#or create a perfect clone of him immediately

[delicateimage]

Currently feeling very indecent :3

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

----------------

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ+ʜᴏʀɴʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴍᴀᴏ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 9.1ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ᴇᴛʜᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ

⋆ ★ … ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴀɢɢᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ. ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴏꜰ 2023 ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ʏᴀʏ? ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.

It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.

His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.

Then you hear his voice.

It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.

Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.

Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?

The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.

Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.

It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.

“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”

“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”

“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”

Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.

“Wrecker, move in! Now, now! Crosshair, how’s the bird's view looking?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.

Though it equally arouses you in other moments.

How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.

When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.

In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.

Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.

And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.

You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.

-

“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.

“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”

With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,

“Sounds good,”

and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.

“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.

Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?

“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.

But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.

The bullet lands left side.

A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).

“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.

“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”

Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.

“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.

“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.

“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”

“But I just want to–”

“I know.”

Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.

“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”

Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.

“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”

With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.

“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.

Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.

-

The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.

It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.

Hey, it could be worse.

But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.

As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.

”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.

“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.

“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.

You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.

“Is everything alright?”

You nod automatically.

“Everything is fine.”

The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.

You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?

Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth. 

Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.

“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,

“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”

Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.

Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.

“Is it alright if I take this off?”

He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.

When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”

You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”

He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.

"Fine. Keep going."

The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.

With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.

It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.

"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."

Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.

Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.

"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."

You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.

"Thank you."

There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.

"You enjoy getting instructions."

Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

"Wh--What?" You stammer,  taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"

"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing. 

No matter; you're still fucked. 

"You like getting told what to do."

Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.

Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.

"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.

"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.

"What does mesh’la mean?"

Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?

"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me." 

There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity. 

"Why’s that, tell me."

Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.

"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.

"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying? 

"Sit down. On my lap."

Oh. That’s what.

Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.

You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.

“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.

“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.

He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.

“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.

“Sure,” You retort.

Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.

”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.

Hunter perks up in concern.

“Are you comfortable?”

You take a moment to respond but then nod.

“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”

Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.

”Trail your hands down for me.”

It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.

“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.” 

You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”

You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.

“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”

Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.

“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”

“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”

You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:

“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”

You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.

That isn’t the case.

As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.

“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”

Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.

“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”

He throws a heavy statement onto you.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.

“What?” 

“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything. 

“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.

His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.

“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.

“Slip your pants off.”

It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.

The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.

He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.

“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again. 

“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”

“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”

Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

Shit.

He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again, 

“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”

“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.

“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.

“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”

With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.

“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”

A depraved noise is choked out of you.

“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.

“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.

“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation.  “Really good.”

Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.

“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”

Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Hunter tilts his head.

“How does it feel? Are you wet?” 

He should know already, smug bastard.

“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.

He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.

“How wet?”

Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.

“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”

Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.

“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.

You nod, but add on more. 

“Not just that.”

“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do. 

“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.

“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“

Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.

“—fuck.”

He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.

So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.

“Your, face—“

Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.

“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”

Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.

“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.

“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.

A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.

 “Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.

You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.

Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.

A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.” 

It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.

“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”

With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.

Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”

You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.

The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.

“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that? 

“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”

You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.

That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.

“Don’t you as well.” 

With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”

He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.

“Right here, on my lap.”

You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter. 

So you try to level the playing field.

“Would you… er…”

If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Hm?” He hums.

You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.

“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.” 

You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.

But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.

“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.

You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.

Maker, he’s so… so…

No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.

Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.

“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

You nod adamantly with no hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”

Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.

“You look really good like this.”

You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.

“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.

But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.

He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.

“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”

“Hunter,” you whine.

He continues without regarding you.

“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.

“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate. 

A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.

“That’s my job, sergeant.”

Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully. 

“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”

You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move. 

You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,

“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.” You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”

“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm. 

The things Hunter does to you.

“I want your mouth on my cock too.”

You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.

“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”

Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.

“How does that sound, hm?”

In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.

“ Oh… ”

The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.

“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”

“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away. 

“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.

“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.

“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”

Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.

“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.

“I do my best.”

Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud. 

“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.” 

His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.

Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.

“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you. 

With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.

That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name. 

A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.

Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.

“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.

Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.

“Delicious,” he remarks.

Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.

“You’re one to talk.”

The only response you get is a scoff.

“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs. 

Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”

“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems. 

“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft. 

“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”

Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.

“Hunter…” You whine.

He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”

“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.

“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.

“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point. 

You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.

He notices the look on your face.

“Something up?” He asks.

In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.

“Can I have a kiss?”

You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.

In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.

His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.

Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.

“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.

“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

ragu list: @isaidonyourknees @dangraccoon @salaminus @mekuiikore @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @meshlaxbunny @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @xflashcat @dreamie411 @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @lickylickylicky @captainfresh501 @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @cw80831 @bluebird-dreams @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @a-single-tulip

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 36

X

Imagine dis…

No this is not the app-related prompt…

I had just introduced my youngest brother to the original Ben 10 and worked our way to the latest to show him what he was missing, so when I saw that episode…

It immediately went to Danny…

…

Danny was falling, a normal Wednesday for us readers but not normal for our resident ghost boy.

To cut the flashback short, he had just been pushed by Clockwork, to where you ask he didn’t know.

It had been a while since he had permanently entered the Realms to learn to become a king and an Ancient. An Ancient of what you ask, Space, he was a newly formed which made the other Ancients namely  Undergrowth, Frostbite, Vortex, and so on…

They were ecstatic as it had been a while since they met a new Ancient in the making, thus leading him to be pushed by CW to a space for him to not only practice his powers as an Ancient but also practice his newly formed title can help him heal his two packages. Namely, Ellie and Dan previously inhabited a clone body made by Vlad but due to its imperfections led to an early melting form. To gain a stronger body that can wind-stand their ever-growing powers, they both needed to grow into a body aka letting Danny incubate them like some sort of MPREG situation that he accidentally saw Dash’s notebook containing his fantasy writing about him and Phantom, it was a very dark day that was, it could use some work but the fact that he improved due to his sister’s tutoring, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Now he found himself in the middle of nothing with both cores in between inside himself. At first, he didn’t know what to do, the word space kept floating in his mind so stars? He asked himself, and so the first stars came forth. He was hesitant of course, usually whenever he had to use new powers usually under duress or even sometimes instinctively so now he had the time to explore his newfound powers he didn’t know where to start.

But slowly he let his instinct control his actions creating, with a flick of his writs galaxies formed, a single blink black holes were formed, a twitch here Pulsar were made, and so on… Each move and each breath made way to a new formation creating the former vast emptiness into a thriving space life with various life forms that have come first in the race of evolution. They first stayed within the confinements of their homes and in time they began reaching for the stars.

Throughout the years Danny also began to change, Danny, in his new form, is an ethereal being with enormous power. His skin is a deep, inky black that resembles the immensity of space, with constellations and galaxies quietly dancing across it. His eyes, unlike his former look, he has now customary pitch-black voids, gleaming a vivid, intense emerald that exudes alien intensity. These penetrating green eyes appear to reflect the force of the universe, continually moving and pulsing as if they hold the secrets of existence themselves. 

White accents run throughout his physique like celestial ribbons, following his limbs, torso, and face. These streaks shine like stardust, with a faint glow reminiscent of a faraway nebula. The highlights are flowing, almost as if they are shifting and moving like stars in the night sky, creating a captivating contrast against his body's deep black color. His silhouette, while humanoid, seems almost unreal—tall, imposing, and continuously emitting the faint hum of cosmic power.

Danny Phantom—now known as Alien X dubbed by the Green Lanterns who were lucky enough to witness him at the rare times he ever so twitched—floated serenely in space, his visage as unreadable as it had always been. The once-human ghost-boy had evolved into one of the universe's most powerful entities, capable of altering reality with a single thought.

During the thousands of millennia that he spent his time crafting and perfecting his new powers came with a very heavy headache. In all the time that he had spent filling the space, he had gathered enough energy for the two to create new bodies that could accommodate their growing powers, both Dan and Ellie kept on arguing inside his head about what they wanted to look like, like some sort of demented sims game. Always arguing which would look great on them, how this piece fits them better than the other.. and so on…

…

Did you ever have the instinctive feeling that something new is happening somewhere that you can't explain? Today was that day. The silent space around him was abruptly filled with the wailing of two babies. Danny had given birth, causing shockwaves throughout the universe. Alien X, as the Lanterns dubbed him, was not intended to change or reproduce. Yet here he was, cradling two small, glowing children in his arms, their bodies moving between colors and shapes, a clear indication of their limitless potential.

And the relief of Danny as the two finally settled on a form and agreed on something.

The Lantern Corps was the first to notice. The Guardians of the Universe had long feared Alien X's might, and now, with two offspring whose talents remained unknown, they were on high alert. Every Lantern, from the enraged Red Lanterns to the hope-filled Blue Lanterns, was summoned. The stakes were too high; the children had the potential to become the universe's greatest protectors or its most terrifying adversaries.

Hal Jordan headed the Green Lantern Corps, his emerald light shining through the blackness of space as he interacted with his fellow colored Lanterns as the Green Lanterns' primary representative.

Trouble had already arrived. Darkseid, the dictatorial ruler of Apokolips, and Trigon, the demonic conqueror of universes, have established an unusual alliance. Even beings of enormous strength found the promise of possessing the power to modify reality too appealing. They each coveted one of the offspring, knowing that having even one would give them an advantage over the entire cosmos.

The Lanterns fought bravely, their united lights creating a stunning display of force. Hal solicited every favor and ally he could get. Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and even Larfleeze, the ruthless Orange Lantern, heeded the summons. The battle was intense, with cosmic energy crackling across the starry sky. However, for each wave of adversaries, they vanquished, more appeared, drawn by the irresistible power and potential of the 2 new offspring of Alien X.

As the conflict continued, the Lanterns beheld something they had never seen before. Alien X moved. Danny, who had seemed unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding him, switched his attention to the fight. His normally expressionless face softened as he stared at his children, who were now cooing in his arms, unaware of the battle raging on top of his own hands.

Danny's palm began to glow, and to the surprise of all the Lanterns present, his fingers curled into a protective ball around the infants. The difference was slight yet profound. Alien X was operating independently, free of the never-ending internal argument that had before crippled him. His hands, capable of wiping out entire galaxies, were now a barrier, protecting his children from the evil that loomed over them.

Now, both enemies and heroes are trapped together within Alien X’s hands as they all watch in fascination as two beings are now being formed before their very eyes.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[catscidr]

YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy  

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention? 

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions. 

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?) 

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…  

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage  

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would  

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat 

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you) 

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)  

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker 

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything 

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table. 

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly. 

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask. 

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand. 

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind. 

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes. 

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most. 

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you. 

Oh, how naïve you are. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged? 

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory. 

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before... 

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.” 

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up? 

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you. 

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response. 

Did he always have teeth this sharp? 

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him? 

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months. 

