

“We’ll need to get the tubing out,” the doctor said. Pedro got up from his spot on the bedside, let the doctor take the tubing out from your mouth. “Your mouth is gonna feel dry for a couple of days, it’s common,” he began to say as he checked your pupils again. “Do you know where you are?” 

“The-” you coughed, a nurse handed your cup of water. “The hospital?” 

“Good, what year is it?” 

“Twenty Twenty Three.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Y/N.” 

“And who’s that?” The doctor pointed over at your dad. 

“My dad,” you said softly. 

The doctor smiled, “We’ll run some more tests later,” he said to your dad, “I’ll leave you two alone for a now.” 

Your dad thanked the doctor, he waited until they all left to go back to his spot by the bedside. You bothe remained quiet for a few minutes, one waiting for the other to speak. The other trying to get the courage to speak. 

You let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry,” you whisepred. “It was really stupid.” 

Pedro shook his head, pulling you into a warm embrace, “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “All that matter is that you’re here and you’re alive.” He let go of the embrace, holding your head in his hands, “that’s all that matters to me right now, okay?” You gave him a nod, “I thought I was gonna lose you,” he choked out. 

“I’m sorry,” you trembled. 

“Que paso, Amor? How did it happen?” 

You shrugged, “One second we were heading back and the next thing I know, I heard screaming and it was dark,” you sniffled. “Is everyone else okay?” 

Your dad nods, “You got the worse of it. Cassandra was pretty shooken up, but they all got minor scratches and concussions.” 

“Lucky me,” you said sarcastically. Your dad kissed the top of your head, “I really am sorry about everything.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I broke a promise.” 

“I overreacted,” you confessed. 

“I don’t think you did,” he said softly. “I mean, I get it, we had a promise I wouldn’t break promises or cancel on you for work, especially with thing like your tournament. I wouldn’t let you become one of those kids with a book on how their parent was the worst parent ever.” you chuckled, causing your dad to smile, “I broke that promise and it scared you, and I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you and I’m sorry I overreacted and landed myself in the most expensive place on earth that isn’t Disneyland.” 

Your dad let out a laugh, “Forgiven.” 

“Forgiven,” you repeated. “Now, how bad is this?” you gestured to your broken leg, “Is my soccer career totaled?” 

“Soccer career? I thought you wanted to become an actor like your old man?” 

“Well, acting wasn’t my first choice, but depending on this, it might just become my first choice.” 

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Well, you’ll have physical therapy for sure, but let’s talk about it when we get there.” 

“Alright, but can we talk about something else?” 

“Dime (tell me).” 

“Can you go shower?” you scrunched up your nose, “I’m pretty sure your B.O. is what woke me up!” 

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright, I’ll call your tia over to be with you while I go shower.” Pedro watched as you covered your nose in exaggeration, usually he would say something petty, but right now he just wanted to admire you and the fact that you were still alive. “Te amo, mija.” 

“Y yo a ti, papi,” you gave him a smile, knowing that everything was going to be okay and that if you did write a book in the future, it’d probably be about how you grew up blessed to be Pedro Pascal’s daughter.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01  @tracysnookok  @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy

To be added CLICK HERE

[valyrra]

So like today I woke up (as usual) with head full of Havik so here are some obvious (sfw) headcanons no one asked for:

the man is chaotic, delusional anarchist. sometimes he doesn't make any sense at all and his words contradict themselves

especially in a relationship. he can assure you all you want that you are free, in general, though he will do anything to mark you, so everyone knows you are claimed (is this nsfw? idk)

I really don't wanna say that he's into poly/free love himself or not cause it depends on what kind of relationship you have

he's touch starved. especially gentler touch. he becomes very vulnerable with you though he's going to be scared at first❤️ and is surprisingly supportive (if your views align)

he will appreciate you a lot for supporting him as well. really. he has a lot of enemies and the fact that you stick around is endearing to him

you will find a lot of new enemies/rivals yourself. probably no one will understand you at all. probably Darrius will but that's it.

big no for marriages. he doesn't like the idea of somehow restraining you. he adores the idea of you being loyal without having any kind of contracts signed. also marriage is a government institution so fuck it

he always gives you the choice. you are free to choose to stay or go. though it will hurt like hell to him and probably worsen his state.

he doesn't like being controlled at all. he wants all the freedom the same he gives you

hates manipulative people (obviously)

calls you his "lil rebel" ❤️

say bye to your sanity (if you had any)

you can call him Dairou only when you are two alone. he cherishes these moments and they strike his heart just right.

speaking about hearts. he will rip out his heart randomly just for you to look at it, lmao

also as I've written already. Licks and bites you after the burn instead of kisses :з

[tmwcs]

Random Thought!