[lucent-roase]

all the cool theys have their huntlow-grimwalker-of-belos-fan-child so now must i

when i come up with his name i’ll let y’all know!!!!

a bit of lore i’m coming up with at this second below cut ⬇️

Hidden away, deep inside a closet that Eda herself didn’t care to look into for too many years, lay a journal. She found trinkets around what used to be Belos’ castle, now her school, almost all the time. It looked oddly familiar, and it hit her almost immediately that the old emperor had likely written in it. Only a skimming through the pages was necessary for her to realize that it was; and the one she stopped on baffled her.

“Caleb’s clones are all finding the same fate. I finally created one as a toddler, but if he fails once more then I have no choice but to finish this myself.

I remember, when I was about 8 years old, I had the true realization that witches were ugly, horrible demons, and, I believe he will be at the perfect age to teach him how to rid them.

I have set him up, already. The Collector told me that he should be at the age no matter when I bring him out.”

Eda sighed and tossed the journal in her bag. She knew Hunter would need to see this. It had been too long since that had been written, an entire 24 years, and the poor kid had probably already woken up on his own. Was that how it worked? She didn’t even know that grimwalkers could be born at different ages, as Hunter was the only one around she knew of. The one time the Collector had shown up, they were far too excited to be around everyone again to explain anything about Hunter’s lineage. When asked, all he did was shrug and mention that “those books made about ‘em are all BS. Did you know I knew that word? Hehehe…”

[tartsinarat]

They’re bonding over their mutual hatred of Kiki, it’s one of their favourite activities/hj

Tbh Pip just likes being taller than everyone else as he feels like nobody respects him because he’s such a tiny lil guy so he thought it would be a good idea to climb onto Belos’s shoulders and be like this cat

Why Belos is fine with this? Idk I was thinking about it for while until I realised actually hadn’t figured out how Belos felt about Pip when he was a kid :/ obviously it’s got to be really weird to not only have a small child clone of yourself that acts similar to how you did at that age but it also as well being the first time that you made a clone of yourself successfully as the few times Belos attempted to make a grimwalker of himself they were always fucked up and would decompose immediately.

tbh the similar personality thing has to be even weirder to Belos than everything else because the other grimwalkers probably had personality as well as physical differences to Caleb, I like to imagine thats because the main ingredient hasn’t been fresh for like 100s of years so the results are kinda funky sometimes/ the technique of creating grimwalkers probs needed to be perfected.

I was thinking about it and yeah it would make sense for Belos to be as neutral as he can on a clone version of himself… but on the other hand it would be so interesting for Belos to see Pip as a sort of son instead.

So yeah I guess he just has a soft spot for the kid and is fine with him chillin there because he’s sure that nobody would probably say anything out of intimidation lmao

[duchess-of-mandalore]

Do you have any thoughts on what Satine and Obi-Wan's lives and/or the galaxy at large would have looked like if she'd survived the events of The Lawless?

Oh man, this premise has an infinite number of answers depending on where you go with it. But I think I can give some general principles.

Like ... for example, Satine survives The Lawless but Order 66 is subverted. Actually, I wrote a fic about that (Tethers of Inconvenience), where Satine pursues an arranged marriage with a senator from Kuat (Giddean Danu, a character in the RotS deleted scenes) who would be able to help her rebuild and protect Mandalore, which she finds difficult to do on her own since she humiliated Palpatine and the Senate in TCW Season 2.

But more generally, if she survives The Lawless, I think Obi-Wan takes her back to Coruscant and she lives with Padme. She begs the Senate and Jedi to assist in dealing with the mess on Mandalore. I think that Bo's able to take the planet back, and she and/or Korkie lead since her brainless, idiot, fake-news-believing people are still convinced that she killed Pre Vizsla with her own hands and caused the downfall of their city.

Then, let's say that Order 66 does happen. You've got two diverging roads: 1) Obi-Wan is able to find her and bring her to Tatooine with him, in which case they get to raise Luke together and have a kind of strangely (im)perfect happily ever after living a quiet life neither one of them had before (wonderfully explored in @mg024's Two New Hopes) ...

Or 2) He can't get to her and has to leave her when he goes into hiding, like in @the-obiwan-for-me's Krennictine AU. This has a similar premise to my Marriage AU but with Orson Krennic. In both our AUs, I think we're of the same mind that Satine never loses her personal idealism, but she becomes much more practically minded. I think the run-in with Maul proves to her that "Even extremists can be reasoned with" is much, much too hopeful. I think she's always prepared to sacrifice her personal happiness for her people if need-be, but there's always that piece of her that's longing for her happy ending.

Imperial-era Satine is fascinating because she's the one who characterized the idealism of the Republic but who was really spared suffering by dying before the rise of the Empire. Personally, I think that Palpatine would take very great joy in trying to smash her like a bug once he has no guardrails, given that she was one of the only people who publicly stood against him during the Clone War. I mean ... we kind of forget that after the Republic and the CIS, the largest political entity at play in the Clone War was the Council of Neutral Systems, led by Satine. She's a symbol of the Republic era and she wouldn't go quietly into the night once the man she's always despised proclaims himself Emperor.

I think Palpatine would immediately try to take over Mandalore (canonically, he did within the first year of his reign because he was still using a clone trooper army). In a SatineLives AU, whether he immediately succeeds would probably rest on whether she's willing to negotiate for her people's freedoms (like Bo did with Gideon in The Mandalorian), but even if she did, Palpatine would probably just renege on any agreement they had.

In general though, I lean more toward her giving up any claim to the throne permanently because she thinks Bo (and a Korkie hardened by both The Lawless and the rise of the Empire) can meet Mandalore's needs more than she can.

And if that's the case ... if she has no Mandalore and no Obi-Wan ... I could see her doing something like creating a relief organization that essentially goes from planet to planet cleaning up the effects of the Empire and then eventually becoming a secret organization focusing on saving and rehabilitating injured rebels. It's her way of maintaining her pacifistic ideals in a world where she no longer has the ability to remain fully neutral.

If anyone has any thoughts on these ideas or others of your own, I'd love to hear them!

[disillusioneddanny]

I'm Ready to Go DPxDC

TW: suicide

Tim woke up groggy, sleep melding his eyelids shut and a throbbing pain came from his abdominal area. Beneath him he could feel the rock-hard medical bed he was laying on, the mattress having nearly no give to it. Shifting his arm ever so slightly, he could feel an IV needle embedded in his veins. He stayed quiet, though, as he forced his eyes to rip open. The dull lights of torches had him almost immediately realizing where he was as his brain slowly started to kick back on.

He was back in the underbelly of the League of Assassins and could smell the sulfuric stench of the Lazarus Waters nearby. The sharp pain stabbed through his abdomen once again and Tim bit his lip to hold back from the whimper that threatened to escape. 

“Ah, I see you are finally awake, Detective,” a familiar, posh voice said lightly from beside Tim’s head. His eyes whipped over to find Ra’s Al Ghul staring down at him with those beady, leering eyes of his. 

“What the hell happened?” Tim snarled out as he ignored the stabbing pains in his abdomen and forced himself to sit up. 

Ra’s tsked. “It would seem the Widower got his hands on you. But do not worry my young detective, I ensured you were safe and taken care of,” he said with a sly grin that Tim knew not to trust. “You see upon his attack you lost a vital organ and I took it upon myself to remove a few others just so that I could have them for safekeeping,” he said, eyes glittering with glee. 

“Which ones,” Tim snarled out. There was something far too uncomfortable with the fact that Ra’s was just keeping Tim’s organs somewhere. He didn’t trust the Demon’s Head with his body like that and knew that the only reason Ra’s Al Ghul would keep them would be for nefarious reasons. He would need to get rid of them before he left this hell hole.

“Your spleen was the most damaged one. But really I saw no need in you needing to keep your gallbladder and your appendix. You may know that they are simply evolutionary leftovers so I chose to remove them,” he said with a shrug. “As well as a few other things. But that is neither here nor there, you’ll be healed within the next twenty-four hours.”

The vigilante ticked off in his head that Ra’s had taken a few other things from his as well and made a note to figure out just what exactly he had taken from Tim as soon as he could figure it out.

Tim arched an eyebrow at the man. “And why do you say that?” He asked, looking over his body and searching for Ra’s face for whatever the hell he was missing here. Why the hell was Ra’s doing this? What was his plan? His motive?

“Because I have a proposition for you, Timothy,” he said with a smug smile. “Currently you are being fed just enough of diluted Lazarus Water to keep you alive. In twenty-four hours you will be dipped into the Lazarus Waters and healed completely and will no longer be at risk of death.”

“And what’s the catch?” Tim asked, carefully crossing his arms over his chest as he looked over the Demon’s Head. 

“The catch, as you say, Detective, is that you will only take that lovely dip in the Lazarus Water to heal your poor, broken body, is if you agree to be my bride and assist me in creating the perfect heir,” he crooned, leaning close to Tim, placing a pointer finger beneath Tim’s chin to tilt his face up to look at him. 

“And if I refuse?” Tim asked. 

Ra’s shrugged his shoulders. “You will be disconnected from your intravenous line and will be cut off from the Lazarus Waters that are currently keeping you alive. So the choice is yours, die or be healed and be mine. And if you choose death, do not worry my beloved. Your organs will be more than enough for me to create the perfect clone of you.” 

Tim shuddered in horror as Ra’s stared at him with that evil, predatory smile of his and Tim found himself shrinking back in the medical bed. This wasn’t part of the plan. He knew what he was getting into when he had come to Ra’s for help. Knew that asking Ra’s to help him get proof to show that Bruce was still alive, somewhere in the timestead would be tricky. But this wasn’t what he was expecting either. He knew that Ra’s was sneaky and conniving but to force Tim into a marriage with him? Didn’t he care that Tim was barely seventeen?

“Can I have time to think about it?” He asked, staring up at the assassin king with tired, weary eyes. His body felt so, so heavy at that moment.

Ra’s simply leaned forward and pressed a possessive kiss to Tim’s head. “Choose well, my beloved,” he crooned before leaving Tim alone in the room. Tim stared at the wall in front of him, his eyes unseeing as his brain tried desperately to figure out a solution, to come up with some way to get himself out of this situation. 

He was connected to an IV that was giving him enough Lazarus Water to keep him alive. He was apparently missing multiple organs, some which were likely important to keep him alive. If he even managed to break out of the League of Assassins base how long would he last before his body succumbed to its various injuries?  He could live without his spleen, appendix, and gallbladder but Ra’s had said he had taken other things. And that had him nervous. All of his limbs were intact. He pulled the blanket covering his legs to find bare feet intact and there. He wiggled his toes just to be safe.

Tim carefully maneavuered himself to be in a full sitting position to take better account of his body. He looked over his nude body, taking note of the new scar that crossed Tim’s stomach and tried to even his breathing as he realized the emptiness on his chest. The Lazarus Water that was already being fed into his system had already healed all of the incisions, leaving nothing but faint scars in its wake. 

His breasts were gone.

He furrowed his brow as he ran a shaky hand over his now flat chest, taking note that Ra’s had not bothered to have his nipples sewn back onto his body upon his mastectomy. It was a surgery that Tim had been thinking about getting ever since he had come to terms with the fact that he was transgender, but one that he hadn’t decided to get yet due to his own fears of having the top surgery and the long healing process that came with it. 

Now, though, he didn’t seem to have to worry about it. And if Tim was being honest, it kind of made him sad. He had looked forward to the day he would get to tell his family that he was scheduling his top surgery, and looked forward to the feeling of having them removed and the gender euphoria that would come with it. But now he was just sad. Ra’s had taken the decision away from him and that hurt more than he expected it to.

Ra’s likely thought he was doing Tim a favor by removing them himself. Like some kind of morbid wedding gift, or a way to sway Tim to agree to marrying Ra’s. 

“Fuck,” he whispered and looked down at the surgical scar that covered the lower part of his abdomen. Ra’s wanted an heir so it was unlikely he took Tim’s reproductive organs, not only that but it didn’t seem like Ra’s had decided to give Tim bottom surgery as well which likely meant he was wanting to have Tim give birth the old fashioned way and wasn’t that fucked to think about? 

He rubbed his fingers across the scar carefully, still staring at them in horror before looking over the rest of his body, he still had all of his fingers, his ears were both there, and nothing else seemed to have been altered without TIm’s permission.

“Fuck,” he whispered out. “Fuck,” he shouted, slamming the blanket back over his legs and letting out a groan. He had no way of knowing what else Ra’s would have removed from him, no clue how he would get out of here. He was naked as the day he was born, his body was now fully relying on the Lazarus Waters. 

Ra’s had made sure that his options were as narrow as possible. If Tim were to even try to escape he would need to get anything that had his DNA from Ra’s to ensure that a clone wouldn’t be mad. But would he have enough time to do that without being connected to the IV any longer? 

His options truly were death or marriage. 

What a fucking shitshow. 

“I wish I could find at least a third option. Anything would be better than this,” he whispered sardonically. 

“So you wish it, so it shall be,” a feminine voice whispered in Tim’s ear before a soft sigh stirred through the air. Tim whipped his head around for a moment before his eyes landed on the bubbling Lazarus Pit that was not too far from him and his hospital bed. 

He watched as a woman slowly emerged from the pits, a being unlike anything Tim had ever seen. Her skin was the same color green as the Lazarus Pits. her hips ended down to a tail, blue skirt seemed to cover her lower half, and a blue top covered her chest. Gold bangles rested on her green arms along with lilac wrist braces. A light blue tiara sat upon her dark black hair as she floated towards Tim. 

Her hand cupped his face gently as she gave him a sad, soft smile. “My child,” she said softly. “I understand what you are experiencing. Once, many years ago, Ra’s Al Ghul gave me a very similar choice as yours. Before my death, I was a harem girl who had one Ra’s heart and he had promised to grant all of my hearts desires, had even promised me a kingdom of my own,” she said and sadness shone through her bright red eyes as she held Tim’s face. “That was until I was no longer enough for the Demon’s Head wife who learned of our relationship and did what she could to get rid of me. Not that Ra’s tried very hard to protect me from the woman,” she said with a humorless laugh.

“What does this have to do with me?” Tim asked, eyeing the pit demon warily, not sure what to do with this new information. He was unfortunately not surprised by her story, it sounded exactly like something that Ra’s Al Ghul would do to someone.

“Upon my death, my spirit has wandered around forever granting others wishes, yet at a great personal cost,” she said softly. “For that was what happened to me, I was given a gift unlike anything else yet in the end it cost me my life.”

“And you can what? You can grant my wish? Give me a third option to get away from Ra’s?” Tim asked, arching his brow. 

The being nodded her head, sorrow clear upon her face. “I can,” she said softly. “My king, King Phantom, he is unlike anything I have ever seen in my existence. I can have him turn you into a being like himself, if you will allow me to grant your wish, he will appear and he will give you a third option.”

The being gave Tim a sad smile. “I wish that there was more that I could do, but this wish is the only way I can help,” she told him. Tim stared at her for a moment, looking over the being's face, studying her features. If what she was telling him was true, that Ra’s had killed her, she had to have been a ghost. Was she trapped here? Was there any way that he could get her a different place to haunt rather than the fucking League of Assassins base?

“What if I wished for you to be free instead?” He asked and the woman let out a loud laugh. 

“Oh you sweet child, I am free. I can go wherever I would like whenever I would like. I am here because I made sure that no one would suffer the same fate as I did at the hands of Ra’s Al Ghul and his wife. And I will not allow you to suffer at the hands of the Demon’s Head.”

Tim pursed his lips. He had no other options. He knew that this was a risk. There was a chance that this ghost was lying to him about her entire tragic backstory just to trick him into agreeing. But what did he have to lose? He was going to die as it was. His only options at the moment were to marry Ra’s or die and have a clone replace him and neither option was good. Whatever option this ghost was giving him, it had to be better than his current options. Even if she did say it would come at a great cost of its own.

Anything would be better than his current options. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, looking up at the ghost. 

She gave him a lovely smile. “Desiree,” she said softly. “Now, allow me to grant your wish, my dear and let us get you far, far away from Ra’s Al Ghul.”

He nodded his head. “Do it,” he whispered, his heart feeling like someone had clenched it in their first.

Desiree gave him a gleeful smile and raised her hands to the air as green smoke started to fill the room. “So you wished it! So it shall be!”  She shouted before a being started to slowly rise from the smoke and Desiree seemed to completely disappear from the room. 

In her place stood a boy about Tim’s age. He had snow-white hair, glowing green eyes, and lightly blue skin. He looked around the room curiously before his eyes landed on Tim’s face and his head tilted to the side in curiosity. 

“Hm, I’m never part of Des’ wishes anymore,” he said curiously as he stepped forward and continued to look Tim over. 

Tim gave him a wary look. “King Phantom?” he asked hesitantly and a look of annoyance flashed over the being’s face for a split second before he huffed out a laugh. 

“I’m not king anything,” he said as he walked towards Tim and sat at the foot of his hospital bed. “But that’s a story for a different time. Desiree seems to think that I am the one to grant your wish.” 

He looked Tim over for a moment with eyes far older than that of a teenager. It reminded Tim of his own eyes, eyes that had seen the very worst of the world, had seen the very worst of himself and had come back in one piece despite all the odds. 

“The way Des grants wishes has already given me the information I need to make it happen,” he said and winced slightly as he looked Tim over once again. “Death or marriage, what a shitty decision to make,” he said wryly. 

“You don’t understand-”

“I do,” he said, cutting Tim off before the teenager could grow any more indigent at the moment. “I know all about Ra’s Al Ghul and the evil he is capable of. He’s a disgusting worm and I’m unfortunately not allowed to interfere. But what I can do is make it where he can’t get his hooks into you if you so wish,” he said with a small smile, showing little dimples in his cheeks. 

“So what’s the alternative? Desiree said it comes at a great price,” Tim said warily, still eyeing the being up and down. 

Phantom huffed out a breath as he looked over the room they were currently in surveying the cave for a moment. “It does, you’d become like me. You’ve sustained far too much damage to live a normal life ever again but we can work with that. You’ll become something called a halfa. Half ghost,” a bright light shone in the room for a moment and when Tim blinked back the spots in his vision he found a human teenager sitting in front of him. Gone were the otherworldly features, instead he found a dark-haired teenager with pale white skin, blue eyes and rounded-off ears rather than the pointy ones he had before. “And half-human,” he said with a small smile. 

“But the human half, would it be able to survive? I’m missing some pretty important parts,” he said with a wince and Phantom shrugged. “Yeah, your human body won’t be alive because of your heart or lungs or any of that. In its place, you’ll have something much better, much more powerful, and potent running in your veins. It’s similar to the Lazarus Waters but better, purer.”

Tim listened with close attention as Phantom explained ectoplasm to him, explaining how it would replace any part of Tim that was no longer functional. According to Phantom, it was currently what kept him alive as it was. Phantom’s own change into being a halfa had brought him back from the dead, restarted his heart and brain, and kept him going. He explained that he no longer needed to eat or drink as the ectoplasm kept his human body alive. He admitted that he still enjoyed doing those things and was able to do so without any real consequence. 

What he was explaining to Tim sounded like a dream come true if the vigilante was going to be honest. 

He had never been good about taking care of himself. Had always struggled with remembering to eat and hydrate. He went days at a time without sleep and apparently being a halfa would do that for him. 

There had to be a catch, though, there was always a catch and Desiree had already said that much. 

“But the cost?” Tim asked. 

“You’ll be dead,” Phantom said softly, his eyes sad. “You’ll have your human body but you’ll still be a half ghost. You’ll be forced to suffer from obsessions as each ghost does, to bend to the will of your obsessions. Des’ is to grant wishes for others since she never got hers fulfilled. Mine is safety. I died because my parents didn’t care about my safety or the safety of others and now i’m obsessed with ensuring the safety of everyone around me, of protecting them from harm.”

“Like a vigilante,” Tim said with a small smile. Phantom gave him that sad smile. 

“Like a vigilante,” he said with a sigh before he shook his head. “Now, the only other main stipulation to this is that you’ll be bonded to me. But I think a bond with a weird ghost teenager is a little preferable to a marriage with a creepy immortal assassin,” he said before giving Tim a nervous look. “It’s the only real option I have that keeps you mostly alive and not married to the creep. Hell, once we do it, I’ll even help you destroy this place and deal with the consequences of my actions later.”

Tim cocked his head to the side. Marry Ra’s, die and have a clone replace him, or become half-dead and bonded to a ghost he didn’t know anything about. His options were absolute shit but the decision was thankfully easy to make. Phantom’s option at least gave him an out and that was more than the other two did. And even if he was going to be bonded to Phantom, which he had a feeling was a ghost equivalent of marriage, he could see the two of them at least becoming friends after all of this. And maybe Phantom would even train him in his new form once he took it. 

Maybe he could even get Phantom to help him find Bruce. Ra’s was obviously a dead end and was not going to do what Tim needed and Phantom could possibly give him a better perspective on how to find Bruce. He was a ghost after all, maybe he would know more about the situation than any of the living did.

“What do we have to do?” Tim asked, eyeing the human teenager in front of him warily. 

Phantom just grinned, a smile that was still just a little too inhuman for his human physique. “We’ll have to kill you,” he said before looking around curiously. “Do you have a preference on how you die? I died by electrocution and honestly, I can’t recommend it. Ten out of ten would not recommend it.”

Tim huffed off a soft laugh and shook his head. “Can you get me a knife? I can do it myself.”

Phantom frowned at him yet produced a sharp knife from thin air. It was a simple thing with a black handle and a long slim silver blade. It was beautiful and incredibly sharp. Just what Tim needed to get the job done. 

With nimble, sure fingers he disconnected himself from the IV that was currently feeding him Lazarus Water to keep him alive. He hissed as he removed the needle and allowed the arm to freely bleed, it wasn’t like he mattered, he was about to die anyway. 

“And you’re sure this will work?” Tim asked as he took the handle of the blade from Phantom who was still watching him warily. 