When I see this….

MDNI 18+ content below the line…

I see you staying late one night after class, studying at the college private library. When it was time for you to leave, you walked past the conservatory, and that’s when you heard the strumming of a fierce, and screeching guitar. You thought it was odd, considering that the auditorium didn’t contain a member of the schools music group that played such heavy metal themed rifts.

Curiosity got the better of you, do you walked in and took a peek. There, you saw a young fellow with ripped jeans, dressed all in black, a rock themed logo on his shirt and a jacket draped around his elbows as he continued to finger the strings of his electric guitar. You were intrigued, though intimidated as you stood, all pretty in pink and prepped with your cropped polo and matching tennis-themed skirt. Little rich girl meets the college rebel, or so it would appear. He catches you from his side profile and stops playing.

“Can I help you?”

His voice was calm and deep, and eluded more of an aggressive demeanor than his countenance. You stuttered out your words, doing your best to remain composed as you took a few steps forward.

“S-sorry…I heard you from outside and I was just admiring the way you play.”

“Huh….admiring? Well, nothing to it. Stare away little girl, and be mind blown.”

His rhythm and melody becomes more intense as his fingers slide, pick, and shift through every string on the instrument. There was something about the way he stood, his jacket looped around his waist as he played away, looking like a God…his fingers…the way he moved his fingers while standing there, being so ethereal. The images that flowed through your mind as you paid attention to the details of his hands.

“You wanna try?” He asks, noticing your slow-opened gape as you watched this musical God manipulate his majestic guitar skills before you. You nod your head and set your bag down.

Walking up, your notions were obvious, you didn’t know what to do and was terribly confused when he handed you the pick.

He chuckles. “Alright, come here then.” Distancing the instrument from his chest, he swings you over in front of him, before bringing the guitar in front of you. He places your hands in the correct position, and guides your fingers, teaching you to play each key. “There, just keep doing that until your fingers flow smoothly. It’s all muscle memory.”

You attempted, yet this was harder than it looked. How in the world did he make it look so easy? You struggled, yet remained adamant; you refuse to let this instrument get the better of you.

“Follow my lead.”

“How?…we only have one guitar…” you turned your face to look over your shoulder, and back at him as you slightly whimpered out your words in a confused state. His jacket remained looped around his elbows, you felt the warmth as he cradled you in, grabbing on to your waist. You held tightly onto the guitar, gasping as you felt his magical hands slip under your crop top, down your thighs, lifting your skirt, caressing your breasts and hooking your panties. Pushing the material odd to the side, he swoops his fingers delicately over your skit. Hissing, you yelp out a plea. “Ah—what!….what are you doi—“

“Shhhh…” he whispers before gently nibbling onto your ear, “follow my lead baby.”

At that moment, you realized that the movements he was performing on you, the way his fingers take turns inserting you, gently strumming your clit, while his free hand would slide over your areola and cup the mounds of your breasts. He was playing you just the way he played his guitar. Inserting his middle finger, he hooks it and presses against your walls. “Press down on the chord.”

His index and ring remain on the outer edges of your plush lips, pressing in, he whispers…”glide your fingers on the strings baby….keep that finger steady.”

Your knees tremble as he moves melodically, playing beautifully as he did earlier. He strums, hooks, presses, glides, and flickers each finger, playing away at intense and fierce rhythm, harmonizing a beautiful melody that would have made God’s own musical angels flare up with envy….only this time, the screeching and music didn’t come from the guitar.

Perm Taglist:

@enheene , aiden2001 , heeseung-min , lathan1510 , rayofsunshineeee , @hoyeonheeseung , @rayofsunshineeee , @yohanabanana , @sunoosrightbuttcheek , @jaeneohee , @icydawon , @silcry , @iamliacamila , @nikstrange , @enheene ; @nuriicata , @en-happiness

[keehllo]

MiziTill and IvanTill analysis.

— First, understand Mizi, Till, and Ivan’s character.

Mizi’s guardian must’ve contributed to her naivety as arts of her with her guardian seemed sweeter than Till and Ivan’s interactions with aliens. Till was constantly thrown around and treated like garbage as his guardian ENJOYS TORTURE. Ivan is also treated horrible which contributes to his pessimistic personality compared to Mizi.

Mizi had something Ivan didn’t: Optimism. That’s most likely why Ivan didn’t hate Mizi when it was obvious Till has an infatuation with her. “When she smiled at me, my heart was reborn” which is obvious, Mizi’s brightness attracts people and which is why she’s able to make friends very easily. Ivan knew Till needed that, one of his ways of wanting to make Till as happy as Mizi does is by telling him how horrible Alien Stage is and wanting to run away with him.

I forgot which animatic but it’s shown that Ivan never had a red dot in his pupils until he saw Till. That must’ve been his sign of attraction. This same red dot is seen in Till’s eyes as he runs away with Ivan, he’s happy — until he thinks of Mizi. He remembers Mizi and thinks of what horrible things they’ll do to her if he leaves. The red dot disappears in Till’s eyes.

— Second, Till’s struggle with attachment.

Till clearly struggles with attachment as seen with Ivan, which is confirmed by VIVINOS on her Patreon, saying: “Till has a deep love-hate attachment with Ivan” which is one of the evidences that Till actually struggles so much with how to react when someone shows care for him.

What makes Ivan’s care different from Mizi’s though? Why couldn’t he accept Ivan’s but he could accept Mizi’s?

Ivan was close to him. He was always around him and even if they did fight, they would still hangout. While with Mizi, Till failed to even build a relationship with her. Evidence being Mizi’s intimacy score with Till: “He’s so distant… does he hate me?” And this is because that outside of rebelling, Till writes songs. It’s most likely a coping mechanism for him to vent his feelings. You can see in one of the animations as Till is writing something, Ivan is right next to him. This can be used as a symbol of their closeness. Even if Mizi wasn’t there, Ivan was.

Because of Till’s struggle with healthy attachment, he couldn’t react properly when someone genuinely built a bond with him, but he could with someone who barely hangs out with him.

This is a sign of avoidant attachment. Till’s struggle in how he can show love. After all, how can someone who has never been shown love by his own guardian give love? He was never even taught what actual love is.

— Third, difference between idolization and crushes.

According to VIVINOS on her Patreon she claims that Mizi is a “fantastical figure” to Till. As stated before, they barely interacted as Till was almost always in his own world (rebelling or writing music). Even though Till knows and speaks to Mizi, they don’t even have a bond anywhere close to how Till is with Ivan.

When you don’t build a bond with someone, you only perceive them as a figure. There’s very little to perceive about them when you aren’t close with them. This is how Mizi’s naivety and brightness comes into play, she was everything that Till isn’t. She isn’t a pessimistic, traumatized jerk who hits his own friend (Ivan) just because he gets frustrated with them.

Because of his trauma, he wanted to feel that too. Till put Mizi on a pedestal. This is IDOLIZATION. It’s a way to cope, a form of escapism from his harsh reality.

How can I be so sure it’s that? You can see it in Round 6. Mizi, already going through Round 1, is traumatized. She’s seen the worst. In Till’s flashback, she pictures Mizi in her Anakt Uniform when she was still innocent.

Conclusion: Till does love Ivan, but because of his attachment issues, he didn’t acknowledge that.

[yuurei20]

Translation from Twst the 2nd novel: Jack and Leona (pt4/4)

"‘All this messing around. We don’t have time for this!’

Released from Ruggie’s unique magic, Leona rubs against his reddened cheeks and raises his eyes.