He nodded and with a flash of light changed back to his Phantom form. Only now his eyes glowed a bright blue color. “It will,” he said solemnly. 

Tim nodded once and before he could stop himself or talk himself out of it, he took the knife and slid it along the scar that already marred his throat from a previous murder attempt from Jason. He didn’t feel much as the blood slipped from the wound, the knife slipped into his lap but Tim wasn’t paying attention to it. Not when ectoplasm poured from Danny’s body and straight into the gaping wound in Tim’s throat, filling his body and burning him with a power unlike any other. 

It wasn’t life that was now filling Tim’s veins, it wasn’t life that was now forcing his heart to continue beating as sharp pain burned across his throat. It was something unlike anything Tim had ever felt. It wasn’t life, but it sure as hell wasn’t death either. 

It was a magic that was unparalleled. He had never felt anything like this in his entire existence. It felt as if his very molecules were being changed and arranged. Tim had never wanted to die so badly in all of his life. 

He had undergone extreme torture at the hands of mad men, had been nearly murdered by two of his brothers, he had gone through hell and back, and yet nothing compared to the burning, burning, burning pain that was now filling his body.

A gasp escaped his lips and Tim found no relief in the air that now filled his lungs. He wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes but forcing them to open was a feat unlike any other. 

When they finally split open everything looked different. 

The world was sharper, clearer than it had ever been, he sniffed and nearly cried out at the stench that flooded his nostrils. The putrid sulfur nearly had him gagging and a soft chuckle made its way to his sensitive ears. 

“Yeah the change in your senses is a mind fuck,” Phantom said with a small smile. “Welcome to the halfa life,” he said and held out a hand. Tim carefully took it and finally took note of the change in his own skin color. Gone was the pale white skin that he had gotten from Janet Drake, in its place was a light green colored skin, a pale mint green color. His fingers were now tipped with dark claws that were pointed into tips. 

“I’m green,” he mused, turning his hand this way and that. Phantom snickered. 

“I’ll have to get you a mirror,” he said before a soft smile appeared on his face. “Your ghost form is very beautiful.”

Tim felt his cheeks heat up slightly and he looked up at Phantom, shock covering his face. “T-thank you,” he said softly. Phantom just cracked a grin. 

“You know, I don’t think I ever got your name,” he said and held out a hand. “The name’s Danny, by the way. Danny Phantom.”

Tim took the cold, blue hand in his own green hand and shook it once. “Tim, Tim Drake, or better known to some as Red Robin.”

“Well Red Robin, how about we get the second part of your wish taken care of and then I can whisk you away to learn how to use your new powers before you go back home?” Danny suggested as he got off the bed and floated in front of Tim, his legs fusing together to form a tail. Tim frowned and looked at his own legs before realizing he was no longer naked, no longer covered by the thin, satin blanket that Ra’s had provided for him. 

Instead, he was wearing a different form of his Red Robin suit. The suit was the exact same as his old one, the main difference being that this one was all black and was missing his cowl. He pressed a hand to his face and felt the familiar texture of a domino mask covering his face and a long black cape behind him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a mirror when we get out,” Danny told him before he held his hand out once more. “Now let’s go.”

Destroying the labs and finding all of the tissue Ra’s had stolen from Tim’s body had been far easier than he had expected it to be. Danny had turned the two of them invisible and shot beams of ectoplasm at different targets in the lab, destroying pretty much everything in sight. He had then looked at Tim with a wide, mischievous grin on his face and Tim found himself growing more and more okay with being bonded to Danny. 

The two had found themselves flying off into the night with the entire League of Assassins base burning behind them. Danny had flown him through the air, their hands interlocked and wind blowing through his hair until he had gotten far enough away to open up a portal that the two flew into. 

“You know, I think being married to you won’t be that bad,” Tim said with a laugh as they landed on a green island in the middle of a strange dimension. 

Danny spluttered. “What? What are you talking about?” He asked, looking at Tim like he had grown a second head. 

Tim frowned. “You said we were bonded,” he said and Danny nodded. “Which I assumed is the ghostly equivalent of being married.”

At that Danny gave him a disbelieving look before throwing his head back and letting out a loud laugh. “Oh Ancients, no, no! I’m only seventeen! I’m not ready for marriage.” Now Tim felt dumb. He frowned as Danny stepped towards him and ran his fingers through Tim’s wispy white hair. “We aren’t married, Tim. Bonding is something between an adult ghost and a baby ghost. Basically, our cores are bonded together, since you’re a baby ghost still you don’t know how to regulate your ectoplasm, change forms, or well, be a ghost. My job is to help you do all of that until you’re sure that you can survive on your own without my assistance. If you’re hurt or in trouble, your core will call out to mine and I can come and help you with whatever it is. And then when your core has fully developed and you can handle your powers on your own, the bonding will fade.”

Danny bit his lip and gave Tim a small smile. “If it’s any consolation, I do think you’re very pretty and a lot of fun. But I would never try to force someone into a marriage. Especially not after they were just told that their only options were to marry a creepy ninja assassin who’s like eight hundred years old or die and have a clone replace him.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Tim asked dumbly. The events of the day were starting to catch up to him and he would be the first to admit that it had made him a little dumber than usual. 

“Very,” Danny said seriously. “Now, why did you go to Ra’s Al Ghul in the first place?”

Tim let out a breath and explained to his new friend what exactly was happening and Danny just grinned evilly. “What is it?”

“The ghost of time owes me a favor, come on,” he said and took Tim’s hand once more. Tim felt his stomach flutter as the two flew through the purple skies. Maybe being a halfa wouldn’t be too terrible, especially if he had Danny at his side.

[cenorii]

Theory about Chris and Wesker (RE9) [UPDATED]

Hey Tumblr, today I brought you two crazy theories. I promise you that my theories will be very interesting and will make you think about something.

Alive Wesker, BOW Chris. Actual until re9 release!

This is an updated theory, I have supplemented and edited it!

I kept them inside my head for a long time, but coming of RE9 pushes me to release these theories outside. I really love Chriskers, so these two theories are directly related to them. This is not AU, but my assumptions about the canon. I would like to warn you that English is not my native language, so there may be errors in the text, excuse me for that.

Theory about Chris

What could be his immediate future?

We already know that in Shadows of Rose (DLC for RE8) the year is 2037 and at this point Chris is still alive. So it's safe to say that after the events of RE9, which will take place in 2021, he will still be alive. He will not die, contrary to fan theories.

At the very end of RE8, Chris discovers a BSAA soldier who turns out to be a bioweapon (I'll write BOW in the future). Enraged by this brazenness, Chris goes to their headquarters to sort it all out. This will probably be the main idea behind RE9.

Below is a concept of this BOW:

I can assume that this is not an single specimen, and that all the other BSAA soldiers involved in the "village operation" look identical. That is, they are clones.

Cloning BOW is a common thing in their world, clones of Sergei Vladimir were used to develop a strain of the T-virus back in 1992, and created even earlier, so it's no surprise that someone in 2021 used the cloning method.

These BOW soldiers have a consciousness and "upbringing" close to human, because they use weapons and transportation. And judging by their calm facial expressions, they don't show aggression. They can act coherently as a team, which suggests that these BOW are not a brainless herd of armed Majini (RE5), or J'avo (RE6). Their brains must be very advanced and almost unaffected by mutations.

But now let's remember that there was already a project that aimed to create the perfect soldier with an evolved brain. That was Project Tyrant.

I brought up the topic that these BOW soldiers are clones. But whose? Some person with genes suitable for the virus should be taken as a basis. But who could be the donor in this case and have we had any information about this? I have an answer to that question.

This is Chris Redfield. At first, the similarities are barely obvious, but take a closer look at the facial features. The shape of the nose, lips, wrinkles around the eyes, a mole under the eye.

And now look at the gait. This pose is identical to the typical walking of any Tyrant.

BSAA, without his knowledge, used his DNA to create these BOW soldiers.

We can say that this BOW weapon is the most advanced version of the Tyrant, because it is indistinguishable from a human, has high intelligence and is well controlled. And it is also easily disposed of, because after the death of BOW, the soldier did not mutate into a Super Tyrant.

It may not be a Tyrant, but some new project. But the data on the Tyrant clearly formed its basis.

There are legitimate questions - why Chris? Who needs it?

Answer to question 1: Chris is a soldier with a lot of experience and the ability to survive in the most dangerous situations. He is psychologically prepared for anything. If by happy coincidence such a person is genetically suited to be the new version of BOW, then this can be exploited, for it saves "real" human lives in military operations. But that doesn't excuse the BSAA, for they took his DNA without authorization.

Answer to question 2: to guess who needs it, you just need to know Chris's environment. For whom is Chris "one of the best men"? For whom is Chris the only equal opponent? Who does Chris mean so much to that this person would want to subdue him?

I think you've already guessed.

Albert Wesker.

But you ask the logical question, "how could Wesker pull this off if he died in 2009?"

The answer is, he didn't. The theory of how he survived will be below, but for now I'll tell you his motives.

After the defeat, which came hard due to his injuries and overdose of the virus, Wesker decided to poison Chris's life. His own life was wiped out in that volcano, the results of all his research and experiments gone to waste. All of Wesker's plans are ruined by this man, as many times before, he is humiliated and revenge boils in him.

Somehow he has infiltrated the heart of BSAA, of those Chris trusted. Into Chris's "home." And he poisoned that home with a biological weapon. There may well have been some other reason for this, perhaps he had a new plan and "poisoning Chris's life" was just a nice addition to that plan, but not the main goal.

Here is a variant of the main goal:

New Mold was created by The Connections, an organization that partnered with H.C.F. back in 2000. H.C.F. is a unit that Wesker once led. It's unknown if he was involved in the creation of the Mold, but it's safe to assume he was aware of it. This could be the reason BOW were sent BSAA soldiers into the village in RE8 to destroy everything The Connections had a hand in. Perhaps Wesker just wanted to get rid of anything "useless" that might get in his way in the future. A distant future. Because it's been 12 years since his "death" and he's 61 years old himself.

But why is Mold "useless" to him, you ask? Weskers in "Project W" were raised according to Spencer's ideals, so in many ways they think like him, because the upbringing was sufficiently obsessive. And here's what Spencer himself thought of Mold:

Mold is useless to Spencer, so is useless to any of the Weskers who share his thinking.

There's no denying the possibility that Wesker may have been thinking about turning Chris into something for a long time, since he was highly successful as a soldier. He likes to "rate" Chris during their encounters. What if he was evaluating Chris to weigh the pros and cons if he suddenly decided to create something based on him? A BOW based on him? It's also possible that Wesker always spared Chris because he thought he would use him in the future. Other reasons are just excuses.

I can only decipher these Wesker facial expressions as "hmm, not bad"

I assume that in RE9 Chris will meet Wesker. But not the way he remembers him.

I forgot to mention that behind the scenes, Wesker was working on experimental weapons. He had studied various tactics to fight against the BOW and felt that weapons of mass destruction were not always effective, so he favored compact pieces that could be used by experienced fighters. It's unclear why Wesker even considered such a thing if he didn't intend to sell these developments. It's also unclear why he was working on it if his ultimate goal was a "perfect world" with no place for guns and wars. Did he come up with it… just because he could? In any case, after his death, these designs were confiscated by the reconstituted Umbrella Co. (Blue Umbrella) and after being reconstituted, distributed these weapons to various places like the BSAA.

Given the Chris cloning moment, doesn't it seem suspicious that the suddenly revived Umbrella is in the process of recreating Wesker's designs? I get that this weapon is very useful, but then why did they name it after Wesker if he's a "disgrace" to society and a criminal? He, in theory, deserves no mention, even on his designs. But someone in management has respect for him, so allowed the name to remain.

It's also odd that BSAA have taken up cloning, it's more likely the new Umbrella is the originator of this idea, or their executive (leader) who respects Wesker and his designs. Perhaps cloning Chris is one of his designs too?

I mean… literally - it's a clone of Chris with a Wesker gun. This is a very strange coincidence.

Theory about Wesker 1. Why isn't he dead?

Let's start simple, RE5 had enough budget to show the ignition effects, we could see them on the enemies set on fire. And RE5 also had enough budget to show colorfully directed cutscenes.

However, with the franchise's most famous character, we saw neither of these at the moment of his death. Wesker was waist-deep in lava, but not burning, and was also defeated without any cutscenes. A strange attitude with such popularity?

His death was not shown, a basic but not the main fact that makes me sure he survived.

All we can see are the missiles that fly past his head, failing to hit their target, they fall into the lava behind him. If you slow down the video, it's noticeable that for some reason the model of Wesker's head just disappears and the missiles fly right through. This is not done to show that he lost his head, because otherwise the missiles would have exploded in the area around his face. However, the missiles flew behind him. It's a trivial budget saving to not draw the moment of impact. But the question is, why save money in such an important scene for lore?

Character deaths aren't shown only when they want them back. If a character dies permanently, their death is always detailed and elaborate.

Capcom could have done this to avoid expending the effort and expense for a colorful scene that ends up being just a trickery for us, so that there would be a realistic opportunity to re-engage Wesker as an main character in the future.

 And now pay attention to how Alex Wesker's death was shown:

Her death is final, that's why it's so detailed. Her current consciousness is now in another new body (Natalia), so it's not a pity to get rid of the old one.

Now let's talk about burning. The reason Wesker doesn't have a fire effect in Volcano could mean that his clothes are fireproof. Which, by the way, could be true, because on his concept art it says the material should be able to withstand shrapnel and other little shards. Its appearance and properties are reminiscent of modern carbon fiber, which can withstand about 300-370°C in air, while the temperature of lava in a volcano is from 1000°C to 1200°C. This means that his clothes could not ignite, because carbon fiber only oxidizes from high heat. This material could also be Kevlar, which has a temperature limit of 480°C, at which point it begins to decompose.

However, not only his clothes could have partially saved him from the high temperature, Wesker himself is resistant to it, which cannot be said about the Uroboros, for whom fire is a weak point. Therefore, it is logical to assume that the virus vaporized from his body from the high ambient temperature.

But let's get to the point, the fact that Wesker was flooded with lava after the explosion of missiles does not mean that he died, because it is worth paying attention to the fact that he was already set on fire. It certainly doesn't compare to lava, but it does give us some indication that he has fire resistance.

Judging by this point, Wesker can be set on fire, but those burns don't harm him. He also doesn't care about the fire and explosions around him.

He also just needs to shake the fire off himself, which doesn't do any damage.

There is a hint that he survived. I think few people have heard about Umbrella Corps. This failed shooter, seemingly having nothing important for the Resident Evil universe, gave us quite important information. Now I will tell you about it in detail. But keep in mind that this game is canon. The protagonist here is a certain 3A-7.

 The actions of this game take place first in 2012-2013 (single-player mode), and then in 2016 (multiplayer mode). That is, AFTER the events of RE6.

 In 2012-2013, according to the plot, information appears about a certain "man from the high ranks in the organization", who arrived to observe the experiment. In the course of the plot, notes about this person are supplemented with information that "this mysterious boss" was present during the events of RE4 and survived them. And as we know, only two men survived RE4 – Leon and Wesker.

After that, one of the acting characters becomes very interested in "this mysterious man", because "this mysterious man" seems trying to make a show of his own strength. This person finds it suspicious and wants to find DNA data about this "mysterious boss". He even wonders, "Who is this guy? Why is everyone afraid of him?".

I think after that it becomes obvious about "what a terrifying and mysterious person" we are talking about. About Wesker.

While playing in multiplayer mode, there is a chance to catch Wesker's phrase at the end of the match. They are different and there are quite a lot of them.

Here is an example:  www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pe7LEaA7em8

 At the end of the game, it says that there are "plans" for the main character of this game. By the way, the main character is voiced by D. C. Douglas, same with Wesker. Wesker watched the experiment on his clone? Sounds interesting, unless, of course, he is a clone himself.

So now it's time for my theories on how Umbrella Corps can be explained:

3A-7 is a clone of Wesker, who trivially doesn't know about it and is an ordinary person with a meager set of memories. But he has retained the skills of the original, making him a high survivor. And the powerful man who kept 3A-7's DNA secret is the original Wesker. He placed his clone in this experiment to quickly test it in real danger, and after success he took it back to realize plans unknown to us. In favor of this theory is the fact that in multiplayer, Douglas' tone is a copy of Wesker's, even though he voiced 3A-7 differently. Capcom wouldn't have hired Douglas to voice two characters at once if their voices weren't potentially important to the lore. The fact that no one recognized Wesker could suggest that his appearance was badly damaged after the volcano, or he changed a lot with the onset of old age, but 3A-7 is probably a copy of his youthful appearance, so he's hiding it.

3A-7 is a clone of Wesker, but after 3A-7 was taken away at the end of his story, he rose through the ranks of the organization and it is his lines that we hear in the multiplayer, because they are said several years after the events of the game. So these are not the phrases of the original Wesker, but of the changed 3A-7 from the future. The original Wesker is presumably dead, but in that case I can't speculate who the influential person who was interested in 3A-7 might be, if not him. Nikolai Zinoviev, who survived RE3? The real Hunk? It could be anyone with cold-blooded cruelty and strange goals. Also, the question remains, who created 3A-7? If it was Wesker himself, he would have used it for his plans long ago, and if it was an abandoned project, it would have been scrapped. It was done by someone outside who needs Wesker's skills badly, just like Chris' skills, which is the reason the RE8 BSAA created a BOW based on him. Ah, I wish someone would get Chris and Wesker clones to work as a team…

So, let's keep going.

One more important thing - if Wesker had died, he would have been seriously mutated. Think of all the characters who have ever had a virus injected into their body. Upon death or when seriously injured, those characters mutated uncontrollably. The same thing happened to Alex Wesker and to Carla Radames. If Wesker died in a volcano, some creature would crawled out of there. Remember when Nemesis was dissolved in acid and then turned into a huge mess. Lava might be as good a vehicle for mutations as acid is for Nemesis. If Wesker didn't mutate, that's another confirmation that he's not dead.

There is a theory that Wesker didn't become a huge monster due to his body adapting to any virus. But I can argue… I believe that after the injection his condition was unstable + a huge amount of Uroboros in his body. All of this should have set the stage for mutation, but the mutation never happened.

Theory about Wesker 2

Now it's time for real madness. In RE5 in vulcano, we killed a Wesker clone. In general, throughout the game in RE5, we fought with his clone. We could meet the real Wesker only in the DLC "Lost in Nightmares". And now I will explain why.

 The events of "Lost in Nightmares" take place in 2006, 2 years before the events of RE5. In this DLC, we have the opportunity to fight Wesker, who poses a great threat. One of his blows is able to throw the player into the wall and stun, and he also has several different ways to kill the player. He's constantly trying to kill us. Instead of walking, he moves exclusively with the help of "blink". This is the most ordinary Wesker, as dangerous and unpredictable as ever.

Then we meet Wesker in 2009 during the RE5 events. This famous scene, which gave us the quote "seven minutes", must be the most harmless confrontation with him. A child's fight. Here Wesker, to put it mildly, lost his strength. He prefers to follow us instead of "blink". He trying to "show off" in front of Chris and Sheva. It is very easy to deceive him, and his blows do not cause much damage. Instead of throwing the player into the wall and stunning him, Wesker's blow pushes him away only a few meters. At the same time, here he does not have an attack that can kill the player. Is he playing with us? Alright.

Finally we meet Wesker in our last fight with him (before the volcano). He shouldn't be playing with us here, he's serious. But he's no different from Wesker from the last fight... he just doesn't have any "showing off" animations. But he is still weak and does not carry danger. He had an attack that Wesker had from "Lost in Nightmares", capable of piercing and thereby killing a player with a full health indicator. But otherwise he is not dangerous. I don't feel threatened by this Wesker, even though this is the LAST fight with him! This is his LAST chance to shine in front of Chris! But instead of being as cool as in "Lost in Nightmares", he's just a weak. Walking simulator.

 How much Wesker from 2006 differs from himself from 2009 makes you think. Let's think deeper.

 When Wesker kills Spencer, he mimics the old man. It may seem that he really wanted to become a God, but if you don't think about RE5, it really can be mistaken for an ordinary mimicry. Wesker wanted to humiliate him at any cost, because the most important and unpleasant secret of his life had just been revealed to him – he was fabricated. This Wesker is real and he falls off a cliff with Jill and saves her.

During the experiments on Jill, he starts working on some related project and realizes that it will take a very long time. Therefore, he creates his own clone (or maybe even several) to replace himself. And he also "hands" his clone a wild Jill with P30 in the blood, after all, the Wesker clone is clearly weaker than the original and he needs "support". Of course, the Wesker clone does not know that he is a clone, and continues to develop the idea of "becoming a God." He's a defective clone, and that's why he's so paranoid about this idea. In the end, this "clone" loses his mind and becomes fixated on the idea of "becoming a God" and everything that he had from the real Wesker in character simply evaporates. He becomes a laughing stock, macaroni monster.

And eventually Chris and Sheva kill him, ridding the world of a useless Wesker clone while the real one is alive and just hiding somewhere.

Think for yourself which theory about Wesker seems more plausible to you, anything can happen in this fandom. I really want to know WHO made BOW Chris and WHY.

Thanks for reading this madness, it will become irrelevant after the release of RE9 and RE5R, but I'm still proud of the information I've gathered. What if some of this guessed the canon? We'll find out in the future.

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Daniel/Max

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We've had a couple of Maxiel related asks recently so thought this was the perfect time to get a general list together! :)

nsfw: give, give, take by hungerpunch and thermocline | E | 3.7k

PWP in which transmasc Max tops Daniel for the first time. This PWP is so hot your circuit board may be in danger, fair warning. The characterisations and dialogue are great, Daniel with terrible "sexy" lines and Max a little surprised but very willing to give it to Daniel when he asks for it. I really like how Max's (probably pretty understandable) expectations of Daniel are subverted by the request.