If they are going to win this Spelldrive tournament, they need to revise their strategy. Leona declares this with conviction, once again their self-possessed commander.

Jack is smiling still, and Ruggie gives him a sidelong glance.

‘Don’t think this’s got nothin' to do with you, Jack-kun. Think hard on how we’re supposed to fight properly in the state we’re in.’

‘Eh—me, too?’

Though Jack doesn’t say, ‘I’m playing, too?’ out loud, Yuuya can tell that he comes close.

He might have had his reasons, but who is he to ask such a thing after rebelling against his pack and abandoning them. This is all extremely clear to Yuuya.

‘Obviously. Jack-kun is an important asset, after all.’ Ruggie watches Jack with a curious look, as though wondering why he needs to say such an obvious thing.

It is possible that Ruggie could never dream of the internal turmoil with which Jack is wrestling—he just doesn’t think that way. Leona may understand, but he will not force it.

‘Well, that's of course if you even wanna compete with us, still.’

‘In or out—decide for yourself.’

Jack falls silent for a long moment, and Yuuya anxiously watches his silent back.

At this rate, Jack is going to withdraw from the tournament.

Yuuya realizes it without even having to hear his answer. He has seen Jack’s stubbornness play out too many times already.

‘I…’

There is hard determination in Jack’s eyes.

‘Wait!’ Suddenly, Yuuya interjects. ‘Jack really respects Leona-senpai.’

Both Leona and Ruggie turn to look at Yuuya. They are both still frightening, but if he does not speak now, he will never be able to face Jack again.

‘He said that you were amazing in tournaments before, and was so passionate when he talked about it. So, I think that he really does want to compete with his senpai.’

‘Hey, what are you spouting off stuff like that for!’ Jack covers Yuuya’s mouth. He is strong and his voice is rough but, strangely, Yuuya is not afraid.

Because he knows very well that Jack does not become angry unjustly. He is calm, self-reliant, strict with himself and dutiful.

He wants Leona to come to understand Jack better, Yuuya decides.

Some things must be said aloud in order to be understood, no matter how intelligent a person may be.

It is like what Ace and Deuce have taught him: to really understand what is going on inside someone, you need to speak up.

For a moment Leona looks somewhat bewildered, but then he exhales a soft, breathy laugh. ‘You don’t need to respect me. A cheeky dog like you can be trained through skill alone.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean…do you even regret anything?’ Jack is baffled by Leona’s smile.

He scratches his head as though embarrassed, and quietly closes his eyes.

His eyelids flicker, and then he finally opens them again, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ll join the tournament. But, I’m gonna give it my all!’"

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter one

live to rise series

one: they'll find you, burn you

series masterlist | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths, many minor character deaths, Din has hearing loss, angst by the bucket, Din Djarin takes the helmet off (kind of)

Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s morning when the news breaks.

By lunch, datapads are discarded in favor of gossip. It’s as useless as the Imperial rags parading as official broadcasts—all speculation and slander.

While the details of the Mandalorians’ final stand for their homeworld circulate above, the stiff air of the lower complex is thick with the question: to whose barracks will the fallen king be assigned?

You know the answer. Your datapad had pinged early, much before your day should have begun. Much before the news went live across the galaxy.

Cell C-5 had been scrubbed clean on your perennially bruised knees the day before when Dup, a young Gungan whose face was bruised as if he’d already gone a round, had failed to return from the arena.

He had been brought in late the previous night, shaking and weeping and not speaking a lick of Basic. Those were the hardest. There was no comfort, no preparation, no honor you could give them.

He didn’t return after his first battle.

It was the way of things. Many never saw a second sunrise.

As caretaker for Barrack Cresh, whether your fighters eat, drink, bathe, get medical attention and fresh clothing, or, well, anything, falls on you.

So you stocked C-5 with the basics, but the Mandalorian King’s file is barren when your clearance arrives. You bristle at the lack of biodata. How are you supposed to provide proper clothing or order his dinner?

It becomes obvious when he arrives that evening.

You’re not.

It’s past curfew when they bring him in, and normally, you’d be in bed. But one of yours had come back a few minutes earlier from the medbay and you know the state they usually return in, so you’re in C-2 with the door shut.