Daniel props himself up on a forearm, cradling his chin in his hand. “Maybe, but—” he affects what he probably thinks is a sultry moue. “—when are you gonna get me on your strap, though?” Max can’t help the way his eyes widen. They’ve been fucking long enough that he supposes it’s not weird of Daniel to ask, but normally the type of men he attracts aren't as… self-possessed about busting it open. He goes from vaguely tired and mellow to wide awake and horny in less than a second; his body suddenly more electricity than muscle. "Uhh," he thinks aloud, his mouth buffering a beat slower than his brain, "... now?"

wish you away in my dreams by @vicsy | M | 7.5k

This is a stunning story, that, through the medium of Max and Daniel's relationship, examines the concept of fear, loss, and misplaced emotions. Everything this writer shares is stunning, but I particularly loved the use of imagery in this one. Beautiful!

Before him, Daniel’s form is incandescent in a golden glimmer, his unruly curls illuminated like a halo around his head. It pulls a punched-out breath out of Max’s lungs. He’ll rip the reconciliation from out of his soul if he has to, he’ll race it to the end, do what he does best, not a drop of fear tipping the scales against him this time.

nsfw: Through the Ages by Bells33 and Whippasnappa | E | 9k

A beautiful examination of Daniel and Max over the years, from 2017 to 2023. Brilliant writing and incredible graphics are interspersed with facts and figures, and it makes for a truly special read.

And here’s the thing; when Daniel laughs, it makes Max laugh too. So they’re laughing, and Daniel is helping Max extricate himself from the table where it’s folded in a bit and grabbed him like a snappy crocodile. And then there’s just this fucking moment where Max is finally upright, they’re stood way too close, inches apart, and he’s still holding on to Max’s arms for some reason. They're the same height, now. Daniel can’t remember when that happened. One moment, he’d been taller than Max. And now, Max meets him directly eye to eye.

nsfw: tender is my heart by @missyourflight | E | 10.6k

This is a Never Let Me Go AU. Daniel works in a cafe by sea. One day, a man walks in and orders a meal. Daniel can tell there is something strange about him, but isn't sure quite what. Eventually, he learns that Max is a clone, created to be an organ donor. This fic is atmospheric, sad, and explores the horrific ethics of the situation Max has been born into. He has been conditioned since birth to accept and embrace his fate - that one day, his organs will be harvested and he will die so that others may live. Daniel is horrified but is fighting against a lifetime of indoctrination to make Max see why.

“Because I thought you were a fucking – closeted Mormon, not –” “I told you I was a donor, you could have asked me to explain, you could have asked me –” “Explain it now, then!” Daniel explodes. “Fucking go on and tell me, Max, I’m all ears.” When Mr Gianpiero had explained it to them, before he was sent away from Hailsham, he’d said, not unkindly and quite clearly, so they understood, “You’re not people, not legally. Your bodies are not your own.” And he’d told them the truth, about the donations. About how long they’d get. “It’s what I’m for,” Max says, the only explanation he has. “It’s not,” Daniel says, grabbing Max’s hands in his. “This –” They’re moving together, as close as they can get, their foreheads pressed against each other, salt on both their faces, and Max feels it, the way he feels it every time Daniel touches him, the rightness of it: this is what his body is for. “This is so fucked,” Daniel says, and it hits Max like ice water. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he says, and when he steps back Daniel doesn’t reach for him again.

nsfw: caught you coming alive by anonymous | E | 17.9k

This is a dystopian future AU in which people are matched by computer before marrying. They meet their matches while blindfolded and are expected to have sex to determine if they're physically attracted and compatible. Daniel is disillusioned and cynical about the process after years of failed matches. It's Max's first time. The ache of loneliness around Daniel is palpable, and Max's guilelessness is completely in character. Max is carrying the baggage of family expectations. Their connection is natural and immediate. The worldbuilding of the story is deft and elegant and never detracts from the character work. Also, it takes a very talented author to write double-blindfolded smut.

His hand is still resting against the inside of Daniel’s bicep, and he inhales like he’s preparing for something. It is so quiet for so long that Max almost asks if Daniel wants to stop. But then they are in motion again and his fingers travel across the crook of his elbow again to the top of his forearm. “I have a little cupid here,” and the Max’s hand is only there for a moment before it’s on the move again, down, “and a bit of love underneath him. In case he needs a boost.” There is a crack, minute, and so quiet Max wonders if he only heard it because he can’t see. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed the hitch in Daniel’s voice if he was too caught up staring at his face or tracing tattoos he can only shape in his head. But it’s there. Breaking around the word love and not quite putting itself back together by the time he’s finished speaking. Max wishes he could see him, if only to lean in to kiss him without risking a black eye for them both. “And to round off the top half of the tour, we have my beautiful rose.” Daniel’s light, teasing tone is back, and he has laced their hands together, Max’s right in Daniel’s left. “If you just do this,” and he rubs his thumb across the top of Max’s hand, “you might feel it. No thorns to worry about.”

nsfw: glory, from a high rise by @yekoc | E | 24.3k

Another AU, this one featuring Daniel as a bartender and Max as a troubled finance worker who tries to drink (and fuck) his sorrows away. This is one of the first maxiel fics I ever read. It's kind of a greatest hit in Maxiel fandom to the point where I wondered if I should even rec it. But the chance of someone new coming along to the pairing and missing out on this masterpiece is one I can't bear to take. Max's sadness and self-punishment in this story is crushing, and his emotional unavailability makes this relationship's early stages very difficult. Daniel is emotionally mature enough to protect himself and be realistic and clear about what he wants and needs in a partner. It's a long journey for them (and us), but absolutely worth it.

He couldn’t look at Daniel. Daniel didn’t need to apologize; Max knew what he wanted was fucked up, something desperate and out of his control. With Daniel sometimes it had felt better, like it was something okay; like he was good. But Max got it. Daniel wanted a—a boyfriend, someone he took home and went out to dinner with and introduced to his family at Christmas. He was thirty. His friends had families. Daniel deserved that too. He would be good at it.

nsfw: one step closer and i'm real by whichisgolden | E | 24.7k

Max time travels through different universes and falls in love with every version of Daniel. I loved the ending so much (and I won't spoil it but it's absolutely adorable). I also loved the characterization of both Max and Daniel, it felt so real!

“Daniel kissed the side of his face, his eyebrow. “If I did choose,” he said, haltingly. “If I wanted to come back, and what you’re saying is right and you got zapped away into another dimension— I don’t think there’s any universe where I wouldn’t want to do this with you. All Daniel Ricciardos want to kiss you.” Max opened one eye. “What if I have the defective one?” Daniel burst into laughter. “I think we’re all defective, actually. That’s why we like you.” “Okay, shut up.” Max wrestled him down on the couch to kiss him, and then they had to go celebrate.

Anonymous by @boxboxbrioche | M | 26.4k

This fic is partially told through emails & social media messages, and takes place in a parallel-canon 2022 season, where F1 has taken some PR hits because the drivers are constantly getting into fights. The FIA hires an expert public relations manager, who has some... creative solutions, including an anonymous messaging feature between drivers. Every part of this makes me smile: the warm, dry humour, the perfect characterisation & Maxiel dynamic, the PR shenanigans... and, of course, the "anonymous" messages. It feels like a love letter to online friendships, not just anonymous ones - celebrating how you can be your honest self and share what you might not share with people irl (and, if you're Max and Daniel, fall in love all over again in the process!)

P.S. - A big congratulations to Roscoe Hamilton for signing on for a new modelling contract, showing off a range of very fashionable luxury dog jackets. Although the adage goes - ‘never work with children or animals’ - I do sometimes wonder if it would be easier on both counts.

nsfw: there was always warmth between us by @freeuselandonorris | E | 32.1k

Max brings a sex toy to a race and Daniel inevitably finds it. What ensues is rising sexual tension and tiptoeing around each other. I really liked this fic for how it made this single event, Daniel finding Max’s toy, into a deeper story with rising tension and a lot of humanness. I think that was my favourite part about it, how human both this Max and Daniel are, even within the context of sex. The character development was a lot of fun to read and made the pay off even more worth it!

Dan smiles at him in an unfocused sort of way, his hand brushing against Max’s knuckles. Max twitches. Is he doing it on purpose? He glances at Dan’s face but finds it inscrutable.

nsfw: come on, star boy by @yekoc | E | 42k

A high school football AU of Max and Daniel! Featuring past Brocedes and a little bit of angst with Jos being a sucky dad. They live in Alabama and it explores their story in high school love! I loved the writing style so much! I feel like high school AUs are also not super common in the F1 fandom, so it was so nice reading it!

“Do you miss it?” Daniel asks. “Not school, I mean. Soccer. Football.” “Yes,” Max says. He draws his feet up onto the seat and wraps his arms around his legs, chin on his knees. The strap of the seat belt pulls against his broad shoulders. It can’t be very comfortable. Daniel can’t get his head around it, that Max and his dad moved all the way to what, to fucking nowhere Alabama, so that he could play football instead of soccer; so that he could grab hold of some faint trail towards stardom.

nsfw: right where you left me by TheNorthRemembers | E | 54k

It's 2018, and Daniel and Max are driving for Red Bull. It's the Azerbaijan GP, and the inevitable crash happens. Max goes to sleep, but once he wakes up–he finds that he's in a time loop. This is my favorite time loop fic ever! "It's race day" quotes haunt me in my sleep in the best way possible, and the fic delves so much into Daniel leaving Red Bull and how Max deals with it.

All Max can do is stare, his heart beating so hard, he can feel it in his voice as he speaks. “You are leaving.” How are they supposed to be together if Daniel is leaving? If he hates racing with Max so much that he wants to give up his seat with Red Bull, his chance at winning, at winning it all. How can they- He never says ‘I love you’ but he just called Max a child, he just said he’d leave. And what the fuck does that say about them? About Daniel’s feelings for Max? “I’m doing what is best for my career,” Daniel says, like that means anything at all.

this list was compiled by @lydia-petze, @boxboxbrioche, @maaxverstappen, @blueballsracing, @singsweetmelodies

[gatorbites-imagines]

can u do a spin-off with dom male x connor kent from the wally fanfic !! also i love ur writing sm u feed the male community so well 🫶🏼

Conner Kent/Kon-El x kryptonian male reader

I am literally so sorry its taken me so fucking long to write this request, tumblr has been a whole mess with my inbox and regularly doesn’t show requests and sometimes does show them, tumblr also likes eating my requests for some reason.

Reader has a human name and a kryptonian name, so I just picked one for him since it isn’t super important.

Conner Kent and (Y/N), Kon-El and Tor-Kez. A clone and a full blooded kryptonian. You had come to earth from another universe that had ended, and your parents had hoped you would live a happy life somewhere else, so you were dumped in this one. In the beginning many had been cautious of you, because you were young and too powerful, when you joined Young Justice, you had rivalled Superman himself in strength, and they had only grown as you aged.

Jor-Els AI had explained you were of a higher caste of kryptonian, the Kez clan known for their power and beauty. Conner had always felt lacking standing by your side, as he was nothing but a clone that Kal-El seemed to want nothing to do with. The Kez clan hadn’t shared the same opinion on clones as the rest of krypton, so in the beginning you had tried to befriend Conner and teach him about your shared heritage.

You had been young when you were sent away, so you had never learned much about compatibility, or the draw one felt when they found their perfect half. The two of you both felt drawn to one another, a deep need to be around each other ringing deeply in your chests and very souls. But Conner dealt with a lot of anger, and your relationship became short and snippy as you both butted heads quite a lot. It was like watching two young male lions snapping at each other and trying to lay claim on an area as their own.

As years passed you and Conner didn’t grow closer, though the want in your chest growing from just a need to be near each other to a deep gut warming lust. Your first wet dream was about Conner, and Conners mind always went to you when he was pleasuring himself. You were both addicted to the others scent, regularly stealing clothes and dirty laundry. You regularly showed off to each other during missions or training, like a pair of peacocks showing off their feathers in hopes of attracting a mate. It was Megan who made this observation to your teammates, which then ended up becoming a regular thing they said, that you two were peacocking again.

It was late when you returned from a solo mission, having been sent on it alone as you were strong enough to complete it without issue. You could hear that all your teammates were asleep, or most were, it seemed like Conner was still awake and his heartbeat was raised, but you just scoffed and tried not to think about why his heartrate was higher in the middle of the night. It was harder than you liked to admit to force away the images of Conner pleasuring himself and calling out your name.

As you neared the locker room to clean up and change, a scent caught your nose and the want in your chest grew stronger, lust immediately pooling in your gut. It was the most delicious thing you had ever smelt, lust and musk filling your senses and leading you like a dog on a leash. As you entered the locker room you saw what had drawn you like a man under a spell.

There was Conner, naked as the day he was taken out of his pod, seated on one of the benches you regularly found in locker rooms like this one. He seemed completely lost in his own world as he almost desperately jerked his hard cock, the action created loud slick noises as his hips jolted off the wood of the bench and up into his fist. In his other hand he was holding something to his face, huffing it like it was a drug he needed to live.

You were able to clear your want filled brain enough to look closer at what he was holding, and it finally clicked when you recognized the colours. It was a pair of your boxers, the very pair you had thrown into the wash the other day. The want in your chest seemed to unfurl like a flower, heat pooling in your gut as the crotch of your hero suit grew extremely uncomfortable.

A deep rumble echoed from your chest, your hands digging into the doorway enough to leave finger sized indents as you started panting through your mouth, trying your hardest to taste the way Conners scent had filled the room. Conners head snapped in your direction, his pupils blown wide and hair a mess. The hand around his cock hadn’t stopped moving, he actually seemed to tighten his grip and quicken it as he noticed you looking.

Conner made a rumble in return to your own, his own kryptonian wants seeming to overpower him the same way it had you. He keened loudly as you were upon him like a wild beast, picking him up like he weighed nothing and slamming him up against the lockers, which creaked loudly and dented under your shared weight. Your lips met in a wild wet display, tongues clashing and teeth biting. He gave some fight for dominance, but as you grabbed his ass and spread him open so you could grind your still clothed cock against his hole the fight seemed to melt right out of you.

It was hard to tell how long you stood there humping each other, spit dribbling down your chins and covering Conners pecs and making them shiny and oh so enticing. Unable to resist you disconnected the kiss and attached your lips to his nipples, sucking at them like a starving baby finally given milk. His back arched and his thighs spread open wide, his weight only held by the grip you had on his ass. You couldn’t tell what language either of you were speaking, if it was English, kryptonian or something third, but he begged and keened for you. The want and need for each other was maddening, for it wasn’t just lust but something much deeper, so deep it felt like your souls were grasping at the other and intertwining.

Conner was soon thrown over the bench, his chest meets the wood, though he didn’t have much time to complain about your connection disappearing as you quickly found your mouth upon his hole. The noises Conner made couldn’t be classified as human, loud keens and purrs coming from deep in his chest, from an organ human didn’t possess, his hands gripping the bench hand enough to snap off part of the wood.

The crotch of your suit is soaked as you drip large amounts of precum in your briefs, your tongue running wet circles around Conners hole and burying itself in the tight pucker, spit running down the clone’s taint and down his balls. Conner can’t help but reach back and grab your hair, looking over his shoulder and arching his back at the sight you make, so deeply taken with eating him out and spreading him open.

A puddle of precum gathers under you as Conners length drips like a faucet, even without either of you touching it he feels like he’s about to burst. And he does when you sink two fingers inside him, Conner letting out a loud wail as he spills all over the floor, the puddle between his legs growing even larger and messier.

A loud pleased growl rings from your chest, the scent of your partner being satisfied only making you feel hotter, the want in your chest brightening even further. Quickly finishing in stretching Conner you scamper to your feet, not even feeling patient enough to take your suit off in the way it meant too. The sound of ripping fabric is heard as you tear your suit from the neck and down, the material catching around your knees as you push it down.

Conner moans as the smell of your musk and lust hits him, his hard length giving a spurt of arousal as his need for you grows even stronger, he wants you in every way, be it love and lust. Grabbing your length around the base you lead it to his hole, shivering in anticipation as you push it inside, groaning from deeply in your chest as the feeling of rightness fills you at being with Conner like this. The man under you moans, his eyes rolling back as he pushes his hips back to get you in further.

It takes a while for you to bottom out seeing as you are kryptonian, it means you are very big in a way that would make it hard for anyone to take you, but not Conner, its like he’s made for you. Your balls rest against his taint and Conner looks over his shoulder at you, his face flushed and sweaty in a way you wouldn’t normally see on a kryptonian.

Leaning down you place your hands on either side of him, digging your fingers into the bench to grip, and start thrusting. Had it been any other time you two might have thought of staying quiet, but the feeling of perfect and right that connects you being like this muffles the world around you. Your lips meet in a wet kiss as your hips speed up, the bench creaking in complaint at your powerful movements.

You both cum like this, Conner spilling even more on the floor as you fill him up until its dripping out of him, and mutually you moan loud enough it wouldn’t be a surprise if it woke all your teammates. But neither of you could care, as a bond between you snaps in place, new heat washing through the two of you as you flip Conner over, his legs wrapping around your waist and his arms wrapping around your neck as you start thrusting anew, loud slick noises filling the locker room once more as you use your own spend to ease the process.

Neither of you could tell exactly how long you were at it, as kryptonian libido is no joke. All you knew was that at some point the bench broke under your combined super strength, the lockers were dented beyond saving from doing it up against them, and the wall had finger shaped holes from where Conner had grasped at it as you filled him again and again.

You were both a shaking mess as the heat finally seemed to dim, leaving only a deep love thrumming between you. The two of you found yourselves on the floor, Conner cuddled up in your arms as you kissed and purred at each other, the want in your chests seeming more settled than ever before, it felt like everything was as it should be. Conner had asked if this meant you were boyfriends now, and you just chuckled and told him you sure hoped so. He only had time to jump on you and kiss you in joy at the knowledge you were together, when you both heard a loud shriek and sound of disgust.

Glancing at the door to the locker room you only just caught glimpse of Wally speeding away, and you soon heard him crying out in disgust to the rest of the team that you two had turned it into some kind of kryptonian mating dungeon. You both flushed with embarrassment, sharing one last love filled kiss before you quickly got to cleaning up as best as you could, though there wasn’t much you could do about the damage. It would take some explaining to do, but you hoped to avoid talk about just what you two had been up too, from Conners snickering you knew he thought the same, the knowledge would probably scar your teammates.

[gaykarstaagforever]

1970

The Silver Age was coming to a close in 1970. But DC wasn't quite out of amazing ideas yet.

I'm not going to review this. There is nothing more to say than what this cover says. Superman turns into a giant stupid Superman for like 2 hours, wrecks a bunch of things, then it wears off. It is exactly as cool and entertaining as that sounds. They finally got one right, boys.

Here he is fighting a bunch of soldiers.

Here he is, doing the thing.

Here he is, using the tip of the Washington Monument that he broke off to write a giant message about how oops, he's sorry about all of this. ...Which seems like it kind of contradicts his point, since there were probably a hundred ways he could have written this message without destroying a national monument.

But we're not here to be nerds about writing, we're here to see this:

I'll tell you how he got out of this mess, because it is probably the most fantastic thing in this entire story. Maybe one of the most fantastic things Silver Age Superman ever did. And NO, it doesn't involve one of his stupid awful robot clones.

But first, you need some context. This is the very first panel of the story, after the splash page:

Now. If you're like me, you are immediately lost. Who is Titano, and why are these idiots talking about him in front of a King Kong movie poster?

Well. I don't know how to tell you this, but back in 1959, there was a Superman comic where NASA sent a monkey into Space, and it came back 50 feet tall with kryptonite laser eyes. It did a King Kong with Lois (of course), until Superman defeated it and whisked it away to a Planet of Giants he knew about.

You know that thing in comics, where they'll reference some old story only nerds will remember, and they'll put an asterisk and tell you what issue it was from so you know what the hell they're referring to? Yeah, no, they don't do that here. This panel is all you get. They just expected you to remember that 11 years ago, they did a story where Superman fought a giant monkey from Space.

Which, sure, is memorable, as far as these things go. But 1960s Superman fought all kinds of crazy things from Space! It seems a little presumptuous to assume anyone would remember this specific incident, after 11 years of growth rays and shrink rays and 5th dimensional pygmy wizards and that time Superman was fat. But here we are.

Yes this is relevant to the ending. As the bigness whatever is wearing off, Superman jogs out into the ocean to finish his shrinking. He then returns to Lois and Jimmy as Normal-Sized Clark Kent. This was during the era where Lois and Jimmy were finally both suspicious that maybe Clark was Superman, only because the two were never at the same place, at the same time.

And yes, even they knew about the damn robot clones by now, so they weren't going to fall for that sitcom nonsense.

So Clark, the perpetual liar that he is, has to make sure Lois and Jimmy don't point out how he was conveniently absent the entire time Superman was giant. Before they declare him Superman, he points out to them that while he is here with them now normal-sized, a giant in a Superman costume is still visible, running away through the ocean. See? He can't be Superman. Even if he looks exactly like him, in face and build, but with glasses.

So how does Superman callously deceive his two closest friends?

He flew real fast to the Giant Planet, abducted a confused and terrified Titano (remember him?), created a giant Superman costume and dressed the giant monkey in it, flew him back to Earth, and dropped him into the ocean in just the perfect way where Lois and Jimmy could see him in the Superman outfit, but not see he was in fact a giant monkey. The giant monkey they would both specifically recognize, because of the thing they went through with him before.

Don't worry about Titano though, if you were. Once this lunacy is over, Superman rips his clothes off and dumps him back on the Giant Planet.

...I appreciate that you're probably still trying to process all this. And best of luck with that. But before we end, we need to talk about this:

They buy Cracker Jacks at the movies. Jimmy's box has red kryptonite in it, and that is what makes Superman grow big and stupid, because, and I very nearly quote, red kryptonite makes weird stuff happen, and Clark was watching King Kong, so he was thinking about giant monkeys.