The ex-Rebel pilot, Gino, doesn’t argue as you dab the shallow cuts on his face with an alcohol swab, but he does flinch when you tug the split skin on his calf together like a stubborn bedsheet to apply suture tape. They had used just enough bacta for his serious injuries and left the rest to bleed.

“Sorry,” you hiss, but it’s lost in the pneumatics of the door.

Gino is on his feet immediately, shushing you with a finger to his lips. You can’t risk being seen through the little window, so he minds your space as you flatten to the ground and peek through the delivery slot.

At first, all you can see are boots. So many boots. And among the shiny black rubber is the oddest pair of worn brown leather. It’s been so long since you saw anyone in shoes but the guards; your stomach churns with fear.

Gino taps at your head, and you let him help you up to peek once they’re past the cell.

It’s the Mandalorian. There are five of the Moff’s personal guards in their black kits restraining him, and they still have to jab him with an electrostave in order to shut the cell door fast enough.

He’s snarling, the modulator of his helmet warping and crackling the terrible cacophony. He’s also huge, and the strip of lights shines off his dark armor like someone took a handful of the night sky and smudged it across the wall of the cell.

You brush away the errant question of how much of his bulk is the armor and how much he comes by naturally. You’ll find out tomorrow, like everyone else.

The hype alone ensures a sold-out arena. The officers and their simpering spouses and sycophants are salivating for the battle—or at least for the profits.

The headlines fill seats to a swarming mass, everyone vying to see the latest and shiniest trophy.

He won’t be shiny for long.

Not after they strip away the beskar that protects one of—if not the last of—the “galaxy’s greatest warriors” and see if he’s worth anything underneath.

They don’t expect him to survive. They don’t want him to, really. They want to crush the will of any who would still defy the Empire. A very public, humiliating execution is the Moff’s wet dream.

The Mandalorian is gone before your morning rounds, dragged up to the arena’s cage to watch his fate play out on the faces of others. Either end is the same, really.

And if he survives, it won’t matter. Sure, prisoners can earn their freedom through a percentage of the money they bring in from wagers, or they can die trying.

But no fighter has made it out alive. Not even close.

You’re close, though. Not that you’re in an arena contract. But you’re nearing the end of the third year in a five-year indentured servitude sentence, and it carries a lower fatality rate.

Which isn’t saying much, really. It would be hard to have a higher fatality rate than the fighters.

There are twelve of you and ten barracks, not counting the fluctuating number of sponsored champions who have private accommodations.

Sixty standard fighters, never more or less as the sun rises.

Sometimes, you return to six empty cells.

Only once have you found your flock all home. You fell to your knees and cried right then, bringing acrid dread to a boil as you knew it would never, ever happen again.

Just three days ago, Din Djarin had stood in the grand hall at Keldabe, knowing it would be the last time.

It was still. Silent. Not yet in the chaos of war, but just on the edge, as when rainfall is a distant specter and the uneasiness cloisters in your lungs.

He takes in the art behind the throne with quiet reverence, eyes following the sharp lines and bold colors, the stories of their ancestors dutifully and beautifully eternalized.

The shame creeps up his neck again, but he shrugs it off. It will work. He’s known for his tight and effective strategy, and his advisors had agreed to the plan.

He only hoped the Ka’ra would accept his soul into the Manda all the same. That the blood of his brethren wouldn’t deny him the peace that he ached for.

He thinks once more of Grogu, breathes through the pain, and then clears his mind.

Turning from the throne, he strides to the grand windows—to Paz. With hands clasped behind his back, he follows his general’s focus to the TIE fighters breaking through the atmosphere.

Troopers are within the walls. The Destroyers won’t be long, now.

“Vod,” Din begins, angling toward Paz.

“Do not deal me the insult of an out,” Paz snaps.

“I would never,” Din says, throat cinching around the words. “It’s an honor to have you at my side.”

Paz dips his head. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, ner Mand’alor.”

Din knows he speaks true. Though they may not have always gotten along, they were still vod. Still loyal, until death.

Death they now stood on the brink of.

Outside, the fleet falls fast. Din grimaces as their ships careen to the surface and crush the city into crumbs. Fire spreads, and he has to pretend the homes are empty. That everyone got out in time.

The Empire assumes each Kom’rk-class fighter is full of Mandalorians waiting to drop into battle. They target them with glee, thinking they’ve devastated the sky and ground teams in one fell swoop.

But each ship has only a pilot. A pilot who climbed into the cockpit knowing they would certainly die. Willing to take the place of their vod.

Mando’ad draar digu. They will live on in him until he draws his last. More importantly, they will live on in their families, who—if he’s done anything right—will live far beyond him.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Din says.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Paz echoes.

They are to be the last words spoken to one another.

Inside the palace, the fight leaves no breath for such things. Not that they need it; their movements are fluid and equal.

It takes half the platoon to take Paz down and the other to take Din.

Unlike his vod, they do not grant him a warrior’s death.

In the arena, they’ve left him in the armor as he paces the cage. Every moment with it spurns the barb deeper in his gut, the terror turning terrifying as his rage becomes a tsunami.

The fights are nothing. The Imps who thought he’d be intimidated by them have clearly never seen an average Mandalorian brawl. These ended with a little more finality and a little less bickering over the winner, but the actual fighting? Mostly pathetic.

He doesn’t look upon them with scorn, though. These are beings stripped of all dignity, underfed, and devoid of hope. The Empire has ground them into the dirt beneath their glossy boots, and he expects that for many, death is a kindness.

In the end, he lets them take the beskar’gam from his bound body. They hold him, scanners at the ready, the whole of the galaxy waiting to witness his final defeat in real time. The giddy grins tell him what he already knows—they are certain this will break him.

He holds eye contact with Gideon just to see the shock that strikes him at Din’s defiance. He aches to smirk or snarl or sink his teeth into the man, but he won’t give him the satisfaction.

They don’t give them weapons for this fight. At least they’re being honest about their intentions.

Hand-to-hand combat with a Wookie should be a death sentence. Should be, for a lesser being. But the Mand’alor is far sharper than their blades could ever hope to be, and he wields his mind and body as expertly as he would a blaster.

Din doesn’t speak Shyriiwook. He wishes he did, for when he asks his opponent for their name, he fails to capture the response. It slips from his grasp, slick as his hands are from the Wookie’s blood.

Bare hands that have rarely dealt such tangible death. Dust stirred up from the struggle sticks to the thick, hot carnage. He’ll feel the give of the Wookie’s eyeballs under his thumbnails for days. The crack of his skull under Din’s knee, driven like a wedge into the soft cartilage, is at least slightly more familiar.

It’s not a long fight. After all, Din has something of which his opponent has long been deprived: something to live for.

The Mandalorian isn’t back by dinner drop-off, but your captain sent the cart loaded with a tray for him, so you dutifully set it on his cot atop the folded blanket.

There’s been no clean-up call, and the roster is empty. But you don’t have to wonder over his whereabouts for long.

In the servants' barracks—which are actually barracks and not a soft word for cellblocks—the reports are already underway.

Some of the attendants get to watch the fights. Or, rather, they have to, bound as they are to a single combatant. The mandated proximity is unforgiving, and no one likes to watch.

After all, there’s very little difference between you and the fighters. Instead, the attendants take on the solemn duty of letting the rest of you know how your residents fared or fell.

“He was a berserker,” Hali says in hushed whispers. “They took all that armor off, and he just looked like a man. A pretty man, but… just a man. But when it started, he moved so fast. It was over in, like, two minutes.”

“Shut up,” says Eli, your bunkmate. “He did not take down a Wookie in two minutes.”

“No, he really kriffing did,” hissed one of the new attendants whose name you hadn’t caught. “It was brutal. The whole arena went quiet. And he just stood there, covered in blood, looking at the crowd.”

“Okay, whose block is he in?” Eli demands. “Someone needs to spill now.”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“You haven’t said a kriffing word this whole time? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I only saw when they brought him in last night. He was still armored. And terrifying.”

“I saw him,” Hali says. “He was in the lounge.”