That is the ONLY explanation we get for any of this. No, they don't explain why red kryptonite was in a box of Cracker Jacks. Or why two panels of this comic are an obvious ad for Cracker Jacks, except the boxes don't look like real Cracker Jack boxes, and they always did that for ads, so this can't be one. Plus this isn't a separate page in the comic, this is just...how the story starts.

Was this a tie-in that fell through, last-minute? It has to be, right? LOOK at this. Why did they do this?

Also, King Kong is technically public domain, in the sense that you can print the name and show a giant monkey. But the movie rights are exclusive to Universal. And I don't know if that was true in 1970. So was this ALSO some kind of Universal King Kong tie-in? Again, it isn't a proper ad, it's just part of the story.

Though they very specifically only feature Titano in person in the comic, so maybe this WAS just a reference, and they were careful not to put actual Universal's King Kong in the story.

They just used their own ripoff of him from 11 years earlier. Where he was brown and looked more like a giant chimp. And now, here, he is a black gorilla, sort of. Like King Kong.

...There is a whole entire other feature in this issue, and I haven't even read it yet, because I have been thinking about this story for like a week.

I hope you understand why.

[lian6831]

Penigni Mafia AU

(English is not my native language. There may be strange grammar through translation. forgive me😵‍💫)

———————————————————————

On a rainy night, a luxury car drove through the streets of the outskirts of London. " Oh mio Dio !" Despite Pulcinella's immediate brake, he couldn't avoid colliding with a person who suddenly rushed out. Both rushed out to check. The person on the ground was wearing a patient's gown, looking around 16 years old. Venigni, after ensuring the injured person was stable, examined the injuries. Aside from some scratches, there seemed to be no serious harm. "Please... help me..." Venigni initially thought the boy was referring to the accident, but later learned that the boy was actually seeking refuge. He took off his coat, carefully covering the boy and gently lifting him up. "Pulcinella, let's go home quickly."

———————————————————————

Pinocchio [P] -

Venigni's mysterious adopted son. After a sudden encounter with him due to an unexpected incident, Venigni brought Pinocchio to the mansion and decided to adopt him. Pinocchio, with a talent for weapons, was later trained by Venigni as a professional assassin specializing in covert missions

Pinocchio's true identity is that of an escaped clone. He has no name, only a code. Pinocchio chose this name after meeting Venigni. The scientist Geppetto, desperate to bring back his deceased son Carlo, conducted illegal clone experiments, crossing ethical boundaries. Despite numerous failures, Pinocchio, labeled from A to P, didn't match Geppetto's perfect image. Knowing his impending fate of destruction, Pinocchio escaped the lab, worried about Geppetto catching up. On a rainy night, he sought help from a passing car.

Pinocchio calls Venigni "Papà." Only two years have passed since his adoption, and his understanding of emotions is still blurry. He knows Venigni loves him, but it seems to be a fatherly affection. Mentor, protector, father... Pinocchio has too much admiration for Venigni. He wishes Venigni would love him more. One day, witnessing Venigni interact with a woman, Pinocchio yearns to be her, wanting to be held in Papà's arms, with his attention focused solely on himself.

Lorenzini Venigni -

From a prestigious Italian Mafia family, active across Europe, currently based mainly in the UK. Initially engaged in criminal activities, the family now coordinates various factions from behind the scenes. Venigni, after inheriting the family, shifted to weapons development and arms tradingDuring Venigni's childhood, tragedy struck as both of his parents tragically perished. The culprit was an assassin sent by a rival faction, and he remembered it all too well. That person wore a mask, yet made no effort to conceal their identity. Speaking directly to the young Venigni, they uttered their name without hesitation, "Remember well... Arlecchino is my name." Amidst a pool of blood, the individual laughed maniacally, "I'll be waiting for you... dare to try? Come, kill me, hahaha."

Raised by the butler Pulcinella, Venigni, at the age of 11, became the family head.maybe fueled by revenge, he invented weapons, hoping to create something to torment Arlecchino. Despite capturing the enemies who hired Arlecchino, they had no information on his whereabouts. Venigni believes he is still alive.

Recently, Venigni adopted a young man named Pinocchio after a chance encounter. Learning the boy's story, Venigni decided to adopt him. When asked his name, the boy remembered a fairy tale he read at Geppetto's house, "Perhaps because I'm not the real boy, that's why father won't love me..." So, he named himself Pinocchio, hoping to one day become a real boy.

Two years later, Pinocchio became a professional assassin, assigned secret missions by Venigni. Despite being in this world for only two years, Pinocchio, outside of missions, behaved like a child, curious about everything. Venigni dote on him, but lately, Venigni noticed Pinocchio's gaze becoming strange. When praised for completing a task, the boy's eyes held a hint of longing. Venigni understood that look very well, but he hoped the boy could grow up healthy. What he needed was a fatherly figure... However, one day, passing by Pinocchio's room, he heard a sweet voice, "...Papà... mmm." Hearing this term from the boy, Venigni couldn't ignore it anymore. Should he satisfy his boy, or should he focus on being a good father…?

-

Thank you for watching hope you can leave me some comments or feedback :)

[raynewolferune]

DP Kindred Spirits thoughts:

This is the episode where watching it as a kid and watching it as an adult results in entirely different understands of the characters in the show.

Kid me watched this being all like: "Wow, Danny's a jerk. Poor Sam and Tucker!" And "Vlad's up to his usual villiany again."

Adult me is like: "Danny's being a jerk but so are Sam and Tucker."

Because they should know by now how difficult split second decisions are in the middle of battle and not blame Danny for that happening but on the other hand, leaving them in the lurch for clean up and getting licked by Cujo is just being a crap friend. He could have totally stuck around at the golf course and let the guy know it was a ghost attack or even immediately returned after transforming to help cleanup instead of going all the way home.

Adult me is also like: "This is totally not Vlad's usual nonsense. He's definitely a full-on villian now."

Like, up until now we've heard Vlad call people pawns but (outside of Jack & occasionally Jasmine and Danny mid-scheme) he hasn't really treated anyone like they were disposable. Whereas now he's creating multiple Danny's and implying that they will all be destroyed (including the original) once he makes his perfect copy. That's a whole new level of messed up. Also, as side note, one of Vlad's obsessions is family/Maddie, right? Pretty sure using his cloning technology to create a test tube baby of his and Maddie's would have been way simpler than outright cloning Danny as a half & might have resulted in him getting to see Maddie more often if he went the 'alt timeline child' route. Besides that, the way he treats AI Maddie & the things he makes her say shows that he now considers Maddie a kind of pawn as well. If he didn't consider her a pawn before that is (I doubt he did with how well he treated her compared to the others before though). Seriously a messed up fruitloop.

[twinterrors29]

Kenfetti Beauty and the Beast AU

it all began on Galidraan

Jango and his Haat'ade were getting ready to leave the planet in a hurry after spotting the Governor secretly meeting with Kyr'tsad

as they were finishing their packing, they were approached by a dark, hooded figure who introduced himself as 'Sifo-Dyas', a Jedi summoned by the Governor to arrest them

Jango immediately decided to call bullshit and started shooting, backed up by the rest of the company

which is when the disguised Dooku activated his Sith Trap Card

Jango's armor lost its color as the rest of the crew disappeared

when Jango demanded that 'Sifo-Dyas' tell him how to break the curse, the 'Jedi' then smugly informed Jango that the only way would be to kill the entire Jedi Order, for as long as they stood together there would be power behind the spell

Jango is then left to stew in his guilty grief for a few years, letting the anger and resentment for the Jedi grow into hatred, before he was approached by a Sith by the name of Darth Tyrannus, who had heard a rumor that Jango had a grudge against the Jedi Order, and would like to hire him for a very specific venture

but first, he needed Jango to explain the nature of his grievance against the Order as part of the 'vetting' process

after listening to Jango's account, Tyrannus 'theorizes' that the Jedi destroyed the Haat'ade's bodies and have been holding their souls for power

(which is actually somewhat accurate, if you replace 'Jedi' with 'Sith')

and then laid out the outline of the Kamino project

he emphasizes that the clones would be soulless vessels, who might prove suitable hosts for the freed souls of the Haat'ade if their plan succeeds and Jango is able to enact their revenge by killing the Order

so Jango agreed

ten more years pass, with Jango working alone on Kamino with the scientists to create their perfect clone army

and then a Jedi Knight landed on Kamino

Jango duly reported this development to Tyrannus, who ordered him to lead the Jedi to Geonosis to kick off the war

Jango's attempt to flee the planet to lead the Jedi was unsuccessful however, explosively so: both of their ships were destroyed in their fight as Knight Kenobi caught up to him a little too early, stranding them both on Kamino with little ability to communicate with their allies off-planet

they both figure that those allies will come to investigate/rescue them soon, with Jango secretly confident that Tyrannus or whoever he would send to check will reach them first since he knows where they are and was expecting him to arrive shortly on Geonosis

so they reached an uneasy truce to tolerate each other until that time, and that they will stay within sight of each other throughout that time to preempt any betrayal

Kenobi, of course, insisted on continuing to investigate the creation of this clone army and its purpose, dragging an annoyed Jango along with him as he interviewed many of the scientists and started getting to know the clones themselves

these conversations left Jango increasingly suspicious of Tyrannus' assertions that the clones are soulless, leaving him to wonder how much of the rest of his claims and promises were also lies

and then Obi-Wan uncovered the true purpose of the army, and the nature of Jango's own vendetta

and Obi-Wan revealed the fact that Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas has been dead far longer than the Haat'ade have been gone

and Jango realized that he'd been used, manipulated from the start

which was, of course, the moment that Tyrannus finally arrived on Kamino to tie up the loose end that Kenobi represented, also serving the purpose of a provocation for the Republic to enter war with the Separatists after Count Dooku killed a Jedi after 'uncovering' that the Order had been building an army for the Republic

but Jango had come to the realization that everything he thought he knew about the 'Jedi Curse' was a lie

that the Haat'ade were long gone, almost certainly dead

and that Obi-Wan, whose integrity he'd grown to trust, had only ever tried to help him find the truth

so when Dooku won the duel against Obi-Wan, he intervened and killed Dooku instead

Obi-Wan immediately recognized what Jango had done for him: he'd just killed the only hope he'd had of saving his people, or even finding out what had really happened to them

Obi-Wan pulled Jango into Keldabe Kiss, to show his trust and gratitude for saving him

and there's no love truer than that: saving someone at great cost to yourself, and then receiving love and trust in return, no need for romance

and there's no stronger curse breaker than true love's kiss

as the color bleeds back into Jango's armor, there are suddenly a lot of fully armored Mando'ade in the halls around them

once they all recovered a bit, they all stole the clones together to help prevent the war from kicking off and move to Mandalore to advise (heckle) Obi-Wan's ex, the Duchess Satine, and end up uncovering and chasing off several less savory (cough corrupt cought) members of her government on her behalf, starting with Governor Pre Vizsla, Senator Tal Merrick, and even Prime Minister Almec

and they all lived happily ever after