“They took him to the lounge after his first fight?” you say, jaw hanging open. The after-party was a grotesque performance, with sponsored fighters forced to smile pretty and play nice with their benefactors after a victory.

“No,” Hali’s face is grave. “They displayed him. They’ve chained him up next to his armor.”

You cover your mouth to stem the nausea. “No,” you hiss through your fingers. The disrespect hurts, raking through like a nexu claw to the chest, and you don’t even know the man.

Eli sets a hand on your knee from where he sits cross-legged beside you on the bottom bunk. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know,” you say. But he knows you, sees it written between your brows, and hears it in the crack of your voice.

It’s a weakness; you know it. It had been a strength back home. Every single being that passes through your barrack doesn’t have long. The small hall of cells is a port, and you are the ferryman. Knowing each of them for the last scant moments has only made you love harder and faster.

To try and ease a soul’s journey is a burden you have always chosen to bear.

Come morning, sure as the stars, your cells are full. The Mandalorian is not the only new face—there’s a humanoid woman in C-1, too. The Klatoonian had been gone before the noon bell prior, and his cell cleaned by your hands within the hour after. Ovesu had survived four battles over ten days, but no trace of him remains now.

You start with her, Reen Sala of Drall. She’s on the roster for early afternoon, and you want to make sure she’s got food in her.

You tell her as much.

“Today? Already?” She wraps her fingers around the window bars, peering at you.

“Yes,” you say solemnly, sliding the tray through the slit at the bottom of the door. “Eat quickly. They’ll be coming to get you any minute. They’re going to take you up and prepare you and make you watch the day’s first battles.”

She has a steadiness to her eyes and stock to her build, just enough to have a chance. When she begins to eat, her hands only shake slightly.

“Are you a farmer?” you ask, watching her broken, stubby fingernails wrap around the metal cup of water.

She nods, gulping down quickly to add, “Mostly grains. Eggs. Basics.”

You give her a wan smile, the image of her in a sun-soaked field behind your eyes. It would have to be enough. If she held on, maybe she could fill in the picture.

“Thought so. Me too. My parents have a grove on Hetzal,” you say.

You chat for a few minutes, exchanging tales of her chasing tipyip and you sneaking honeyfruit and shuula during harvest.

“Good luck,” you murmur when you finally step away.

You don’t linger with Disdraa, the Twi’lek in C-3. She took a nasty blow to the head yesterday, so you slide her tray in as quietly as possible, hoping she’ll steal some extra rest.

Which brings you to the Mandalorian. He has no other name in your database. A mistake, you wonder, or an erasure?

When you knock on his door, you keep your eyes downcast. The decision you made in the lift was impulsive, but clear. He will have this respect here, if nowhere else.

“Good morning,” you say.

It’s silent.

You slide the tray under the door. “Do you need anything?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll be back this evening if you think of something.”

Din rolls his eyes in the dark room. Does the quiet, simpering little act really work on the other prisoners? He vaguely considers rejecting the tray just to irritate you.

But he’s a Mandalorian. He doesn’t give in to petty spite when survival is on the line. He has battles to win and to do so, he must eat.

The food is bland but nutritionally complex, so if he keeps up a routine, he should be able to maintain his strength. He’s already run through and decided the optimal calisthenics and body weight routines he can do in the confines of his quarters.

He’s not stupid enough to think all the fights will be so quick or easy. The only benefit, and he’s unwilling to call it that, of not having his armor is that he’s so much faster.

He’ll get out.

He has a promise to keep.

When the Death Star fell three years ago, it took nearly the entire Rebel Alliance with it. The rest were scattered in the ash. And when the Empire barely flinched, the Mandalorians knew their time was running out.

With one loss notched on their belt already, they would have to strike swift and sure.

And so Din’s life as the rebel liaison began.

When he went to Gideon’s cruiser, he had no backup. Technically, no one even knew where he was. But espionage and false diplomacy took too long, purged time they did not have. And he wasn’t going to get another chance to try.

He lost the intel in the skirmish but gained a sword he knew not how to wield, a title he knew not how to bear, and a son he knew not how to raise.

The guards come for Reen, forcing you to finish your deliveries in a tense, silent two minutes.

She doesn’t come back. You paint her picture that night while her soft face and sun-streaked sangria widow’s peak are still fresh in your mind. It, as with most of your books, is stained with errant tears.

Eli had convinced you to keep the ones you ruined with grief, when you first began, desperate not to forget.

“It’s just more proof they were alive if they were also mourned,” he said, flipping reverently through the pages.

It goes against the practice, but it’s not even the most egregious way you’ve had to compromise, so you let it go. This is not the Hall. You have no easels, no canvas, no priestess.

You wonder who’s taken over your space, who they plucked from the apprentices to take over the memorials.

The pictures are small, stacked across the page like a quilt. Most of them have a name, maybe an age, maybe a planet, inked into the corners.

It's certainly not the scale you’re accustomed to, and your colors are limited to the pigments you can press from your dinner, unblessed and unpurified, but you make do.

You never paint them while they still live, not wanting to tether their souls to the pages while they have a chance. But they are yours, and so you will take the burden of remembering from their souls.

“Tray, please,” you say after knocking on the Mandalorian’s door that evening. He’s slow to respond, but you don’t mind. It’ll be a bit before he gets accustomed to the routine, if he makes it that long.

Most don’t.

It grates against the floor when he kicks it out, and you exchange it for the full tray of dinner.

“Do you need anything?”

Silence.

“Okay, have a good night.”

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s the way of things. Some of the beings who come through never speak a word to you. It doesn’t change your loyalty or your duties.

Din is determined to puzzle you out. Why the farce? Everyone else he’s encountered is open in their disgust and amusement. He’s a novelty, a prize, a disgrace. What purpose does your feigned care serve?

“—dining with us tonight?” calls the inmate to his right in C-3.

You make a show of rolling your eyes, taking the last two trays from the cart. You slide one to the Twi’lek who had spoken.

“Depends. Are you going to behave?” you say.

“I always behave,” the fighter lies.

You seem to laugh, just a silent huff of amusement, and sit down with your back against the wall between the two cells.

He can’t see you from here, but he can hear snippets of you making light conversation between bites.

Something you say gets a lighthearted rise from the Devaronian in C-4 across the hall.

“Old? You want to talk about being old?” he booms.

C-3 groans. “Don’t get him started, come on.”

You laugh. “—else to bitch about. I’m saving— trouble.”

“…that I should suffer your disrespect,” C-4 is trying to say over you.

“Yeah, yeah, Vrar, you’re a terrifying grumpy—,” you tease.

A pause. A murky mumble from C-2.

“—you, Mandalorian? How old—?” You ask, tearing a chunk off your bread roll and popping it in your mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

After you leave, it grows quiet. A few moments pass, as if he was just waiting for you to get out of hearing range, before Vrar speaks up.

“Mando. You holding up? Any injuries?”

Din sits silently on his cot, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me. But can you be more respectful to the girl?”

If it’s bait, it works. “I don’t make a habit of being respectful to my captors.”

To his surprise, Vrar barks a hearty laugh. “Is that what you think? She’s a slave, Mando, same as the rest of us.”

Din feels hot guilt rise in his throat. “My mistake. I’ll do better.”

Vrar grunts his approval, and that’s that.

The next morning, when you ask if he needs anything, he tells you, “No, thank you,” in a soft but sure tone.

You straighten a little abruptly and try not to look shocked. “Okay. Good luck today,” you say, and move on. You’re pretty sure if you draw attention to it, he’ll never speak again.

You aren’t privy to the way things operate up top. All you know is that they take your fighters randomly, with at least one day between as a rest. Sometimes, it’s longer between fights.

But not for Mando. For the next two weeks, it’s every other day like clockwork. They’re capitalizing on his novelty, you think, but also hoping to wear him down.

Rumors tell you he’s become a quick crowd favorite. It should mean he has a shot at earning his freedom, but rumors also tell you he has the highest price on record.

They don’t want him free, and they don’t want someone to buy him.

No, they want him to die in the arena.

next chapter

thank you so much for reading! i live for your feedback, and i'm not above begging so if you have any thoughts pls let me know

*title from "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace