#skull paint = night brother tattoos

[mabsart]

Harrowhark Nonagesimus as a Night Brother Zabrak because I thought it would be cool.

[devotional-dwams]

Just the two of us

Summary: you run into a curious girl with her large group of brothers during a festival on Pabu. Your favourite of the batch, though, is Wrecker. Wrecker x reader, she/her pronouns used.

Word count: 2726 (this one got away from me)

Warnings: there’s a slight indicator that Echo has trouble eating new foods, so keep that in mind if that’s triggering for you. But other than that it’s pure fluff!

Authors note: dude I love Wrecker so much, he’s such a sweetheart. I had the time of my life writing this. This is set after the events of s3. Tech IS alive and IS in a relationship with Phee. Because I said so.

Beneath your hands, you intricately weaved the young girls hair into braids. Your makeup and hair stand had been a big hit so far into the night, and kids had been lining up to have their face painted. It warmed your heart each time they looked into the mirror you’d propped up, beaming at the animal you’d painted onto their face, or the fun hairstyle you’d put together for them. Lyana was your favourite customer though, always sitting still and patient as you adorned her hair with braids and flowers.

“And Auntie Phee said she’ll bring back a treasure for me.”

“Wow! She sounds quite the adventurer.”

“She is. When I’m older, she’s going to take me with her at some point.”

You chuckled, wondering what Shep had to say to that. “I’m sure she will. Well, you’re all done.”

Lyana turned to the mirror, checking her reflection out before looking back to you. She wore a large grin as she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Thank you!”

“Anytime.”

The girl ran off, her braids piled securely on her head. You smiled, turning your attention to your hair tools. After putting the brushes away, you settled back into your chair and sipped your mocktail. The sun was just beginning to set, and the island was washed in pink and orange hues.

This was always your favourite festival. The day of the high tide was the mark of summer, and as the story went, the moon had shed a tear for its lost love- the sun- which dropped into the ocean, building the island of Pabu in its place. In turn, the days began growing longer as a thank you from the sun. When the island population grew, the festival grew too as a mark of celebration for the gifts from both the sun and the moon. It lasted all day, until the early hours of the morning. Each year you held a different stall, always yearning to do something for the community that had done so much for you, and this year you thought you’d put your hair and makeup skills to the test. So far it was proving a damned good decision.

You put your glass down, attention drawn to the girl approaching the stall. She was holding hands with an older man, who had scars along one side of his face, and chatting deeply with another older man. He wore a skull tattoo on one half of his face. They could only be the clones you’d heard so much about.

When she spoke, her strong accent rung out. “Hi! Lyana pointed us here, she said you do hair?”

Your hands leant on the work counter as you leaned forward. “I do indeed, makeup as well. All festival looks. You must be… Omega?”

“Yeah, and these are my brothers, Wrecker and Hunter.” She gestured to both as she spoke.

“It’s lovely to meet you guys. I take it you want your hair done too?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all! Take a seat.”

As she sat, Hunter asked you if this cost anything, which of course it didn’t. Your stalls for the high tides festival each year were always free.

“Are you sure? No credits at all?”

“Why? Do you want your hair done as well, sir?”

He scoffed. “No one touches my hair.”

“In that case, you can stop your fretting.”

Wrecker laughed, loud and boisterous. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “Mega’s in safe hands, Sarge.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The gentle giant rubbed the back of his neck, “call me Wrecker.”

“Wrecker it is.”

Happy that Omega was content, Hunter saw her and his brother off, wishing you a goodbye. Apparently he had to go ‘monitor Cross’, whatever that meant. The girl in the seat was inquisitive, you found, constantly asking questions about the hair procedure and how to do braids. It baffled you that a girl of her age didn’t know how to braid hair, but you taught her nonetheless. Wrecker sat by watching. You weren’t sure what to make of him. He was quiet, but you got a general sense that he was gentle. It sent a tickling up your spine, a desire to know more.

“Well, what do you think?” You asked Omega, pointing her to the mirror.

“Oh, I love it! Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” You shrug it off, leaning against the counter. As you cross your arms, your eyes catch Wrecker’s, and the tips of his ears flush pink. The giant was rather cute, you’d come to decide.

Wrecker couldn’t pull his gaze away. You were so good with the kid, and your smile- he found himself smiling along with you, even if he wasn’t a part of the conversation. His eyes lingered on your dress, a floral yellow one that had a small bow beneath the dip of your chest. It hugged your curves just right, and Maker, did you look good in it. What’s more, you looked comfortable. Your hands deftly worked on Omegas hair, easily and gently pulling the strands into intricate braids. When your eyes found his, he finally looked away, sheepish at the fact that he’d been caught ogling you. As he gazed at the sand underneath his shoes, he became vaguely aware of Omega’s voice.

“Wrecker?”

His head shot up. “Yeah?”

“Wanna get going?”

“Oh uh,” his eyes drifted to you. “Sure.”

Omega took his hand again, hopping off the chair she had been sitting on. A shooting ache in his chest sprung as he left you in your stall, and the corners of his lips fell into a frown. The two of you had barely exchanged words past pleasantries, and yet he still felt so inexplicably drawn to you… that hadn’t happened before. He wondered if he was developing a small crush, but that wasn’t likely. He had always had a large crush on Senator Amidala, and this felt nothing at all like that. Wrecker bit his lip in contemplation.

Omega swung his hand. “Soooo, wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Huh? What?”

“You’re being quiet. What is it?”

“Pft, nothin’s on my mind.” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

“Uh-huh. Wouldn’t be that stall keeper, would it? What was her name? Y/…. Something.”

“Y/N.”

Omega looked up at her big brother, noticing the softness in his brash voice. She couldn’t resist smiling at it. Usually Wrecker was so loud, so impulsive, and despite what some thought, he had a cracking brain on him. Each time he talked with Omega about bomb mechanics, or hell, even the inner workings of cooking, she was always impressed. How did he not see that he was falling for Y/N? Omega had read about love at first sight, and had always wanted to believe in it. If this was such a thing, she couldn’t be happier for her brother.

Besides, she liked you. You were sweet, gentle, and your jokes had the two of you giggling together during her hairdo. She had to get Wrecker and you to interact again.

Your watch struck eight pm. It was time to lock up. When you ran a children’s stall, you never ran them past eight pm because they were too preoccupied to join it. It also meant you had time to enjoy the festivities of the high tide party before the night completely evaded you. After packing your things away and locking the stall up, you tucked the key into your pocket and strolled towards Shep. As per usual, you wanted to express your gratitude for his permission regarding conducting your little business.

Your hand nudged his arm. “Thanks again for letting me run the stall. I had a lot of fun.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Thank you for running it! I can see it was a big hit with the kids this year.”

“Yeah, they liked this one. Any chance for a burger? I’m famished.”

“They’re still going. Max is directing the grill this year, along with Rosa.”

You bid Shep farewell, turning to the direction of Max and his sister. The three of you fell into easy conversation as Max prepared your food, Rosa sitting to the side taking a break. She held a cocktail in hand, and had already made and given you one too. You had somehow drunk half the glass by the time Max handed you your burger. When you were mid-way through a bite, a voice called your name.

“Y/N!”

You turned, still biting into your burger. A drop of sauce fell down to the sand as you did, and to your terror, there stood Omega, Wrecker and a bloke with a scomp for an arm. You swallowed harshly.

“Uh, hey.”

“Friends of yours, Y/N?” Rosa asked.

“I’d say so. I haven’t met this one yet, though.”

“Name’s Echo, ma’am.”

You nodded your head to him. “Hi.”

“We were wondering if we could get something to eat?” Omega asked, standing on her tiptoes to look at Max’s menu.

“Hell yeah, lil lady. We’ve got burgers, chips, hot dogs, and Rosa’s in charge of drinks. What d’ya fancy?” He rested his elbows on the make-shift counter as he spoke.

“Hmm… I think chips. What about you guys?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Echo, you need to eat something!”

“I’ll steal a few of your chips then.”

Omega glared at him, her hands on her hips. You giggled through your burger. Once you swallowed your bite, you turned conspiratorially to him and dropped your voice to a hush, as if sharing a secret.

“Max’ burgers are the best on the planet. You can’t fault ‘em. And he's absolutely lovely, so if you wanna change anything up, he’ll do whatever it is, easy peasy. Go on, you know you wanna.” You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Hmm, you’re quite convincing but I’m not really one for trying new foods. But Maker above, if it’ll shut you up, Mega, I’ll have chips.”

The small girl high fived you, a shared celebration of getting Echo to eat something substantial. When Max asked Wrecker what he wanted to eat, the giant looked at you, biting into the last of your burger, and decided he wanted one too.

After Max had prepared the orders for the clones, Omega ended up dragging you away with them. The family you joined were sitting around a small bonfire, Hunter sitting beside a man who had a dog at his feet. Next to him, Phee sat with a man with goggles on. You soon learnt these were Omega’s other brothers, as was Echo. You took your seat besides Phee, finding comfort in knowing someone in the group. As the night wore on, you soon became good friends with the odd group, although you put that down to Omega. She was a ball of sunshine.

“Well, I never pegged you as someone to back down from a challenge.” Phee nodded her fork to Crosshair.

He hissed back, “I’m not.”

“Then game on, grumpy.”

You giggled, leaning your chin on your folded knees as you watched Phee stand and take position. Crosshair did the same, brushing the sand off his legs.

“I now announce this fight to be in action!” Omega clapped her hands.

The two of them brawled, and the rest of you began to place bets on who you each thought would win. Hunter assumed Crosshair, Echo voted for Phee (“eh, why not? It would be funny” were his exact words), Omega voted for both, unable to decide, Wrecker voted for Phee, and Tech voted for his girlfriend. Although he was about to vote for Crosshair, but Hunter kicked his ankle and he coughed out Phee’s name instead. You voted for Phee, having not seen the sniper fight before.

Tech called out from where he was sitting, “go for the back of his knees!”

“I know, I am!”

“Well, do it better.”

Just as the fight was about to hit the eye of the storm, Wrecker belched loudly. Each of you paused and turned to him, before laughing simultaneously. Over the course of the night, he’d become more comfortable, you realised. He was still being quiet though, which was apparently unnatural according to the many comments his brothers made.

“I said, didn't I? The best burgers on the planet.” you commented, still smiling.

“Yeah, you’ve got pretty good taste.”

“Thanks big guy. If you think that, I gotta take you to a restaurant down on south street in Ord Mantell. It’s kinda seedy, but they do the most amazing noodles.”

You watched Wrecker’s eyes light up. “Really? Dinner out?”

“Yeah, why not? It’ll be nice, we couldn’t sit in, but we could all find a place to eat together.”

His eyebrows furrowed a little. “Oh, all?”

“Well-”

A yelp rang out. You and Wrecker turned your heads back to the fight, where Phee had Crosshair pinned on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. “Fine, fine, you win,” he seemed to be grumbling.

Phee let Crosshair go, standing and throwing her arms out. “I won.”

“We knew you would.” Tech added as she slid back into his arms.

“Liar.”

“I demand a rematch on solid ground.”

“Aw, he’s salty. Fine, rematch later.”

“Fine with me,” Crosshair muttered, his fingers stroking over Batcher’s skin once he was seated.

The batch resumed talking, pulling you and Wrecker into their conversation and away from yours. Eventually Hunter stood to take Omega home, and one by one everyone followed. Only you and Wrecker stay seated by the now dying embers of the fire. With the disappearance of the others, your conversation had also dwindled. When you faced the clone, you could see as clear as day that he was nervous. His teeth bit into his lip and his eyes darted from yours to the sand. It was quite endearing.

“So,” you began, playfully leaning into his side. “Just the two of us left.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“To be honest, I’m quite happy about that. Not that I haven’t enjoyed spending time with the others!” You rushed to add. “I just… wanted to spend time with you most.”

“Oh. Is tha’ right?”

“Mhm. You guys all seem pretty tight knit?”

Wrecker’s face lit up. “Oh we are. We were always the odd ones out so we kinda naturally stuck together, and then Echo joined and it was great. And then ‘Mega found us, and it got even better. Well, not better better, I mean we had all that stuff with the Empire, but we had ‘Mega with us. Most of the time. And then we got her back, and we got Crosshair back, and now Echo comes and goes and we miss him but- well, I’m- I’m ramblin’ aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind. Please,” you smiled and gestured for him to continue.

“Well, there’s not really much else to say. We’re always thrilled with Echo visits but he’s doin’ good work with Rex.”

“Who’s Rex?”

“Only the Captain ‘imself! He’s pretty great.”

“I think you’re pretty great.”

“Oh.”

You watched the tips of Wrecker’s ears flush. He was cute when he was nervous, you thought. Your mind played back to your interrupted chat. Biting your lip, you nudged closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. The muscles beneath his shirt tensed momentarily, and you couldn’t help but drift your eyes down to his chest.

Stars, he was gorgeous, wasn’t he?

“Well,” your eyes found his again. “Seeing as you’re all so close, I feel like you and I won’t get a lot of time just the two of us?”

He deflated. “Probably not.”

“But, maybe we could get away for a bit? You still up for those noodles?”

“You mean like a- a-“

“A date.”

Wrecker’s face lit up, unsure eyebrows lifting as he grinned. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”

You laughed. “Brilliant. We’ll fly out on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The two of you stayed at the unlit fireplace for some time more. As you chatted, your mind filled with the potential of your future date. Wrecker, of course, was jovial. His laugh consumed your lungs and you ended up laughing too. It seemed you’d caught the attention of the sweetest guy on the island, and you were glad for it.

[karasurasu]

College!AU

Emo-Gamer-Bf Eren Yeager x reader

My first time writing something like that eh, hope it's doesn't that bad... ( English is not my first language, there can be much of mistakes!)

• At first glance, it may seem that he is the bad boy, but in fact he is the most gentle boy in the world, just hug him someone already ಥ‿ಥ

• His hair is always disheveled, even though he wears an elastic band on his arm that you gave him, he rarely uses it, only in the rarest cases, but if you offer to braid his hair so that they do not interfere with him, he will immediately agree to it.

• He asked you to paint his nails. Now they are always covered with black varnish, but in some places this varnish is chewed off by him because of nerves or simply erased

• He has a couple of "emo" tattoos. Cobwebs on the elbow, barbed wire on the wrist, crosses and fire on the fingers.

• He likes all sorts of alt attributes, like an inverted cross on his neck or a skull ring. He also wears large T-shirts with some prints of his favorite music groups or provocative inscriptions.

• In fact, he loves sports, this guy has a pretty good physique (° ʖ °). He's on the college basketball team.

• He lives in a family with Carla and Mikasa. His mother doesn't particularly approve of his appearance, as does the appearance of Mikasa (who dresses like a goth). But as a loving mother, she accepted them like this.

• Eren is the partner who loves physical contact, he will hug you while playing, or lie on your lap, he doesn't care what kind of contact, he just wants to feel your warmth, knowing that you are next to him.

• He's a pretty popular guy in college, so you can't avoid glances from others , they're all jealous, but don't be afraid, Eren is always there to distract you from this.

• The same type of guy who will say that you don't look good in some clothes, and then tell you to wear this more often ...

• He has an older brother Zeke who really loves you and often brings you gifts (Eren is very jealous and afraid that he is trying to take you away from him), but Zeke just very happy that Eren has such a caring partner like you.

• The younger Yeager often cries in his sleep because of the nightmares that haunt him. He wakes up in a sweat and sees you, then hugs you and asks you never to leave him.

• Eren has a lot of game equipment. Nintendo on which he plays animal crossing (shhh, it's a secret, he's shy to say that he plays it!). PS5, a gaming computer. He's been through a lot of games, most of all he likes something adventure, but lately he's only been playing Overwatch or League of Legends with friends, he doesn't have time for anything else.

• He really loves you, and shows it by allowing you to play online games on his computer, it doesn't matter to him if you lower him so in the rating, he just enjoys how passionate you are about the games that he likes

• You can just say what you like and he will tell you which game to play. But he will also listen to you and even play the games you play, just so that you are on the same wavelength.

• The most terrible thing that will happen in your relationship is that Jean and Connie will call him to play Dota 2 in the middle of the night ... God, you will wake up from fright when he throws the mouse against the wall out of anger...(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

i am imagine him like this so...yeah(⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

[serene-faerie]

Gotei 13 Lieutenants/Squad Members as Aesthetics

Sasakibe— earl gray tea, thunderstorms, organized files, a tidy desk, sharp eyes, smiles that are rarely seen, undying loyalty, quiet evenings in the office, classical music, neat handwriting, edelweiss, tailcoat suits, puzzles, a wooden chess board, butter biscuits and scones, earned respect, lightning, a stern voice, an antique desk lamp, fountain pens, reading the newspaper, black-and-white movies, the smell of ink and papers.

Omaeda— rice crackers, being a big brother, protecting family with one's life, deceiving appearances, stacks of cash, a spiked iron ball attached to a chain, buying gifts for loved ones, ivy leaves, gold rings, stacks of gold ingots, giving piggyback rides, a grand mansion, lavish banquets, expensive cars, being smarter than how one looks, the smell of strong cologne, undying loyalty to one's superior and family, candies, men's magazines, lazy afternoons.

Kira— yellow carnations, rainy and cloudy days, writing haiku poetry, soft candlelight, a heart burdened with grief and regret, thick blankets, hesitant smiles, love for one’s friends, the smell of earth after rain, hot showers, a bowl of hot soup, leather-bound journals, cold hands, quiet laughter, working late at night, trusting reluctantly, loyalty to a fault, a cold and calculating fighter, a mug of warm green tea, grieving alone, drunk karaoke with friends, an organized workspace, appreciating the arts, painting with watercolours, listening to white noise, bearing burdens alone, the weight of guilt, sleeping peacefully after a long time.

Isane— shy smiles, neatly folding sheets and laundry, the smell of antiseptic, the hands of a healer, crying happy tears, gardenia flowers, collecting medicinal herbs, a strong knowledge of medicine, always carrying bandages, chamomile tea, gardening for fun, blue butterflies, open windows on a summer afternoon, a slow-moving ceiling fan, a soft-spoken voice, a graceful height, playing with one's own hair, always finishing work on time, short afternoon naps, a glass of fruit juice, secretly reading romance novels.

Momo— peach blossoms, a calm spring breeze, crackling fires, chamomile tea, the smell of freshly-baked cookies, baking desserts, always being organized, smiling to hide the pain, humming quietly to oneself, bread and peach jam, a shelf full of well-loved books, pure adoration, hands that tremble ever so slightly, reminiscing over the past, a quiet strength, thick wool mittens, fiery rage, april showers bring may flowers, always working hard, healing from the past, carefree laughter.

Renji— long hair as red as blood, stray dogs, fiery red sunsets, wolfish smiles, eyes that are both warm and fierce, hearty laughter, sun-kissed skin, sleeveless shirts, howling wolves, lifting weights at the gym, tribal tattoos, sleek sunglasses, heliotropes, tea with spices, heavy metal music, spiked collars, fingertips stained with ink, hot summer nights, strong and warm hugs, a strong sense of justice, wanting to do what’s right, giving a middle finger to the rules, late night talks, sword-callused hands that touch gently, a spirited warrior, loving with one’s whole heart, snake skulls, a strong and sultry voice, red lanterns, taiyaki, the smell of sandalwood.

Iba— intricate back tattoos, vintage sunglasses, bruised knuckles, oak trees, bottles of sake, a loud izakaya, the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke, matsuri parades, the sound of taiko drums, playing cards, relentless ambition, a pack of wolves, burning the midnight oil, thyme leaves, a bowl of fresh ramen, drinking coffee at the work desk, men's magazines, a low drawling laugh, unwavering loyalty, whiskey on the rocks, an old ceiling fan, the sound of crickets at sunset, skipping stones across the lake, wood carving, polishing glasses, a pragmatic fighter, no-nonsense words, looking out for friends.

Nanao— thin glasses, floral furisode kimonos, a neat updo, tidy stacks of paperwork, elegant handwriting, early to bed and early to rise, a morning bird, the smell of lavender and rosemary, blue hyacinths, speaking in even tones, upholding the rules, firm glares, working in silence, a cup of green tea, romance novels as a guilty pleasure, meticulously keeping a journal, a small vase of flowers, a strict work schedule, simple dresses, a touch of makeup, floral-scented hand cream, a vast collection of classic novels, reading by candlelight, a hall of mirrors, hidden strength, smiles that are rarely seen, humming softly at night, graceful postures.

Shuuhei— motorcycle rides, leather jackets, late nights in the office, old newspapers, sharp scythes, playing rock music through headphones, leather wrist cuffs, messy hair, an old acoustic guitar, black coffee, the smell of mint and sage, friendly smiles, a lone desk lamp, never forgetting acts of kindness, trying to do what's right, drinking with friends, facial scars, strong arms, chin-ups in a door frame, a decadent voice, black chains, basil leaves, pinwheel fireworks, glasses of sake, forgiveness, grieving with friends, hands that are both strong and gentle, moving forward, unwavering resolve, early summer evenings.

Rangiku— long and wavy hair, infectious smiles and laughter, the golden hour shining past the curtains, carrying many shopping bags, red-bottomed high heels, an impeccable sense of fashion, cats, caring hugs, glasses of red wine, eyes that hold a touch of grief, lonely nights curled up in bed, getting lost in memories, purple hyacinths, cherishing mementos, the smell of designer perfume, citrus-scented hand cream, pink nail polish, glittering pink eyeshadow, rosy lip gloss, cocktail dresses adorned with sequins, fruity cocktails, warm bubble baths, silver jewelry, sparklers, dried persimmons, bottles of sake, handmade friendship bracelets, always being the life of the party.

Yachiru— a bowl of sweets, wandering through forests, a pink scooter, the smell of caramel, colouring books, finger painting, playing with sidewalk chalk, getting piggyback rides, catlike smiles, sneaking into hidden places, climbing trees, playful kittens, un-childlike anger, melon soda, konpeito, reading bedtime stories, having a fiercely protective father, eyes that are both innocent yet all-knowing, a plush teddy bear, glow-in-the-dark stars, white carnations, the smell of crayons, childish laughter, playful nicknames, strawberry milk, father-daughter relationships, unwavering faith in loved ones.

Ikkaku— bloodied knuckles, old bandages that need changing, a fiery glint of determination, arm wrestling, red eyeshadow, rough and strong hands, light-footedness, loud laughter, street fighting, bench pressing, an appreciation for beauty, messy handwriting, the smell of sweat and musk, spider lilies, wooden swords, a mug of strong beer, dusty streets, a fighting spirit, sleeping beneath a shaded deck on a blistering summer afternoon, buzzing cicadas, summer thunderstorms, windy days, wiping off blood from one's face, adrenaline rushes, the sound of classic rock music.

Yumichika— peacock feathers, neatly braided hair, glittery nail polish, sleek eyeliner, shimmering blue eyeshadow, a killer fashion sense, jewel-toned suits, rich brocade, the smell of lemon and bergamot, bloodstains on one's hands, silk kimonos, brilliant blue butterflies, elaborate cocktail drinks, soft skin, carefully applying makeup on another's face, manicured nails, eyes that gleam with purpose, purple wisteria flowers, keeping secrets, feathered earrings, orange scarves, secretive smiles, a teasingly lilting voice, airy laughter, soft hair, undying loyalty and friendship.

Nemu— smiles that are rarely seen, a soft-spoken demeanour, lithe and graceful movements, a cup of milk tea, braided hair, daisies, glass beakers, white lab coats, meticulously writing reports, always carrying a first-aid kit, a camera around one's neck, the smell of lilies, yellow sundresses, small high-heels, short skirts, quiet piano music, charm bracelets, a heart-shaped pendant, neat handwriting, surprising strength, always protecting loved ones.

Rukia— crisp winter mornings, dark hair, snowflakes caught in one’s hair, a fresh blanket of snow, white rabbits, a cup of hot ginger tea, the smell of peppermint and vanilla, eagerly watching soap operas on TV, playful smiles, rosy cheeks, yellow jasmines, thick wool scarves, elegant kimonos, a subtle touch of makeup, ice skating, a gracefully melodic voice, holding hands, a fierce and protective love, eyes as violet as the skies at dusk, the light of the full moon, doodling in notebooks, reading shoujo manga, friendship bracelets.

[neon-junkie]

I PRESENT TO YOU: MY BAD BATCH HC'S

-Hunter has to sleep with noise-canceling headphones to not wake up with a headache

-Whenever Omega has a bad nightmare, she'll usually crawl into Hunter's bunk and fall back asleep

-Has happened so often that it becomes a routine and Hunter barely wakes up each time she crawls in

-Crosshair loves to read and can be found reading late at night or in any free time they have

-Whenever the batch is out in a city, Wrecker has made it a habit to put Omega on his shoulders so they can keep track of her, and also he knows what it's like to be amazed by new surroundings so he wants to give her the best view to look at everything

-Hunter and Tech would teach Omega different alien languages. Cross would abuse that power and teach her all of the curses in each language. Always has a shit-eating grin whenever Omega says it to anyone rude to them while Tech and Hunter's faces pale

-Wrecker would introduce a bunch of movies to Omega and they both make it known when movie nights are happening and that the whole squad better be in there otherwise Wrecker will be yeeting their asses in there.

-Echo would be the first one to discover Omega's love to draw and will always get her art supplies whenever the batch makes a run for supplies. Echo and Wrecker let her paint on their helmets as do the rest of the batch. Crosshair always surprisingly seems to have protective vanish around whenever Omega paints onto his armor.

-Since having the chip removed, Crosshair becomes more on edge and increasingly protective over his brothers and Omega. Having lost his vision from the engine, he becomes more alert and can sometimes sense things before even Hunter can.

- As another result of the chip, Crosshair has found it harder to get close or open up to his brothers, having intense waves of guilt for what he has done. However, his brothers are quick to make him realize that he is still their brother no matter what happens. It does take Omega's help to get the batch back together like old times though. It ended up with Hunter being the last one to fully 'forgive' Crosshair but it is mostly him trying to forgive himself for leaving his brother behind.

-Crosshair will go on long walks with Omega whenever they have free time to explore new planets, sometimes they'll go just to talk or to find Wrecker cause he managed to get lost 

-Crosshair and Wrecker come up with the idea, and when the rest of the batch hear it for the first time they join in, having Omega's artwork tattooed onto their bodies. Each one is a symbol that is close to them. 

-Echo would get a blue neon arrow tattooed onto him, right where he has Rex's handprint tattooed, that is the same arrows from the weapon he helped teach Omega how to use.

- Hunter would get the moon dragon Omega was able to track down for the first time tattooed onto his arm and it would wrap around his forearm up to his bicep. 

- Tech would get Omega's first-ever sketch tattooed onto his bicep, it would be a band with 99's three codes written in Mando, the outside of each band lined the dates of each mission they go on. 

- Wrecker would get all of Omega's doodles tattooed onto him,  his favorite being Lula’s face that is combined with the skull of the batch's symbol with herbs surrounding it were lined along their favorite shop to go get Mantell Mix. 

- Finally Crosshair, would get one of Omega's proudest pieces she created, it being the batch's symbol and it being surrounded by the neon lights from Cid's bar to moon phases and stormy clouds on Kamino, where she drew all the images she saw in the clouds when she got bored and let her imagination run wild. 

I hope you find them as fun as I did when I was writing them teheh, up next is my Bad Batch Western AU if you are interested!! I hope you have a wonderful day babes!! 💕💖💕💖💕

girl you are always killin' it with this content!! wonferful headcanons, i love all of them!! thank u for blessing my inbox with these <3

[the-void-8-my-soul]

"Well first I've gotta see if that's actually Night's brother Dream over there."

*He whispers..

"Then we gotta high tail it out of here.. I don't think they know we are here though.. so thats good"

*He beckons her closer and they carefully walk into the next stall pretending to look at the art supplies

"Geez ok ok.. sorry 'lean. I'll be more careful.. but can't I buy a new sketchbook... and just a little paint? Please!! I promise not to use it to paint you and Epics skulls again!"

*the assumed "Inks" voice says loudly

"Ink... Ugh... Fine. But only if we have money left over from getting food. You know we don't have much.. especially with the main goal being to find the siren possessing Nightmares body... we don't exactly have much time to spare for things that actually make us money... Hey Dream!! Ya got the medical supplies?"

*The voice says not unkindly.

"Yeah!! Just got them now!"

*A new voice (one that sounds vaguely like Nights) drifts over the stalls.

"Dream."

*Lust hisses quietly... starting to lead her out of the stall..

*As they pass the exit... she catches a glimpse of 3 skeletons.. one is a tall captain looking skeleton with an old pirates hat with a long yellow feather sticking out of it.. he's wearing what looks to be a pirate flag turned cape around his neck.

*The other.. clearly the artist is a colorful skeleton who is wearing an ill fitting shirt that shows all of his many tattoos

*The third is a tired looking blue eyes skeleton... he is clearly wearing eyeliner and has a familiar gapped-toothed grin. around his neck is an old ratty and patched looking blue bandana.

*He has a few new scars from the last time she saw him.. he's looking at the yellow clad skeleton

"Good.. Got any left over for Inks paint?"

*Theres a flash of lightning far to close to the both of them for comfort breaking Ceru's consentration for all but a moment but it's enough to turn his little boat starboard to the now 8 ft waves crashign down...

*Cerulean can only get out a startled yell before he and his boat are drowned under a torrent of water.

*It's loud it's noisey.. the thunders is still rolling.. waves still crashing... and Cerulean just became aware of the fact that not only is he not in the boat... he didn't have time to summon his ecto... he's sinking... and he's sinking fast..

*Ther's wood everywhere... the boat is but a mess of sharp debris being swirled in a smoothie of pain...

*Why is he in so much pain....

*The long part of his ore sticking out of his ribs answers that question...

*She swims down as fast as she can, trying to save him, She feels a sharp pain in the back of her head.. fuck the black spots are starting to surround her but she can't stop she needs to rescue him first.*

*Quickly she grabs him, Holding him tightly as she swims to the surface, She chokes out some black tar stuff.. she doesnt have much time, She puts him on a steady looking boat, Removing the ore and ripping off some old leather and wrapping it around his ribs..*

*She notices he's still wearing the compass she gave him..*

"Your going to b-be okay"

*She rasps out.. She sees a ship..*

*She pushes the steady boat toward the ship.. they will save him. . She's sure..*

*Suddenly she feels the tiredness hit her.. And she's sinking.. if this is how she goes she's okay.. at least ceru is okay..*

[subbing-for-clones]

You Bring Color to My Life

Hunter x Reader Soulmate AU

Word Count: 873

WARNINGS: Kinda angsty with a happy ending. This one was particularly fun to write. All from Hunter’s perspective. Shortest little ficlet I’ve ever written so far.

Prompt: The closer you are to your soulmate the more colors you can see/ The first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your skin.

      Can you describe color to someone who can only see various shades of grey? Hunter had no idea how to describe the significance of the bandana he wore nor the stripes he had painted on his batch’s armor to his brothers. All he could say was that it was red. He saw the color for the first time on their last trip to Coruscant. He and his brothers had made a trip to 79s to blow off some steam and he saw a neon sign burning red brightly in the night. He was awestruck by the beauty and what it meant; you were somewhere on this planet. One of the trillions bustling your way through the busy planet that often overloaded his senses. It was only the following morning that the smell of paint fumes wafted out of the Havoc Marauder and he adorned his new bandana. He wondered if his first color was the same as yours.

    Every time they returned to Coruscant he made it his personal mission to cover as much ground as possible, searching adamantly for you. The lower he traveled down the planet’s levels the more color he could see. On his furlough the colors blue and purple were revealed to him. The world looked so much brighter, so much more vibrant the closer he got to you. To his frustration every time he thought he was getting close he had to go back out to fight.

    He stared down at his forearm while he sat in the cockpit, the true beauty of the blue stars whizzing by amazed him. The words, ‘I like your tattoo trooper,’ scrawled across his tan skin, lit by the whizzing light. Despite being the calm, collected and optimistic leader for his brothers’ sake; ever since he was a cadet, he felt like a dead man walking. A clone, a solder created for the sole purpose of fighting and sacrificing his life for the Republic. It was because of this mindset that when he walked into the tattoo parlor for the first time, he asked the artist to etch his skull onto half of his face. Only after he had permanently acknowledged his psyche that the first words his soulmate would speak to him appeared on his arm. His life took on new meaning after that.

    A few furloughs had come and gone and he hadn’t made any more progress. It wasn’t until Cody had contacted him and requested that he work with a small team of ‘regs to complete a data retrieval mission that the hairs on the back of his neck raised up.

    The data retrieval had turned into a sort of rescue mission on Skako Minor and once their ship touched down he could see the color green. An uneasy feeling over took him as they made their way towards their destination. You couldn’t be a separatist, could you? Did you work for the Techno Union? Was his fate to be pitted agianst the person his soul was tied to?

    The trembling edge his stomach teetered on dropped off the edge into oblivion when they saw the man they were searching for. His state was horrific, missing most of his body and hooked up to sinister devices to pump out vital information that was used against the Republic. Once Tech had freed him from his mechanical prison he sputtered to the rest of them, “I… I’m not the only one… Mechanic.. In the dungeons on the lowest level. Trying to get information on the ships from her.” He could hear the words General Skywalker spoke, heard the order to try to retrieve her while they were there but they echoed around him as he could see for the first time, the glowing yellow from the machinery around him.

    His body ran on auto pilot as he made his way with the rest of the team through the air ducts of the base until Echo confirmed they were in the right area. The closer he came to your cell the more cracks were filled with colors he had never seen before but when he saw your bruised and bloodied body, hanging from chains behind the durasteel bars he froze. Tech seemed to know what was going on so without waiting for his Sergeant’s or the General’s order he began cutting through the bars that separated her from them.

    The last bar fell with a loud clatter that caused her head to jolt up, eyes widened in fear. A calm came over her when she took in Hunter who had removed his helmet and rushed to her side working to free her of her restraints, “We’re here to rescue you, you’re safe now.” The familiarity of his words eased her suffering enough to cast him an exhausted and relieved smile, “I like your tattoo trooper.”

[libradusk]

Touch Starved | Jesse

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Jesse x Reader

Summary: A night in a Coruscant hotel gifts you plenty of quality time with your lover (and a few noise complaints as well)

Warnings/Content: Explicit smut, mention of alcohol, AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), established relationship, some playful sexual power play, petnames galore, 69 action, a few light spanks to the backside and some tender shaaaaaaaggin’. (And Libra’s frequent overuse of italics.)

a/n: dedicated to the one and only @morganas-pendragons​, congrats on finishing your third year of uni Kayla, I’m so proud of you! <3

And of course, a huge thank you to everyone who has continued to support my writing. It’s been a really horrid couple of months for me, but slowly, things are starting to improve. Thank you all for being understanding while I take a much-needed continued break from social media.

CT-5597

Jesse

Jesse who is infamously cocky and funny, if not dangerously outspoken and headstrong during even the most tense of situations. Jesse who is renowned for caring so deeply and so fiercely for what he believes in, and loving even fiercer than that. Jesse, who will never hesitate to be the first on the dance floor at 79’s and the last to leave.

Jesse, the soldier, the brother, the undeniably charismatic individual. The man whose smile would warp the lines of the tattoo draped across his cheekbone with how widely it stretched.

Jesse, who everyone knew would continue to belt out barrack-born anthems that sung of the glory of the Republic, even after he was turfed out of the bar and sent stumbling through the neon maze of Coruscant’s streets until the rising sun inevitably forced the migraine from within his skull.

Though no soul who met him could ever even hope to deny that Jesse was a character, these descriptions and stories told fondly over the shoulders of comrades and acquaintances alike barely scratched the surface of the Jesse you knew.

You can see him now, slipping out of the bravado and bellowing laughter even as he throws it back alongside Fives on the dancefloor, a drink in his fist and a grin that doesn't quite light up his eyes the way it usually does. His gaze stumbles under the weight of the lights and music until it gives way to an expression that looks more detached than enraptured towards the music and movement enveloping him. Within another beat however, it has dragged its way over to you, and finally (and perhaps mercifully), Jesse appears to bloom more into himself the longer it rests on your seated form.

You throw him a pursed smile over your drink, knee bouncing underneath the table. Anticipation and concern peppers your nerves and drives the way your fingers twirl your straw between them. All around you, his brothers continue to laugh and joke between themselves, none the wiser to the energy crackling unspoken across the stretch between the booth and the dancefloor, simply grateful for the fresh taste of decompression bestowed upon their squadron by recently granted leave. Beside you, Kix’s elbow knocks into your side as he adjusts his posture to spread out into a more comfortable position. The medic is quick to apologise, but he needn’t have bothered; your attention is firmly glued elsewhere and as he follows your stare, he soon sees why.

You miss the way Kix smirks warmly into his pint as he turns to recount another tall tale to the troopers sharing the table, ensuring that he unravels the story in such a way that he sweeps up the remnants of their attention with a timed wave of his wrist and a comically timed jab at Hardcase’s expense.

It only takes a matter of minutes more until the other Jesse, your Jesse, steps out of his boisterous skin and slinks over to you.

The surface of his bare hand feels scorching hot as you rise to meet him halfway and grasp it with your own. Your palm is chilly from nursing your drink, the same one that now sat barely touched and long forgotten atop the crowded table. Jesse’s appears to radiate with the heat of a sun in comparison, clammy and blistering as it engulfs your own whilst its twin all but throws his half-empty glass of liquor onto a nearby waitress droid’s tray.

It teeters for a moment before tumbling over and sending a sticky cascade spilling over the side of the metal disk towards the floor below.

There's little time left to waste. You're not content to simply sit back and sweat out the minutes until you can have him completely alone this time, done with sitting back until the alcohol burns your throat and the flash of lights drowns out the grainy buzz in your temples.

Grabbing him more firmly by the hand now, you move to tug him past the straggling group of wide-eyed troopers that have congregated in the wake of Jesse’s stride. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care anymore if they talk, not while your pulse is twisting louder in your ears with each brush of his thumb against your wrist.

The moment the chill of night time air hits his lungs, the hidden Jesse emerges completely, eyes honeyed but focused as the last few curls of boyish laughter die on his tongue. He shifts his grip to lace his fingers with your own as you weave between the lingering bodies outside. Most here pay little attention to the pair of you, too concerned with casting their own troubled gazes towards the city skyline as they smoke contraband cigarettes and turn over glass bottles between bruised knuckles.

You try to choke down the strange feeling rising in your throat at the sight, focusing instead on the warmth that continues to radiate from Jesse’s body as he trails down the street closely behind you. Despite the charged air that surrounds you both, it suddenly dawns on you that you’ve yet to actually speak a word to him since entering the bar, his late entrance alongside Fives meaning that you had already been swamped with the attention of familiar faces, all of whom were equally eager to unwind and catch up.

But now, as you sneak a sideways glance at him and catch just how tightly his blacks seem to cling to the defined muscles of his torso, you feel that if you were to open your mouth in anything more than a smile, you wouldn’t be able to trust what your brain would make you say, or do for that matter.

Your chest feels so tight with emotion that even breathing feels like a strained action. It had been a tough few weeks, and right now all you wanted, all you needed, was your Jesse all to yourself in the self-made sanctuary only privacy could help you build. A squeeze of your hand assures you that through his tipsy intrepidity, he most certainly feels the same way.

Jesse remains uncharacteristically silent as you hail down an air taxi, though you can clearly feel his eyes on your face in your peripheral vision as you lean forward to speak to the driver through her open window. You attempt to flash him a smile once you finish relaying the last of your directions, but it comes out more strained than you intend, even as you squeeze his hand back in reassurance. Tired is truly an understatement, and for a moment, it dawns on you that there’s a real possibility you might end up falling asleep mid journey.

That is, until you feel the wide, warm expanse of Jesse’s palm deliver a gentle pat to your backside. The action succeeds in ushering you into the back of the cab, and having you feel very suddenly awake again in one fluid motion.

You don't need to shoot him a raised eyebrow over your shoulder to know that he's smirking.

A sharp, very clearly fake cough from the front of the taxi cuts down the heat spreading downwards from your face before it can settle deeper. In the reflective surface of the rear view mirror, you catch the disgruntled glare of the now very unimpressed Twi’lek cabbie. The twitch of her pursed lips accompanied by the dull tap of her blunt, painted fingernails against a bright red sign that sits mounted on the dashboard.

Your stomach flips in embarrassment as you scan over the bold printed words that are listed upon it.

NO EATING/DRINKING

NO SMOKING

NO SASSING THE DRIVER

NO WANDERING HANDS

Where Jesse was smirking before, he now struggles to suppress on a snicker as he stretches to practically lounge across the backseat, clearly unbothered by the stink eye currently being thrown directly his way now by the woman in the driver’s seat - even daring to throw up his hands in mock-innocence in return. For a moment you’re concerned she might actually throw you both back out onto the curb, but instead, you’re just met with another exaggerated roll of her eyes before she throws the well-loved vehicle into reverse and takes off down the neon-painted highway.

With a ghost of a sigh, you lean back slightly into the worn leather seat as the streets of Coruscant rush past your window in a blur of colour and noise. Your gaze slips past the glass, to the apathetic, focused expression of your driver, and finally to your lover once more. Whilst dizzying to watch through the smeared windows, you find yourself helplessly bewitched with how the sharp glow of the city lights splash and dissipate almost rhythmically across Jesse’s face and body. Red, fuchsia and blue drip down his skin before disappearing into the void of his blacks each time you pass under a particularly bright stretch of neon-signage. Whilst beautiful, the glow also highlights just how deeply cut the bags under his eyes are now.

A not-so-subtle squeeze to your thigh unravels the grip twisting around your heart before it can truly poison your mood.

The tenderness in Jesse’s eyes cuts through the dark interior of the cab more brightly than any streetlamp could ever hope to, lips cocking into a half-smile as his attention shifts completely to you once more.

“You okay, mesh’la?” his voice is barely above a low purr as he finally speaks, but it vibrates down to your stomach as though he’d growled it in your ear, his thumb rubbing a mindless, but soothing pattern just above the joint of your knee all the while.

“Yeah... are you?” you shift slightly to face him better, the bottom half of your body twisting somewhat awkwardly against the grasp of the seatbelt clamped across your middle. You reach downwards to curl your own digits gently over his wrist, eyes momentarily darting back towards the driver’s mirror on instinct. There's a brief second where you’re certain you catch her tattooed brows furrowing further and those sharp eyes dart to catch yours in warning, but now at least, they remain focused on the busy road ahead, and you risk leaning over closer towards the trooper beside you. His smile gives way to a subtly weak grin in response.

“Just peachy.” 

Half lies from both of you, but there's little time to dwell on them as the air taxi finally pulls into a stop outside your destination.

There's somewhat of an awkward pause as Jesse struggles to get the door open, the lock jamming with his first attempt and sending his shoulder barrelling against the window with an inelegant thump. You cringe a little at the sound, but the Twi’lek leaning over the shoulder of her seat seems unphased as she silently holds out her hand, stony face sporting the same cocked eyebrow and deadpan expression that you’ve become uncomfortably familiar with.

Your strained thank you is met with little more than a grunt of mild disapproval as she turns to fiddle with the radio embedded in her dashboard, effectively ending your transaction and ordering you from her car as she throws your handed credits into a worn-looking box perched on the passenger seat.

“Well she was cheerful.” Jesse’s voice is playful as he moves to grab your hand in earnest now as you approach the towering building in front of you. Despite the lightness of his tone and the way you exhale through your nose in mock-exasperation towards his joke, the air between you is more charged than ever now that you’re so close to finally being alone together for the first time in weeks.

Or was it months? Time had a funny way of twisting away from you as of late.

Nevertheless, all that stood in your way was a brief check in and elevator ride up towards the room you had hurriedly booked for the occasion.

The hotel itself was modest, sporting simple, clean architectural design and minimal decoration just short of clinical in nature. Not that you cared for the details, all that mattered to you was that it provided a temporary sanctuary for you and Jesse to retreat to for the night, far enough away from the pulsing heart of Coruscant that, for a short time at least, you could pretend there was no war, no constant presence of fear, pain and suffocating army regulations.

Just you and Jesse. Your Jesse.

His resolve winds and snaps the moment your feet cross the threshold of the elevator.

“Mesh’la,” his beloved nickname for you rolls off his tongue almost salaciously as he all but collapses against you, pinning you to the cold stretch of corridor with the press of his body. He groans it against your skin again as his lips meet with your pulse point, grinding against you with an overspill of passion that has you mewl and almost drop your keycard with the force of it. Through the building fog in your mind, you wonder if the fact he can finally announce his affections for you aloud and so openly here is what has finally pushed him over the edge.

Or perhaps it's the way you writhe and claw at him desperately in response, half of your mind seemingly determined to have him take you right here and now before you can even hope to complete the last few steps towards your awaiting hotel room.

“Jesse-” you’re not sure if the drawl of his name that slips from your tongue is meant to be in warning or wanting, but it's quickly swallowed up by the trooper as he finally kisses you.

Maker, does it feel good to taste him again. His unrelenting passion, his warmth, you can’t help but want it all, and he’s ever happy to give it to you - groaning into your open mouth, all teeth and tongue and heart as he hurriedly caresses your thighs, your hips, the back of your neck in turn - fingertips mapping out your body with an agonising familiarity that has your knees buckling and restraint crumbling even more.

Jesse practically growls as you break apart to gasp for air, though your panting does little to deter him from continuing his barrage of kisses, as he angles his head to trail them across your jaw and down the junction of your throat, mouthing his desire against the thrumming beat of your heart.

“Missed having you like this - in my arms - all to myself…” 

Each part of his confession is broken apart by the scratch of his stubble and the nip of his teeth against your skin until he trails off into something intelligible - burying his face into the crook of your neck with a sigh that sings as much of exhaustion as it does longing.

It's the briefest moment of weakness amidst the suffocating heat of his passion towards you, but it's just enough to allow you to scrape back some semblance of clarity with a shuddering breath of your own.

Delicately, as though he was crafted from glass and not the corded muscle you knew to hide beneath his clothes, you run the fingers of your left hand down the length of his spine, relishing in the shudder that ripples through him in turn.

“Jesse,” your voice already sounds hoarse as you turn to place a kiss against his temple, “let’s get inside of our room and you can have all of me, all night.”

He almost wrestles the keycard from your hands at that.

---

The room itself is as modestly decorated as the rest of the hotel. A brief glance around tells you there’s a basic vanity, a desk, what appears to be the seam and switch of a built in wardrobe, and to the right of the doorway: the entrance to the refresher.

But what truly captures the attention of both of you is the king size bed in the very centre of the room, as well as the open stretch of Coruscant skyline that shines in through the expansive window to it’s left, dappling the navy-coloured sheets with milky diamonds of light.

Jesse grants you mere seconds to appreciate the view before he’s all over you once more.

You find yourself stumbling clumsily backwards against the newly closed door, attempting several times in vain to get the locking mechanism to work through Jesse’s onslaught of kisses. A gasp of what you’re not sure is relief or pleasure (or maybe both) leaves you when you hear it finally click into place just as his lips fasten themselves to suckle at a particularly sensitive spot just above your collarbone.

Each kiss unravels another layer of the Jesse you know and love, each desperate touch and whispered endearment only stoking the fire helping him flare to life in his full glory once more. It's intoxicating and overwhelming in the best way possible, and as he gifts you another taste of the sickly-sweet cocktail that still lingers on his tongue, you’re reminded of the very first time he’d kissed you:

It had been a night not too unlike this one, in which you had finally related to his begging for you to accompany him and the boys on a night on the town. He’d gathered you up in his arms the moment you’d finally relaxed enough to join him on the dancefloor of 79’s, and not long after, you’d backed each other into a corner of the dingy nightclub, with Jesse keening into your open mouth and rutting against you as though struck with the fear that he would never be given another chance to touch you, and the eager remorse of a man that wished he’d done this a long time ago.

Of course, the night had ended with you dragging the drunken tonne of him back to his bunk - though even through his stupor, he’d managed to drag you down after him before passing out at the snap of a finger, face buried securely in the crook of your shoulder the entire night.

And from that point, you couldn’t imagine a future without him at your side ever again.

Jesse’s passion for all he does burns hot, but it's in stolen moments like these, that his touch seems to burn hotter than anything else.

You feel it now as his hands begin to wander once again, tugging at your clothing and gripping at the skin beneath with such a need that it borders on bruising - though you struggle to shrug off how his fingers carry a gnawing tiredness beneath their eager twitching.

The revelation causes a different kind of pang in your stomach, but you force it down and away.

This man deserves to be spoiled.

Shoving half-heartedly at his broad chest, your command only wavers slightly with the struggle to catch your breath as your lips break apart with an audible pop.

“Strip.”

Your head feels light as you step backwards and straighten up your posture as best you can, dishevelled clothing and panting aside. You attempt to give him your sternest face as you issue the demand, but you’re certain you hardly look the part with what you know to be kiss-swollen lips and a chain of love bites adorning your neck.

Jesse hardly fares any better, face ruddy with a blush that creeps down past the high collar of his undershirt, and pupils blown so wide and glassy that they resemble the depths of space itself. His eyes had always stood out to you, even long before the two of you became an item. Though he and his brothers may share the same eye colour, the fire in Jesse’s was everything, it was something you never, ever wanted to see fade.

Those same eyes blink owlishly at you now as you stand firm in front of him, his hands still comically half-raised as though frozen mid-caress. It doesn't take longer than a second for him to whir back into action, however.

His movements are inelegant and rushed as he begins to tear away his shirt from his heaving chest. There's no overt striptease like he’s performed for you before, just pure, unfiltered desperation to feel your bare skin against his own. But even through the clumsiness, you catch the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with thinly-veiled intention - a reminder to you of the strength he possesses - as well as just how easily the role of dominant could be flipped against you with his slightest change of whim.

The knowledge of this only excites you more.

You decide to follow his example and quickly shed your own garments until you’re both down to your underwear. The walls of the room are practically sweating with the desire that thrums between you now, and you both take a shared moment to admire the other in the dimmed glow of the lighting. Your mouth waters involuntarily as you sink into the sight of him, the reality of finally getting your lover alone and bare after so long settling warmly into your core, twisting delightfully tighter with each second that ticks by.

Jesse can’t help but glow with an obvious pride under your hungry gaze. A familiar smirk blooms across his face, spreading in a way that warms his expression further until the mirth crinkles at the very corners of his eyes. You can't help but smile right back despite the distraction of thrumming in your ears and the slickness that's gathering between your thighs.

It's a sensation that's only amplified when his eyes stop raking over your body to lock with your own, staring you down with an energy that's so charged that the breath skips in your throat.

“Shocked you speechless?” his voice sings with a smile as he taunts you, head tilted in a way that highlights the juncture of his throat.

You scoff in response, but step even closer all the same, noses practically touching now as your lips brush together.

“In your dreams, lover boy.”

He raises a thick brow at the cheesy nickname, but you note how his breath catches as you reach out to push lightly at his chest, palm spreading warmly across his pectoral.

“I dream about you a lot, actually,” Jesse’s long eyelashes tickle the apple of your cheekbones as he lightly presses his mouth against yours in a chaste kiss, “in fact, I had an especially lovely dream about you last night.”

Your stomach flutters a little more at the implication, but you press on, edging him gently further towards the bed until the back of his calves hit the edge.

“Yeah?” your fingernails claw down the ladder of his abs, marvelling in the way the muscles flex and tense with your caresses, “why don’t you tell me about it?”

You kiss him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth with a tug that leaves him melting against you, the heat of his arousal peaking past the waistband of his underwear to graze your stomach as you press even closer.

“Well,” his voice is as strained as his breathing now, strong hands moving to stroke gently over your upper arms before his grip suddenly tightens, “I think it's better if I show you.”

The sound of surprise that leaves you as your back hits the mattress is more of a squeak. In the briefest of moments, Jesse has successfully managed to flip the situation to place himself in control once more. A heavy, yet careful weight pins you atop the silken blue sheets by your hips, a reignited, boyish gleam twinkling in his eyes as he grins up at you from the lower half of your body.

That cocky, gorgeous, bastard.

It's frustrating, but you can’t deny he looks good between your thighs.

“Ah, ah, ah~” he tuts at you, effectively cutting off any grumble of annoyance before it can leave your lips, “it isn't polite to cut someone off mid demonstration, mesh’la.”

Maker, give you strength.

His mouth and tongue are dangerously hot as he trails a haphazard stream of kisses over your hips, the sensation is at once too much and not quite enough, leaving you panting and bucking towards the smirking lot of him to no avail. When he begins to all but purr in contentment as he mouthes over your clothed sex, you have to quite literally bite back a scream of frustration.

“Jesse-”

“Shhhhhh…”

You let out a sob as your head falls back to hit the pillow, the hot rush of air against the dampness of your underwear too much to bear. Jesse chuckles in response, thoroughly enjoying inflicting such a sweet agony on you.

“Don't act so mad at me, cyar’ika,” Jesse pouts as he bats those dark lashes up at you, intent on sucking a bruise into your inner thigh as he does, “just tryin’ to appreciate how gorgeous you are.”

There's no sign of joviality in his confession this time, and your heart warms at the sincerity that glows in those heavy-lidded eyes of his.

A quick snap to the band of your underwear parts the lovesick fog accumulating in your head, forcing your attention back to the man currently toying with the elastic of your undergarments once more.

“Focus, mesh’la~,” his tone is purposefully playful, but his eyes dark with challenge as he flashes you another winning grin, “I need your full attention to tell this story, you want to hear how it ends, right?”

Another kiss, this time placed just against where you ache for him most, the fabric posing as the final barrier to your hard-won reward. Fuck, this man was going to kill you.

You’re torn between searching the fog of your brain for another retort, or giving in and letting him wreck you completely and honestly. Jesse doesn't seem too keen to grant you the time to weigh your options, fingers tapping impatiently against the curve of your hip with an inquisitive hum as you agonise over your choices.

The throb in your core wins out, and you relent, albeit a little bitterly,

“I want to know-” you cut off with strangled gasp as he lathes his tongue against the very inner pocket of your thigh, “please Jesse - fuck - please I want you, I need you.”

The man in question stares down at you with satisfied affection as you buck up to chase a phantom touch once again, groaning in annoyance when you find nothing but the weighted press of his forearms caging your thighs open to his mercy.

“...All right.” 

A sigh of relief leaves you at that before you can reign it back, and he chuckles warmly at the sound, stroking tiny circles across your flesh.

“You’ll always have me, mesh’la,” the sincerity in Jesse’s tone makes your breath hitch further as he edges towards where the seam of your underwear meets your left hip, his hot breath causing yet another flurry of goosebumps to rise in its wake, “but let me show you how much it means to me to have you.”

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Jesse ducks to catch the side of your underwear in his teeth before dragging it slowly downwards. The material tickles slightly as it catches over your thighs, though it's a mere whisper of a sensation compared to the throb that hits you as your dripping core finally is bared to the chill of the air.

Jesse hums appreciatively at the sight of you spread out beneath him as he leans back to finish pulling away your underwear, haphazardly throwing away the offending garment to join the other scattering of clothing that now decorates the carpet. You bite your lip and raise your eyebrows in response, taking advantage of his momentary lapse in focus to nudge your knee against his hip.

“You too, mesh’la.” You roll the nickname over your tongue, delighting in how the blood rushes to his cheeks with a fervour at having his nickname for you thrown right back at himself. 

He scoffs a little at your cheekiness, but indulges your command all the same, practically  leaping from the edge of the bed to stand and unceremoniously yank down his boxer briefs. You attempt to hook your legs around his midsection as he rejoins you atop the bed, but he stops you with a slow shake of his head, caging your thighs open with his arms once more.

“So eager!” he sighs in mock-annoyance as you huff and roll your eyes beneath him, simply chuckling as you edge further into frantic desperation.

Little do you know it's taking every ounce of his own willpower to stop from delving into your cunt like it's his last meal.

Though the groan that leaves him as his eyes flicker down once more gives you an indication of how he's really feeling beneath the bravado. In that moment, the sight and sound of him has you feeling on top of the world despite being pinned from the hips down.

You’ve little time to bask in this feeling for long though, as in a moment, Jesse dives forward like a man starved. You throw your head back with a cry as the hot, wet push of his tongue hits the sensitive folds of your pussy, lapping open-mouthed kisses across the seam of your opening as his nose grazes your clit. Stars above, your head feels heavy as you buck shamelessly, chasing the heat of his mouth as he tilts his head to tongue-fuck you deeper, the burn of his flesh against yours as he holds you down the only thing truly grounding you at this point.

To his credit, Jesse takes your writhing in stride, accommodating the frantic movements of your hips with firm, but loving caresses as he places a particularly heavy kiss right against your clit that leaves you breathily calling out his name. He lets out a particularly needy groan at the sound, one that vibrates directly across your thrumming bundle of nerves and hits you like a shock of cold water to the face.

You shudder back to reality, head still spinning with the promise of a quickly approaching orgasm, but enough renewed sense to prop yourself up onto shaking elbows to take in the sight of him. Jesse looks just as wrecked as you feel, eyes closed as he revels in the taste and feel of you beneath his tongue and fingers. A single jewel of sweat beads down the prong of his tattoo that reaches his temple in what you're not sure is overexertion, or the strain of keeping his own pursuit of pleasure in check to focus on yours.

He’s all but thrusting desperately into the air as you reach forward to gently grasp his jaw with shaking digits.

“Jesse…” you trail off as you catch the way his chin glistens with what you’re not sure is saliva, your essence, or a lewd concoction of both, “let me make you feel good too.”

He’s slack jawed and glossy-eyed, but his body is oddly pliable as you tug him up towards your face for a sloppy kiss that leaves you both moaning and grasping for the other. You’re the one to break away first, shooting him a wobbly grin as you pant to regain your breath. His fingers find your face this time, cupping your cheek as he gazes at you with such wonder that it leaves you blushing once more. He remains speechless even as you break apart with a kiss to his open palm, positioning your body to crawl down his torso until you’re face-to-head with his arousal. Jesse seems to catch on quickly to your intentions, grasping hold of your hips to position your lower half over his face - even gracing your backside with a light slap that causes you to jolt in surprise. You attempt to flash him a glare, but the feeling of his broad palm soothing over the swell of your ass reduces you to hissing in pleasure instead, spine dipping before you can stop yourself from sinking lower towards his waiting lips.

Determined not to be so easily outdone, you move to flatten the length of your tongue against the head of his cock, delighting in the broken groan that shakes his chest as the taste of precum hits your taste buds. You let a moan of your own vibrate against the length of his cock as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper into your mouth, the feeling of his hot, panting breath against your cunt spurring you on. Jesse indulges in the feeling of you for a few moments longer before delving right back into eating you out. You can feel his smirk at the squeak of surprise that leaves you as he roughly pulls you back down to sit on his face, tongue lashing skilfully against your clit in a way that forces you to pull him from your mouth with a gasp for air.

It all falls away from you quickly after that, even as you pump at the slick length of his cock and attempt to focus on the way he twitches against your lips. In mere moments, your vision is stolen from you in a sudden rush of pure pleasure that has you half aware that you’re screaming Jesse’s name towards the ceiling. The trooper continues to lavish attention on you through the waves of your orgasm, tongue firmly lathing against the most agonisingly sensitive part of you as he holds you against him with a determinedly steady hand.

He gently drags the grip of his right hand to pet your thigh as you come down in shuddering gasps, the white slowly ebbing from your vision with the effort of a few slow blinks.

“Welcome back.”

Even in such a compromising position as this, he still has the gall to run his mouth. 

A calculated squeeze to the base of his cock has that taunt trail off into a hiss.

“You’re unbelievable.” Despite the impassive tone of voice you attempt to force out, you still curl into his touch as he slowly maneuvers your spent body to rest against the pillows once more.

“Yep, but you love it.” He winks as he shifts to support himself above you, those powerful forearms of his now caging your shoulders at each side as he places a chaste kiss against your clammy forehead. You can't help the laughter that spills from you as he moves to suddenly nuzzle into the crook of your neck, stubble tickling your already oversensitive nerves until you're pushing at his chest for him to release you.

“Because I love you, Jess.”

His expression melts at your confession, chest rising and falling in time with your own as he stares at you with such a tender longing that part of you almost feels like crying.

If you could block out the world and just stay like this with him, forever, then you would in a heartbeat. You'd tear down every star in the sky a million times over if it meant keeping him safe and loved.

If only you could.

“I love you, so much, cyare.” The sunny warmth of his grin spreads across the entirety of his face then. It's contagious, and instantly lifts you into giggling alongside him as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your own.

“...Is this how things went in your dream?” Your heart turns to honey as you reach up to trace the lines of his tattoo where they drape over his cheek.

“This is even better.” He whispers the affirmation against your lips before stealing them in another deep kiss.

He grinds lazily against you as the kiss deepens, threading you ever closer together with a moan that has your hand frantically searching to loop your fingers through his own.

“Jesse,” your voice is strained with desire as the tip of his cock grazes against your entrance once again, “as wonderful as this is, I really want you inside me now.”

That pulls a genuine splutter of laughter from him, but he slips his free hand down to wrap one of your thighs around his waist all the same, shifting to his knees to brace himself against you whilst simultaneously keeping you pinned to the pillow with one hand gripping your own.

“Your wish is my command, my needy little love.”

Your breath leaves you with a sudden yelp as he finally snaps his hips forward and eases into you with a deep thrust, his public bone nestling against the swell of your clit as he buries himself to the hilt in your warmth. You catch his smile split even wider at your reaction before he begins to fuck you in earnest, never one to hold back for too long. The stretch of his cock has your eyes rolling and your free hand clawing at his shoulder for something to grip on to, but your body opens up to him effortlessly. 

You’ve danced with him like this so many times now that being connected to him feels as natural as breathing, despite the rolling cries that drip from your parted lips. Jesse drinks them down greedily with a barrage of kisses and growled praise between each thrust.

“That's it baby - keep making those pretty sounds for me.”

He's making plenty of pretty noises of his own, each of them peppered with sigh-like breaths that catch in his throat every time his hips stutter with the threat of losing his last semblance of control.

Hot tears of pleasure begin to gather behind your lashes as you fight to keep your eyes trained on the sight of him pounding into you. Even with the way your mind spins with pleasure, and how the light spilling from the window appears to cling and dance across the deep bronze of his skin in an ever shifting pattern, the thick lines of his tattoo, and the burn of his eyes remain steadfast - streamlining your focus towards the feeling of him grinding upwards against the sweetest spot inside of you again and again until all you can do is babble his name incoherently.

The sight of you coming apart beneath him only pushes him further, though you’re so overwhelmed at this point that you fail to notice how his fingers release your own to dip down between your bodies until the rough pad of his thumb collides with your clit once more.

A second orgasm rips through you with little extra warning - the coil in your stomach snapping so violently that it robs you of any remaining coherency and has you tightening around Jesse’s cock with a silent scream. You hear and feel him hit his peak right behind your own as he tenses with a shout of your name, barely catching himself as he folds over you and buries his cock as deep as he can reach.

And then, warmth: one that spreads across your insides before spilling down the innermost part of your thighs and onto the sheets below.

For a moment, there is only heavy panting as you both struggle to come back down to the present. Jesse breaks whatever silence has crawled between you with a dry-throated chuckle. The hand that had been twisted in the bedsheets beside your head moments before now moves to stroke the back of your head with a clumsy kind of care only Jesse could deliver.

You're still stuffed full of him even as he lifts himself to avoid crushing you, his thumb dipping across the apples of your cheeks to wipe away the loose trails of tears that streak your skin. He clears his throat before speaking, voice tired, but clear enough to reach you.

“You okay?”

You nod in reply, limbs heavy as you raise your arms to loop around his neck and bring him close for a prolonged kiss.

“Need anything?”

You hum in acknowledgment of his concern, but only snuggle closer in response before whispering against the thump of his pulse.

“Only you.”

He chuckles at that before chastely kissing the top of your head and slowly lifting to withdraw from you. You both groan at the loss of contact, but Jesse’s quick to flop down beside you and gather your body up in his arms once more.

“I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, cyar’ika.” He traces over the marks left on your skin with an air of sentimentality, dipping his head to kiss over the particularly dark ones left across your neck and collarbone. They're reminders you’ll grumble about when you’re back in the right frame of mind, but you’ll find yourself cherishing them all the same for as long as they decorate your skin.

“Forever then.” You mumble sleepily against the protection his body extends to you, thoroughly spent in every way.

“Forever it is.” 

He’d already made that promise to himself long ago.

[skelemira]

Ooooh whats Rowan's lore? *grabs popcorn*

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Gonna leave it after the cut (if I remember how to do the cut right on mobile lol) so I don't clog up feeds

So Rowan started out as a human. Her family was okay financially, probably lower middle class. Not rich enough to be truly comfortable, but not in a whole lot of danger debt-wise. She had a mother, a father, an older sister named Magnolia (Nolia for short) and a little brother named Cedar (lol do you see a naming pattern here I'm so creative). Her parents were... Okay. They weren't abusive or anything, but they weren't exactly doting. They didn't really have the time to be doting, since they both worked all the time. The siblings all got along really well, though, the type of siblings that stuck together initially because they lacked that true family relationship but slowly morphed into ride or die siblings.

So one day, little 14-year-old Rowan (Nolia was 16, soon to be 17, and Cedar was 10) gets home from school, pretty average, normal day.

She's sitting at the table doing her hw when someone knocks at the door and her parents (it was kind of weird, they were never home at this hour) rush to open it. There stands a man in a lab coat, holding an envelope. Rowan hated him instantly. Something about him seemed wrong.

He talked to her parents for a bit, and her parents asked her to go get Nolia and Cedar with some urgency in their voices. And.... If she was right in placing that tone.... Guilty excitement...?

She got her siblings and they came downstairs.

Turns out her parents had been closer to debt than she realized. So to get some more money and.... Relieve some financial burdens, they sold their kids to a group of scientists needing victi----research participants.

Of course there was a struggle, Nolia stepping up to try and defend her siblings, screaming at her parents, Rowan holding Cedar close while silent tears poured down both their faces.

But the scientist was prepared, and before anyone could react, three men appeared with rags, holding them over the kids' mouths.

She woke up in an empty white room.

Well... If you could call it white. It was more of a dinghy, hardly cleaned beige. These men were not with the government, she could immediately tell that.

Gonna sum up this part bc it involves torture but basically the scientists were experimenting to see if they could turn a human into a monster. They found only Rowan's soul was compatible. They used her siblings to keep her under control..... Only they had dumped Nolia and Cedar on the streets weeks ago. They simply reused footage to "prove" to Rowan they were still there.

They almost succeeded in their experiment. They forced so much magic into her soul that it started to flip.... But it was too much and Rowan flatlined. They dumped her body in the woods, only disappointed that they came so close.

A couple months passed. Her body decayed until only her skeleton remained. The decaying process was helped along by all the magic, which seemed to have concentrated in her bones, morphing them slowly until they were all connected.

She woke up.

She spent several years on the streets. She begged, she stole, and... She drank. Or at least she tried to. (She was allowed into bars because people thought she was a monster, and she wasn't wearing stripes, so that must mean she was an adult.) She quickly discovered that her alcohol tolerance was *legendary*. She drank bars dry having drinking contests with people (that's how she paid for all her drinks) but felt no different than before. Eventually someone dared her to try Everclear, and though she grimaced at the taste, she drank the entire bottle.

The bar was silent.

The taste eventually grew on her, a kind of self-inflicted punishment that soon became a routine, almost a comfort.

Now a good chunk of the next part has to do with my friend's sonas which I'm not going to talk about because they're not my characters, but suffice it to say they were amazing friends to her and helped her recover and get on her feet.

One such friend discovered her sleeping by Grillby's dumpster, and Grillby let her stay the night on his couch, setting up a job at Muffet's for her the next day. She and Muffet became really close friends and finally she started to have a more stable life. (She finds and dates Underlust Sans but that's another story lol which I would be happy to share in another ask~ but y'all these two are so cute plz)

So someone suggests she go see a therapist. Goodness knows she's got some trauma. So she agrees. The name of her therapist seems..... Eerily familiar but she decides to ignore her gut and go anyway. She walks into the therapist's office and---

And sees her mother sitting there, looking professional and well-rested and happy.

She runs.

Yeah so suffice it to say she isn't gonna trust therapy again for a bit lol, and it takes her even LONGER (and some good therapy sessions) to accept the fact that her mother was clearly better off without her and her siblings.

Yeah ya girl has a lot of issues, especially abandonment <3 she is very much a people pleaser and WILL put your needs high above her own. Anything to make you want to stay. Anything to make her feel needed or wanted.

So she's hanging out at Grillby's one day (he and his bartender like to try out different mixes on her, try to see if they can get her to make a face at a cocktail) when a huge party comes in. Rowan automatically shrinks a bit from discomfort because of the big crowd, and she continues her game with Grillby and the bartender (the bartender is my friend's sona that's why I'm not naming them lol). Then she hears something that makes her freeze mid-sip.

"Let's hear it for Magnolia!!!! The first of us to get tied down!" Followed by raucous laugh....ter...

She recognizes that laugh.

She flees the bar, with no explanation to anyone. She catches a glimpse of Nolia, with Cedar by her side, and both of their eyes squint slightly in confusion as she passes by them.

She makes it outside, looking around for where to go, unable to think in her panicked confusion when---

"R......Rowan?"

She goes ramrod straight and slowly turns, hands balled into fists to hide the violent shaking. Nolia bursts into tears, Cedar immediately clinging to her stiff form, his shoulders shaking as bad as her hands.

They.... Recognized her. They.........

Were *happy* to see her.

Slowly she hugged them back and they got to catching up. (So yeah if it wasn't clear Nolia was getting married, they both had survived on the streets together until Nolia was old enough to get a job).

Also something I forgot to mention lol is Rowan had found 2 kittens behind Muffet's, an older girl kitten fiercely protecting a little boy kitten. They immediately latched onto her after she made it clear she wasn't a threat, and she decided to name them after her siblings.

Also things worth noting, she smells like apples, she has magical red translucent hair, her soul wavers from more upside down like a monster's to more upright like a human's, she loves to bake, she is like the DEFINITION of cottagecore, she has magical tattoos on her face that change around to look like the Day of the Dead skulls (the colors get brighter or darker with her moods), and she drinks 2 bottle of everclear every time she goes to Grillby's. The paramedics in the area quickly become used to people calling the ambulance when she drinks (seriously look up everclear it's basically pure alcohol). She eventually stops drinking (not that it was *really* harming her since she had that alcohol tolerance and a body made primarily of magic at this point (plus alcohol isn't really gonna hurt her, she doesn't have kidneys lol) but she wanted to stop anyway. She loves to paint and teaches one of her friends to paint, tending to her friend's garden while her friend paints. She also loves to cook and bake, she eventually helps out with baking at Muffet's, though she refuses to bake the spiders into the pastries. Her scones are things of legend, they sell out as soon as she brings the tray out of the kitchen.

Yeah that was a lot lol and there's little things here and there that I missed so feel free to send in questions about her if you want to know anything! Or if you want to know how Rowan and UL Sans got together (spoiler: they eventually get married and it's so cute)

[gospelofme]

Together

Part 2

Word was sent to the Southern King, who surprisingly accepted. The Generals were very clear on the fact that, at no point, would they be leaving their rulers’ sides.

“I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep for the past two nights.” The Queen’s General confessed to the King’s General. They rode behind the two armored Royals, who headed up the columns of soldiers. This wasn’t their full show of strength, but enough to give the would-be usurper a taste of what would come.

At the border that divided the Kingdoms, a large tent was erected, the tent bore the King’s sigil as this meeting was his idea. The Southern King’s forces arrived later in the evening, the King watching a large tent be set up and as multiple campfires sprung to life. The meeting would take place the following morning, needless to say no one got a good night’s rest.

Then next morning, the air was cool and quiet. A layer of fog hung in the air and misted the ground. A few Song Thrushes held a concert for the King as he sat at a small table in the open to break his fast.

“I’ve always found the Song Thrush to be a clever little bird.” The Queen spoke from behind him. She was dressed in a black, long-sleeved gown; her hair loose. As she walked around to his side, the King looked up at her and gave her a smile.

“I have as well, did you know they use stones to break open the shells of snails? Pretty ingenious, I must say.” The King was sure the Queen was aware of such knowledge, but he wanted to make conversation with her. He offered her a seat, which she accepted. A maid soon presented her with a light breakfast of fresh fruit and cream. Nerves had knotted her stomach, so she was thankful it wasn’t a large meal. While she supported the King’s decision, it was an honorable one, she was still unsure. What was to stop the Southern King of attempting a coup right then and there?

“You will be armored, yes?” She asked, the King made a face.

“My General is expecting me to.” He said, making a small pouting expression.

“But you don’t want to.” The Queen surmised. The King sighed and looked at the sky.

“My father would have worn his. But I don’t want to project distrust at this meeting.”

“But do you trust him?” She asked him. There was a couple beats of silence.

“No.” He answered quietly.

“Perhaps then, my King, you wear a shirt of mail under your doublet? That way you are protected should his men break through your General, mine, and myself.” She mused, letting him know she wasn’t going to make an attack on him easy. He looked at her with a smirk and gave a nod.

“I can do that.” He agreed.

“Excellent. I won’t be over dressed then. Of course, my chosen attire won’t be as subtle.” She tossed a berry up into the air and caught it in her mouth. The King’s eyes lit up at the playful gesture.

“Let me see if I can still do that…” he said, she handed him a grape. The King’s General turned at the sound of laughter from the King’s table. He saw his ruler fish something out of the grass, a grape.

“Okay, for real this time.” The young man said, standing and tossing the fruit back up and moving a bit to catch it. The two young rulers celebrated the small victory. He hadn’t seen any more than a smirk or small grin from his King since his father had passed. The sound of real laughter from the young King was almost forgotten on the General’s ears. It was a nice sound, the real smile on his King’s face made him look so much like his father. The previous King had been a close friend of the General, the two being like brothers ever since they were young. He had made a promise to his best friend on his deathbed that he would protect the young Prince, who was now the King.

The General grumbled as he watched his King slip chainmail over his head, followed by a dark red, velvet doublet. He cinched it tight with his sword belt. He had decided to carry a weapon, just so he could further reinforce that this meeting would be conducted under peaceful circumstances. He would place his weapon in the center of the table, giving his opponent a chance to do the same.

He exited the tent to see the Queen waiting for him. She had on a stunning gown of chainmail, layered pieces of metal was laid across her chest and shoulder like scales. The King knew that had to be a heavy garment. She had topped the look off by wearing a sword on a belt as well. Her hair was done up in a large braid. There was thick line of black ash that spanned the area from her eyebrows down to the tops of her cheekbones, stretching across her face. She looked frightening, but elegant.

Upon his head was a thick band of gold with sharp spikes along the back of the band. The center spike was the tallest, the others on either side descending in size. The Queen likened it to the rays of the sun that break through the clouds. Her own crown was the white skull of a deer anchored to a metal band and painted with runic images similar to her tattoos. The large antler rack winged out to either side.

The juxtaposition of the two rulers was evident. The Queen spoke to her General in a language the King didn’t understand yet, but one day he would. It was time to go to the meeting tent, the King wanted to be there to greet the Southern King. The soft jingle of the Queen’s gown as she walked was a comforting sound to the King. She was no damsel like those who had flirted with him at celebrations. She was a warrior. A fighter, brave and proud. He also knew that she likely wasn’t going to be wooed by pretty gifts or fancy words.

Once the King took his seat at the conference table, a flag with his sigil was raised. This signaled to the other ruler that he was being waited on. The Queen was seated on the King’s right, her General next to her. The King’s General was seated to his ruler’s left. Both Generals were fully armored, silken surcoats with the emblems of their rulers embroidered on them. Now to wait.

Tag list

@eyecandyeoz @thatonegreyghost @halzore @adriiibell @leias-left-hair-bun @escapedthesarlacc @jgvfhl @crc-general-orin

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SOMETHING ROMANTIC

Happy Lowman x Marcus Alvarez daughter!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy, this is something I wrote for no reason. Gif isn't mine.

Warnings: Weirdo Happy perturbing Santo Padre.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

The toothbrush goes from one side to another, turning when it reaches the corner of his mouth. He has the forearms over the picnic table, sitting next to Chibs, Tranq, Taza, Juice and Ray. They're talking about something that Happy can't hear focused on you, sitting on the floor and chewing gum with a spray gun in your right hand, painting the body of your bike, so concentrated in every line you're drawing that a war could be going on around you and you don't even know it. The ex-nomad could spend the rest of his life looking at you in silence, stunned at the way your fingers move so slowly and so precisely, feeling jealous just a second, wishing he could be in the position of your motorbike right now. And your fingertips touring his skin. Again.

“—ove”.

Happy turns his gaze to Chibs, while his brothers breaks in laughters. He wasn't paying attention, so he's waiting for his president to repeat the words.

“Shit, Happe', ya' looks lak'a teen in love”.

Frowning he puts his attention back to you. The scottish man is right, he hasn't even noticed that Marcus and Bishop have joined the table, staring at the Son'.

“I wanna marry your daughter, hermano”. Happy says with an appealing voice, without looking at your father, when he smells his unmistakable cologne.

The mexican raises both eyebrows sort of surprised and confused. Bishop is lost with his improvised decision.

“I think I'm in love with her”. He adds, feeling a lot of eyes on his person.

“What?” Taza asks about laugh bewildered.

“When you knew that, brotha’?” Marcus spoke this time, leaning above the table after turning at you for a while.

“This morning”.

They're expecting for something else, but he keeps letting his dark orbs travel all over your hands covered by paint stains, moving so easily that give him chills in his stomach.

“Watching her dancing naked”.

“You fell in love with her 'cause you saw her dancing naked?” Tranq tries to figure out how this could be possible.

“Did you see my daugh—? Did you fuck my daughter, man?”

“She was making me breakfast”.

Happy isn't listening, he don't give a shit if your father is about to tie him on the wall to rip his skin off, piece by piece. He's focused in the way your fingers get tangled in every bristle of your hair to create a messy bun with them. He's obsessed with your hands, as if he was spellbound. And he hasn't even seen you shoot a gun with them. That's gonna be his downfall.

“She was dancing ‘Adventure Time’ theme song, cooking pancakes and making me a cereal bowl”.

The other men are amazed by the way he has to talk about something so random with his typical and usual scratchy voice, as if he was talking about murder someone he doesn't even knows. But he's talking about you and his tone doesn't shake. That's why they know he's being serious.

“Anyone could do pancakes and a cereal bowl”. Juice laughs without knowing that his innocence is going to cost him to lose part of his physical integrity.

With a fast move and his gaze permanently on you, he grabs his nape hitting his head against the table with a noisy and loud sound. Juice starts to growl between curses and sobs, falling backwards towards the ground, when he wants to get up in his seat.

“Not even my mom knows that I like cereals before milk”.

Sons and Mayans are fascinated, putting their eyes on you. It's to hot outside, with the southern Cali' heat toasting your skin covered by colored tattoos. Getting up from the floor shaking the jumpsuit with knotted sleeves on your low waist, you take all your paint stuff between your arms walking towards the small plot with a roof on it, with some shading that will avoid the sun to makes you some burns in your shoulders. Leaving your things there, you walk back to your bike grabbing the handlebar to drive it there.

“She can run me over with her Harley whenever she wants, once and again till she kills me, drowning me with my own blood”.

“You're fuckin' perturbing me, man”. Bishop says with his face out of shape.

“He's that... kind of romantic”. Chibs palms your uncle's back laughing out loud.

“She hit you hard, eh, Happy?” Juice talks back, sitting again whilst rubs his forehead. Luckily he didn't break his nose.

“More than I could hit you till take away your last breathe”.

Holding the toothbrush between the forefinger and the thumb, he gets up of the bench, putting well his clothes on.

“The fac' ya' going, Happe'?” Chibs asks, whilst Marcus rubs his face hard with both hands.

“He's not gonna do'et, right?” Taza leaves the question in the air, looking at the men sitting around him, before getting his gaze back to the Son'.

He's walking with his self-confidence in the clouds, throwing away the toothbrush and his eyes on you, studying every gesture you made when you find him going towards you so serious that it's starting to scare you. Without a word, he takes off of his little finger a heavy gold seal skull-shaped, offering it to you with his arm stretched to you. Some inches separate you, kneeling on the ground holding the spray gun with a raised eyebrow and the tip of the nose wrinkled. He moves his hand one time, urging you to take the ring.

Your eyes travel to the picnic table, with incredulous men sitting there. Your father is freaking out and your uncle is losing it too. Doubting, you grab it having a look of it, before look at Happy again. Leaving away the paint, you take off the bluetooth headphones of your ears.

“I like it”. You say, 'cause you're not sure what he's trying to tell you.

“Good, you're gonna carry it for the rest of your life”.

“Perdona, ¿qué?” (Excuse me, what?)

“Jesus Christ, he's doen'et”. You can hear Chibs' surprised voice, turning to him again when they all break in laughter.

“The... hell you doin', Happy?”

“We're gonna get married”.

“We're what?” Getting up and keeping the headphones inside the jumpsuit' pocket, you lift both eyebrows with pursed lips.

“Yea', I wanna marry you”.

“Ah... Wh—What makes you think that I'm gonna marre' you?”

“You don' wanna break my heart”.

“Didn' know you have one”.

“And you also made me breakfast, after fuckin' you so hard I didn't think you could walk”.

“Yea', ah... I was hungry, I thought you too”.

“And you were watching cartoons”.

“‘Adventure Time’ is not only a cartoon”.

“See? What I said”.

Narrowing your eyes, you twist your neck with somekind of confusion. You look again to your father, who shrugs his shoulders not understanding what's happening.

“Listen, imagine that. Me, coming home. At night. With blood in my face after stabbing a guy, and you sewing my gaps, watching cartoons”.

“Does it...?” Licking your lower lip, you cross your arms over your chest. “Does it should sound romantic?”

“With burning red candles”.

You're trying to contain your laughs, pursing your lips and with the holes of your nose getting opened. He opens his arms like it pretty obvious it's the best plan ever.

“So your perfect idea of having a date is me, healing you at four am, when I could be sleeping, and watching cartoons illuminated by red candles”.

“After stabbing some guy”.

“After stabbing some guy...”

“Gripping”. Tranq says some meters away, looking at you two as if he was watching some Netflix movie.

“Do you have a better idea?” He asks you then.

“About the date or about marrying you?”

“My mom taught me to make tacos. You're mexican, you like tacos”.

“Happy... that sound rough and it's a fuckin' clic—”.

“Don' you like tacos?”

“But not 'cause I'm mex—”

“So I can make it for you. That's romantic too”.

“After stabbing some guy”.

“'Course”.

“Ok, weirdo...” You say taking off the collar hanging on your neck, to put the ring in it before wearing it again.

“Wh—What are you...?” Happy turns confused to your father, shaking his head. “What is she doin'?”

“I think she doesn' wanna smear it with paint”. Marcus answers getting up of his seat.

“We're getting married then?” The Son' asks to you, seeing how you kneel to take back the spray gun.

“I'm scared of what you could do if I say ‘no’?”

“Somethen' pretty romantec', lass”. Chibs laughs from the picnic table, provoking the laughter of the men around him.

[bird-in-a-cage]

Inspired by that prompt

012

It was August, 1986, when Billy was released. He didn’t have much. A bag of second hand clothes that had been donated to somewhere at some point, nothing of which had ever fit right or would have been anything he’d chosen to wear voluntarily. The keys to a basement apartment underneath a general store, two small windows up high near the ceiling the only natural light source. Basic furniture. Only enough to survive, nothing homely. A tracking bracelet around his ankle. A thick black box that weighed more than it looked, hidden by baggy jeans that were kept up by a belt he had to stab extra holes into.

It might have fit him properly last year. But that was last year.

He kept the letter they gave him pinned to the small refrigerator next to the sink. This apartment is owned by the US Government. You are not to leave Hawkins until we say you can under any circumstance. You are not to take off the tracking bracelet for any reason. You are to report in to the number below once every two weeks, same time and day. Failure to do these tasks will see you readmitted.

Neil’s abuse was fun in comparison to that possibility.

It had been a long year. The longest of Billy’s short life. A year of surgeries, rehabilitation, endless tests. Having his hair shaved off. Losing his muscle mass. Losing his tan. Being kept in rooms with no windows. Alone for weeks. Being stitched back together like a jigsaw puzzle made of skin. A sock with a hole in it. Being treated like an animal, an experiment. Being poked and prodded by miles of needles. Blood and plasma. Bone marrow. Lumbar punctures. Spinal fluid. Staring into bright lights for hours until he went temporarily blind. Patch worked with pads to listen to his brain. His heart. His lungs. His stomach. Every different face wearing the same masks, the same gowns, the same gloves. Never feeling anything real apart from pain.

Sometimes he still felt like a prisoner in his own body. What was left of it. What he didn’t recognise was his anymore. That thing still in his arm. In his head. Alone at night he would still hear it whisper. But it was different now. It had no power to control him. So Billy tried to ignore it. Just keep going somehow, this would get better eventually. If he did well in this test he’d be allowed a coke. If he did well in another he could sit next to a window. He could, and did, work his way out of the Building, away from being a lab rat directly.

He’d come out with 012 tattooed on his arm, just under the crook of his elbow. They must have done it when he was passed out at one point. Everything else about him had changed, it made sense there would be something new added as well in amongst the web of white scars that spanned his entire body. Thick like elm roots on his chest, the epicenter. Thin and fine on his arms and legs and the backs of his hands, a few up the back of his neck. He kept everything hidden under thick clothes. A donated Slazenger jacket became his best friend. Grey and waterproof. Sleeves that fell to his fingers. Old jeans that someone probably died in. Dirty white sneakers. Everything the opposite of who he was before. It felt right somehow. He wasn’t that person anymore. He’d never be that person again.

A government appointed talking person had advised Billy to take everything day by day. The world was very different from what was inside the Building and its grounds. The one tree outside to look at to guess what season it was. Doing too much at once would upset things. Getting drunk wasn’t an option. Getting high wasn’t an option. Working out wasn’t an option. Getting a job wasn’t an option. Walking was fine though, practically encouraged. Enough time had passed, there was a very low chance of being recognised. Legally he was dead. He should probably think of a new name for himself. The government would help with paperwork when he was deemed ready for phase three. It would pay for him to live, exist, in phase two.

Billy never saw her face. But she had a calm voice throughout. Hidden behind the two way mirror and through the phone that had no numbers to dial. No outside line. He liked to imagine she had green eyes. The closest thing he had to a friend, even though he never said more than yes or no in return.

It took two weeks before Billy went further than the store upstairs. Three weeks before he went more than two blocks. It was odd to feel a breeze again. Odd to feel a cold that didn’t come from within. Odd to feel hot from the sun. Odd to hear multiple voices and vehicles coming from everywhere. Odd to hear children. Odd to hear joy and laughter. 

Odd not to hear beeping white boxes, the crinkle of sanitised plastic casings being unwrapped and opened. Hollow footsteps on a tiled floor. Count back from ten. Nine. Eight. 

Hawkins didn’t look any different. It had the same amount of stop lights, stop signs. The same amount of parking spaces outside the diner and town hall. The same amount of benches in the park. The same playground equipment. The same graffiti under the slide. The same names scratched into the hard orange plastic, autographs of teenagers hiding out and getting high with their friends after dark. Billy thumbed over his own name. The night he and Harrington buried the hatchet over a joint and a half bottle of whiskey. Both hiding from home and wanting to just feel young and stupid again. Both tired of fighting.

That Billy had no idea what tiredness was.

Billy spent every day just walking. Retracing his steps over the whole town. Streets he used to drive down with abandon, screaming along to music or just screaming for the hell of it. Now he was ignoring how his lungs burnt when every step too far. Walking through pretty little neighbourhoods with white picket fences, perfect front yards. He felt like a ghost. No one looked at him twice. He really had died. There wasn’t a grave for him at the church. He didn’t expect there to be one, that required his family caring about him. They didn’t care before. Why would they care now he was the reason the fancy new mall ‘burnt down’?

The house was the same. At least from the outside on the other side of the street. 4819 Cherry Lane. The same broken steps. The same mailbox. The same windowed front porch. The same dead grass. The same dead trees. He could still be there but he couldn’t. Schrödinger’s Hargrove. A part of him wanted to go and knock on the door. Look through the windows. See what happened to his room. If any part of him and who he was still existed in those walls. The government wouldn’t like that though. He was dead. It was hard to accept it was better to stay dead. The box around his ankle felt heavier.

The centre of town was busier than the suburbs. Billy worked his way there last. Built up a tolerance for noise and engines and people over a few months. Step by step. Day by day. Getting used to being dead. Watched the stripmall from the other side of the parking lot. The auto repair shop he visited a lot for parts for his fallen camaro. God knows what they did with her. The arcade where he dropped Max off more than once. He tried not to think about her. About what could happen now he was gone. The broken great wall. He sat at the bus stop for a break. His lungs felt like they were about to tear open again. His chest was heavy and tight. Five minutes. Then he’d keep going. Keep carrying on. 

Keep fighting. 

A sharp scream dragged his head up from his sneaker laces. Two kids piled out of a BMW. A brown one that looked expensive. A shock of red hair that had been long but was now just short to shoulder length in a dramatic line. Jean shorts and a yellow t-shirt. A denim jacket. Billy’s denim jacket. The sleeves had been cut off. Someone had painted a skull smoking on the back panel. Probably the wearer herself. It wasn’t unlike Billy’s first tattoo. The one he used to have on his arm. The one they cut through and scars took over from both sides took over and removed.

Max. She’d screamed. But she didn’t look scared or worried or even sad. She was smiling from ear to ear. Sunglasses pushed into her hair. She looked taller. She’d screamed at a boy in a baseball hat. Billy vaguely recognised him from long ago, somewhere in the back of what was left of his old mind. He winced and made a show of fixing his ear with a finger. Probably complaining that Max was too loud. Billy had told her that before. When things were different. When he was different. When he was younger but old.

They both went to walk through the doors when the driver got out of the car. Harrington. Of course it was him. He looked exactly the same. Big mane of brunette hair effortlessly styled. Stupid mom jeans. He tossed forgotten backpacks at both of them. Sounded kind as he said he’d pick them both up in two hours so don’t be fucking around in there. He’d already been hat kid’s surrogate brother by all accounts, it looked like he just picked Max up too. Another lost duckling to add to his gaggle.

Watching them live out their lives made Billy feel even more in the ground. A part of him wanted to walk over, say hi, I’m not actually dead. But he knew that was a bad idea. The whole town had moved on by way of nothing changing. The mall had been brushed over. It was a building site now. All the people that Billy took, they had been forgotten too. Someone had planted a heather bush in the town square. She hadn’t been forgotten. But that was it. People just carried on. As if nothing ever happened. As if those people had never existed. As if Billy had never existed. Max clearly remembered him if her attire was anything to go by, but did anyone else? He didn’t expect to be remembered at all. But then he also wasn’t dead yet. But he was a memory now. Nothing more. Even though he was sat right there. The cold plastic of the bus stop bench sinking through his denim covered thighs.

Max smiled at Harrington. Really smiled. Said thanks and squeezed his arm before the two kids went inside, into all the noise and lights that even the thought of following made Billy panic. Not as much as fireworks did. Harrington yelled after them to not lose all their money and sunk back into his car. Watching it all was like watching tv. Billy couldn’t interact with any of it. His body wouldn’t let him. His mind wouldn’t let him. Stuck frozen on the bench. Stuck frozen in the past while the world moved on. Left him alone with his scars and memories and regrets and apologies to people who would never hear them.

He’d apologised to Max so many times in his head it wasn’t funny anymore. He had so many regrets they consumed him. Being alone for so long at the hands of the government, he longed to be out. To be given a second chance. He regretted not being nicer to Harrington. He was a good guy. Too good for this town. He regretted just not being an asshole to his sister. Wanted a chance to not treat her like some second class citizen. Their situation wasn’t her fault. He’d just been so blinded by rage and hate about things he couldn’t change he took it out on her. She didn’t deserve that.

It had just taken dying to truly realise it.

She needed someone to make sure she was okay, now stuck alone at Cherry Lane with no one to stop angry fists and hateful words. She had Harrington.

Harrington was better than Billy.

He watched the BMW drive away, the kids long inside. The scene resetting itself. Billy sighed shakily and got to his feet, rubbing over his chest where his heart ached behind inches of scar tissue inside and out. Starting to walk back to his basement.

It was better he was dead. Unmourned and forgotten. It's what he deserved.

[thewitcherdeacon]

The Painted Witcher

I wrote a quick little thing, one day I will post something longer about my original witchers Deacon and Olli (but that’s not today)

It started like most things between brothers, during a night out. Nobody remembered who started the discussion about tattoos, maybe it was the brawny man tending bar with a whole sleeve who inspired it. Could witchers even get tattoos? There was a bear from Skellige that had them. In the morning the three brothers woke up with wicked hangovers and tattoos.

Aiden had a cat on his right pectoral, Deacon had gotten a flower on his left shoulder blade, and the young Olli had a star on his face, under the outer corner of his right eye. They had let him tattoo his face, the star was small, no larger than a finger tip but the oldest, Aiden, thought that Gezras was going to kill him. The old cat just laughed. 

Olli found that he liked tattoos, his first a quiet reminder of when he was finally accepted as an equal, no longer little brother. He got his next after a particularly lucrative contract, the stylized head of a wyvern on his lower back. A daisy on his bicep was next, for the pretty girl who used to wear them in her hair, who ended up getting married to someone else. A partially bloody job for a noble landed him a wicked scar on his leg and snake running parallel to it. 

For anything he wanted to remember he got a tattoo, he was not fully covered, preferring to keep most covered by his clothes, other than a few on his arms and his star, but it earned him a name. The painted witcher, it was better than butcher, madman, or whatever names other witchers had earned. Olli was grateful for that, and tried to maintain a good image after he heard the name. Though he was just a cat. 

He got angry when a merchant tried to weasel his way out of paying him, a monster had been disrupting his caravan’s business, and the merchant sicked his thugs on him. He took the thugs down with ease, he had been made to kill, he had lunged at the merchant and broke his skull open. The initial crunch had been an accident, the man’s blood was slowly oozing out of the back of his head, he was gurgling and choking, suffering. Olli took out a knife, slid it into the man's throat, ending his pain and closed his eyes. The paint on the witcher was blood.

[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 9

Maul was getting seriously sick of this Force Forsaken journey to Bandomeer. 

“I’m beginning to think that you’re cursed,” he told Kenobi faintly. Even on his most dangerous missions for Sidious few things had gone so randomly wrong. What did go wrong was planned to test his abilities. This was just testing his patience. 

“I’m not sure you’re wrong,” Kenobi smiled grimly and swung his ‘saber down to slice through the draigon that got too close. It fell with a shriek. 

Something had stirred them into a frenzy, Maul thought it might have been a whiphid or one of the few remaining hutts with Offworld, and the whole flock had descended onto the cave that the Monument passengers had decided to shelter inside of. The tide had swallowed the ship and a storm had opened the skies above them with water and lightning. Thunder crashed through the skies. 

Kenobi, Maul, Jinn, and Fett stood at the mouth of the cave, shooting and striking down each draigon that came too close. Further in the whiphids and humans with blasters sheltered, ready to shoot any that managed to get past the quartet. The arconan’s were further inside, singing a long, mournful song in their strange hissing language. 

It made Maul’s skin sprickle and his heart race. There was something mystical in their singing, a shadow of stone and darkness. It felt familiar some how, and foreign in the same turn. 

“Eyes on the draigons, boys!” Jango called loudly over the roar of the storm and the blaster fire. He shot twice, one hit a draigon in the chest, and another through the wing. Jinn drove his ‘saber through its head to finish it off. They may have been natural enemies, but Maul would be lying if he said they did not make an effective team. 

Maul huffed and lifted his blaster to shoot another draigon through the head. Maybe it was suspicious that every one of his shots was a headshot, but there were too many of the beasts for him to consider that right then. Jinn was thrown violently back into the cavern by a massive wing. 

Useless Jedi. 

His irritation at their circumstances only fueled his anger, and each passing moment his accuracy increased with the Force. 

Maul had come too far to let himself be killed by animals on a nameless, backwater planet surrounded by jedi! Maul’s will to live had kept him going through being cut in half, driven to madness, and losing his only brother. It had kept him going through the rise of the Empire and the years that came after. He would survive these creatures too. 

That didn’t change the unsettling fact that he was fighting side by side with someone he had spent half a lifetime trying to kill. 

 They moved together, Kenobi cutting while Maul fired upon their assailants. More and more draigon corpses were piling up in front of them, preparing to block the entrance of the cave they sheltered in. That was the plan, but it was growing harder to fight with the closed spaces too. 

Maul fired furiously, anger coursing through his veins and burning through him just as surely as a the blaster bolts burned through the dragons. His crystals hummed at his hip, hot and burning against his skin. 

By his side Kenobi was ice, his blue ‘saber cutting cleanly. There was no anger from him, nor hate for the draigons. There wasn’t even fear. Only a heavy sense of duty and necessity. Through teeth and claws there was only survival. 

The Force twisted around the pair. They were light and dark, united by the simple goal that all living beings shared. 

Survive. 

Maul was good at that if nothing else. They both were. Apparently Kenobi had almost as much experience as he. Or he would, eventually. 

At this rate it was almost certain. 

They had to start new fights several times. Sometimes Jinn was with them, sometimes he was not. Each cave entrance had to be defended, and when those became scarce the draigon’s tried to dig their own. Those they left to the miners, who knew rock like no other. Clat’Ha joined and vanished at times. Jinn disappeared so long Maul thought he might be dead. 

Once or twice it was only Maul and Kenobi. Sometimes it was just Maul and Jango. Once it was Maul and Clat’Ha, who was a decent shot herself. 

The Darkside curled around Maul’s hands, guiding his blaster where it needed to go. With each small victory he grew stronger. 

Maul lost track of how long they fought, he and Kenobi. 

Jinn wasn’t dead, but he only reappeared to Maul by the time pink light was spilling through the last of the cave openings not blocked by draigon bodied. 

By that point they could scarcely see what was happening beyond the piled up bodies of draigons, but when the last of their enemies fled violet dusk lit up what little of the cave it could reach. 

Night had come, and the draigon’s were done. 

By then it was evident even to Maul that the arconans were not the cowards he had assumed. They took the path of least resistance when it came to saving their own lives, but they fought when they had to. They were creatures born to caves and darkness, and when it came to time to fight in their own element, they proved themselves to be ferocious and cunning.

No draigon that tunneled through a cave‘s roof caught an Arconan by surprise. Maul could respect that much. 

Smoke rose from the draigons‘ mouths as they let out their piercing cries in the dusky air. But the cries had changed from war cries to signals. Maul let out a breath. What were they-  

Without warning what was left of the flock roared and leaped into the sky, their wings beating viciously through the air. The draigons circled the island twice in a horrible flock, then flew off in defeat. They were down over half their members. 

Maul watched them go. Slowly, the roaring in his ears started to fade and he slumped onto the stone. His blaster was loose in his hand and hot to the touch. Jango sat heavily beside him with a dull clang of beskar. 

A ragged cheer went up from the surviving Offworlders, whiphids and humans shouting and crying fat tears of relief and joy. Maul watched one of the great whiphids make his way over to Kenobi and smack him hard on the back. He laughed about something, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d nearly knocked Kenobi over completely. Other’s started clapping, and laughing. 

Maul scoffed quietly. Their former enemies cheered for the Jedi, while he and Jango sat in the shadows. It was only when the battle fire was fading from his veins that he realized he’d been slashed across the forearm at some point. It bled sluggishly, not cauterized like a blaster bolt or lightsaber would have left it. 

“I don’t know where you came from, but I am glad I found you,” Jango said quietly. 

Maul elbowed him. It didn’t do much against the beskar. 

“You talk too much, old man.” 

“I’m twenty two!” 

Maul nearly choked. Twenty two?! He would have put money on Jango being older than that. 

“... Right. Old man.” 

“Can’t you call me something else?” 

“Like what? Buir?”  Maul eyed him speculatively. 

Jango tilted his head. “I would like it if you called me that.” 

Maul hunched his shoulders. “You’re still on about that?” 

“On about it? Did you think I was joking about wanting you for my ad?” Jango asked, turning his visor towards Maul. After a moment, he pulled the helmet off entirely to lay it on a rock nearby. The blue paint was chipped. 

His dark hair was sweaty and stuck plastered to his skull, and he could use a good shave. 

He looked the same age as most clones did during their war. 

Maul touched the pocket that held his crystals, idly. They were warm under his touch. A small comfort. 

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be. You barely know me. And I have tried to kill you at least once.” 

“Maul,” Jango said slowly, looking amused and saddened all at once, “You leak mandokarla like a broken faucet. Any Mandalorian in their right mind would want you in their aliit. Their family.” 

Maul studiously ignored the way his skin heated up. 

Without the helmet getting in the way and muffling his emotions, Jango was practically projecting affection and hope towards Maul. It made him dizzy. 

It wasn’t like the fondness of Kilindi and Daleen, or protective care of Savage. It wasn’t the loyalty that came with Kast and Saxxon. 

Maul’s head spun. 

He looked at the dead draigons. Some heads still steamed faintly with blaster bolts. The night had fallen, bringing with it the safety of the darkness that wrapped around Maul in a familiar cloak of safety. 

“You barely know anything about me. You don’t even know where I’m from.” 

“You don’t know where I’m from either,” Jango pointed out. He angled his body towards Maul. “I was born on Concord Dawn, in the Mandalorian sector.” 

Maul’s gaze flicked up to Jango’s. He was waiting, patiently. His brown eyes were impossibly warm. His pupils were wide in the dark. Humans couldn’t see as well as he could, but Jango didn’t look away for a minute. 

Finally, Maul swallowed. 

“... I was born on Dathomir. In the Quelli sector.” 

Maul didn’t know why it felt like he was giving up so much. It was easy information. He was clearly a Nightbrother to anyone who knew how to look for it, even if his tattoos were technically Sith in origin. If Maul focused long enough he could feel them hum faintly with the Darkside. 

Jango smiled at him. 

“Su cuy’gar, Maul of Dathomir.” 

Maul nodded at him reluctantly. 

Slowly, the arconan’s humming a song of grief, everyone made their way out of the caves. Maul stopped by one of the felled draigons and ripped three of its razor teeth out of its head. The water was already receding. The ship, already sealed up, was still where they had left it. Soon they would be off this damnedable planet, and then- 

Well. 

Maul didn’t really know what was going to happen then. 

He picked his way down the cliffside with Jango at one side and the five moons shining down upon him. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Qui Gon was glad to be rid of the planet of the draigons and the sea. 

They were only a short hyperspace jump to Bandomeer from here, barely an hour at most, and the ship was completely repaired. As much as one like the Monument ever was, in any case. There were still missing wall panels, and lights tended to flicker in the kitchens. Even with the assistance of the Mandalorian and his young charge, a child called Maul of all  things,  losses had been heavy. The arconans and the Offworld company had lost much, a good percentage of their people, and Clat’Ha had used the situation to buy the contracts of the Offworlders from the human who had taken command of them after Jemba and Grelb’s deaths. Now they were free. So some good had come of the bloody business, he supposed. 

Clat’Ha was courageous, and a pragmatist in her own way. She had Qui Gon’s respect, even if he didn’t like all the company she kept. She was the one who had invited the Mandalorian, Fett, along for the ride. There was bad blood between Jedi and Mandalorians, especially after what had happened on Galidraan. 

Qui Gon hadn’t heard the full story before he’d left, and what he had heard was certain to be gossip, but he knew his former Master and sister Padawan had been present for the incident. Qui Gon hadn’t spoken to them much after he’d renounced his own Padawans in their entirety, both Xanatos and Feemor. Perhaps it was time to change that. 

It might do good to be more aware of incidents where Senate information was faulty and Jedi were nearly massacred. 

Qui gon sighed. He needed to meditate on the matter, but he didn’t have much time right then. 

It had been a long journey, even for him, but more so for Obi Wan. 

Qui Gon knew when to admit he had been wrong. He had underestimated Obi Wan Kenobi.

Qui Gon looked outside of the ship to take a last look at the great sea that swallowed most of the planet. He needed a moment to consider all that had happened.

The surf pounded the rocks beneath them as he gazed at the planet‘s five multi-colored moons, already beginning to dim with the rising light. They had seemed smaller from the surface, but the Monument would pass by one of the blue ones on their way out of orbit. He was glad not to be able to see the cave where so much death had occurred from here. They had had to climb across so many dead to get free of the caverns. The joy of surviving had been swiftly squelched with the reminder of what they’d had to do to win their lives. The crash landing was a horrible accident, as most of the crew saw it. 

A Jedi saw it differently. 

“By chance alone we do not live our lives.” Yoda had told him, barely three short days ago in the temple he called home. He’d been upset with Qui Gon for not taking on a Padawan, even though he had refused all other options since Xanatos- Well.

“If take an apprentice you will not, then, in time, perhaps fate will choose for you. Hmm?”

At the time it had sounded more like a threat than anything else. 

Qui Gon still wasn‘t sure if fate had appointed Obi Wan as his Padawan, or if it had just thrown them together for one odd adventure.

He‘d thought it coincidence that both he and Obi Wan were going to Bandomeer. After all, Yoda had sent the boy to Bandomeer, while Qui Gon‘s orders come from the Senate. From the Supreme Chancellor himself, in fact. There was no way that Yoda and the Supreme Chancellor could have plotted this together. Right? Qui Gon didn’t think the Supreme Chancellor was even very familiar with the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. 

But here they were.

Both of them were going to Bandomeer, and Qui-Gon had an uneasy feeling about this assignment.

And there was a further matter. It was not a simple thing for one Jedi to touch the mind of another. It was an intimate thing, the kind of thing usually only done between the closest friends. 

Or between a Knight and his Padawan.

For the first time in a long while, Qui-Gon didn‘t know what to do.

“When the path is unsure, better to wait, it is,” Yoda had told him many times.

Now he would use Yoda‘s advice, even though he suspected Yoda would want him to take the opposite position. He would not ask Obi Wan to be his Padawan. He would wait and trust in the Force to guide him forwards.

And he would watch. They had separate missions on Bandomeer, but he would keep any eyes on Obi Wan. One mission was not enough to test the boy. There would be more to come. Only then would Qui Gon be able to tell how true Obi Wan was to his Jedi purpose. Bandomeer would test him, for Obi Wan was unhappy with the mission he‘d received. Would he accept his position as a famer with the grace and dignity of a true Jedi? Or was he only a dreamer of glory? 

Qui Gon smiled. He had to admit, the boy was no farmer. He was meant for different things. But whether his path would intersect with Qui Gon‘s, he still didn‘t know.

Until he did, he would not choose. The boy would have to be strong to dispel the shadow of the one who had come before. And Xanatos cast a long, deep shadow across Qui Gon’s very being.

Xanatos was not the only one casting a shadow on this voyage. 

Qui Gon’s smile vanished. 

The Mandalorian’s charge, Maul. 

He unnerved Qui Gon. 

It was not just the way he had killed without hesitation or remorse, nor the way his accuracy seemed super human. Zabraks were known to be warriors, Master Eeth Koth was proof enough of that, and he was being escorted by a Mandalorian of all creatures. If it was anyone else Qui Gon might have feared for his safety. 

Clat’Ha said that the child was something called a ‘Foundling’, and that he was safe with Mandalorians. Qui Gon was not so sure, but he got the distinct feeling that Maul was not fond of him. A shame, Qui Gon was normally quite good with younglings. 

While the matter of killing Jemba and Grelb was not one to take lightly, there was something unsettling about Maul besides that. He looked at the world with the eyes of one used to combat, and he didn’t flinch even when he’d been injured fighting the Draigons. He spoke harshly to Qui Gon in a way that he had never had a child do. Jedi children were taught better manners, and how to respect Masters.

When they’d fought at the mouths of the caves Qui Gon’s mind had touched Obi Wan’s. The boy did not fight with fear or anger in his heart. He had already accepted that he might die, and that he was only doing what must be done. 

Yet there was something more. 

Qui Gon had barely been able to feel it, so steeped was it in the swirling fear and rage of the miners, but he swore he felt the whisper of the Darkside from Maul. 

It was not unheard of for Jedi Seekers to miss Force Sensitive children. They did their best, but they were not infallible. Sometimes those children grew to use passive abilities. Untrained they might have quicker reflexes, or strong intuition, but little more than that, and that too faded with age. 

Maul couldn’t be older than ten, by Qui Gon’s estimate. He would grow out of his powers, if he did not train them. 

It was probably better that way. 

The boy had already touched the Darkside. He was angry and unafraid to kill if it seemed like the easiest move to make. He had no patience and he looked ready to stab a man if given a moment provocation. 

A worrisome being, to be sure. 

Perhaps if that were not the case Qui Gon would consider taking him back to the temple, if only so the council could decide what to do with a dangerous Force sensitive child like him. Yet, the idea of bringing him back to the Temple filled Qui Gon with uncertainty and fear. 

He let those emotions go into the Force, and sought clarity, but none came. 

Nothing was certain with Maul. It was like a thick mist floated around his future. 

While one Bandomeer, Qui Gon would try to keep an eye on Maul, and on young Obi Wan as well. 

He had a feeling the fate would give him no other choice.

With that settled Qui Gon turned away from the window just as they made their jump into hyperspace. The ship shuddered faintly and lurched but the repairs held all the same. The Monument was stubborn. 

Qui Gon walked through the labyrinth of the ship‘s corridors until he reached Obi Wan‘s cabin. He knocked on the door twice. He could sense the boy inside. 

“Come in,” Obi Wan called.

The boy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring out at the blurred stars of hyperspace. It was hypnotic, in its way. 

“I‘ll be glad to leave this place,” Obi Wan said by way of greeting. “I saw too much death here.”

His gaze fell from the window to his hands in his lap. 

“You did well,” Qui Gon said kindly. “I felt the Force move in you.”

“It was . . . astonishing,” Obi Wan said quietly. It was disheartening to realize that only a few short days ago any praise from Qui Gon would have been enough to have the boy beaming with excitement. Now he only looked mildly pleased. “I thought I understood its power. But I see that I had only glimpsed one corner of what it could do. For years, I thought myself worthy of it. But it was not until I recognized my own unworthiness that the power began to fill me.” Obi Wan turned to Qui Gon. His eyes searched his face. “Do you know what I mean?”

Qui Gon smiled. 

“You are learning. And yes, I know what you mean.”

Silence grew between them, but it was a comfortable silence. Always before, Qui Gon could almost hear the pleading Obi Wan was holding back. Now he felt only acceptance of Qui Gon‘s feelings, and his own fate.

Another victory for the boy. He was impressed.

“We should reach our destination very soon,” Qui-Gon remarked. “I fear there will be nasty business on Bandomeer.”

Obi Wan met his gaze. His once bright blue eyes were dark and troubled. Yet underneath it, Qui Gon sensed his strength.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said. “I feel it, too.”

“When we get there you should be careful,” Qui Gon warned. “Careful of your work, and careful of your friends, too.” 

The boy, Maul, could be trouble. 

Yet Qui Gon had faith that the Force would decide what to do with him. 

[border-spam]

Brother

Fun little Leech Lord Au dialogue scene snippet with Jak-Knife, owned by @godkingsanointed​

Mid COV era

“Ahh.. -fuck-" Sei snorts between her hands as she winces, cupping her nose. 

“...Oh.. It’s you."

She’d stepped out of Troy’s Sanctum ship’s mag-locked blast doors and directly into the solid flesh of his personal bodyguard, the perfect ending to her already rough night.

Jak-Knife says nothing, shifting slowly to the side politely to let her past.

"Why are you here anyway it’s.. it’s like 3am.” she groans, pinching her nose and wiggling the bridge a little. “Don’t you have, em..uhh” snapping her fingers in concentration as she groggily looks down at her feet. “Vanguard! Yeah, vanguard to do it? Thought you lead his protection”.

”…yeah, I do.“ JK replies, unsure if they should be speaking to the Mechanicum’s Saint without reason to do so, especially when she’s obviously a little drunk considering the way she’s wobbling in front of their heavily muscled frame.

They stand in silence for a moment, JK staring down through their Bandit mask’s UV lenses at the tiny woman eying them suspiciously, clearly not impressed with their answer.

"I’m awake.” they continue. “Vanguard’s not, he’s not.” they point a blunt finger at the reinforced titanium door behind her. “I watch out while he can’t. That’s what I’m for.”

She sniffs, glancing over her shoulder at the massive Skag skull looming above the entrance. “Pal... I don’t think protecting this door is necessary. I figure you could guard him just as well from inside. C'mon.” she offers, pressing her wrist against the DNA scanner by the door and watching as it reads her pulse and signature.

“.. I owe you for the necklace anyway.” The smirk she aims at them is joined by a wink, and she gestures for them to enter as the door hisses open.

JK pauses a second, flexing and relaxing a heavy paw by their hip, then steps forward and passes by her with a nod. “That was repayment” they gruff. She snorts a husky chuckle and steps through after them into the dark of Troy’s quarters, jogging past to kick the God King’s discarded boots out of their way as she guides them toward the kitchen.

“Nah, I tinkered with a broken shield. YOU. You made something for me. Big difference. Biiiig, biiiiig difference.” waggling a finger over her shoulder at them chidingly.

“Take it you’ve seen his “Holy Chambers” before?” she piqued, waving her arm grandly around the mood-lit quarters before placing her finger over her lips and pointing in the direction of the wheezing, quiet snores emanating from Troy’s silhouette in the darkness, a heap of limbs and furs splayed across the curved couch recessed into the rec area in the center of his ship.

JK’s voice drops to a cracking whisper as they pad after her, wary of waking the God King. “Yeah. Plenty of times. Bring him back here if he’s not too good, help him with projects when he needs the extra hand and won’t admit it. Been here lots.”

“No need to be quiet.” Sei calls back louder than they expected, pulling out a chair for them by the glossy black kitchen’s small table. “You’re not gonna wake him. He’s floating through another reality right now, hah” she laughs, pulling open the fridge and reaching in to grab a couple of beers.

“No idea what he took. Only had a couple and he got weird, said he needed to sleep, something about knees tryin’ to eat him or some shit.” Jk nodded knowingly, graciously taking the bottle she offered before she slid into the seat facing them, rubbing at the dusting of mascara under her eye.

“Eh, don’t usually like people seeing me this messed up, Jak-Knife” Sei sighed, slumping a little further in her seat as she popped the lid off her bottle with the shaped edge of an angular bangle around her wrist. “You don’t seem the sort to gossip though, am I right?”

JK grunted a laugh, twisting the top off their own brew with a bare hand. “No. Waste of breath. You look like you, anyway. Just less paint.” They lift their mask to take a swig from the bottle, just enough to slide it to their lips.

“Appreciate it then, keep my lack of paint between us.” Sei smirked, leaning forward to prop her cheek in her hand as she rested an elbow on the table, eying them coyly. “You’re.. you’re loyal, but you’re not a believer, are you.” She offered, narrowing her eyes a little as she gestures at their bare chest.

“The vanguard are covered in tattoos and scars, seen one with his snakes carved into their stomach, like they want to be him” she grimaces, taking another drink. “You got nothin, so your loyalty’s from somewhere else then, right? They don’t make Saints out of blind followers..”

JK nodded. “Nothin on the outside, no. Don’t need it, grip he has on me is on the inside. Stronger, ready to rip my spine out if it needs. Would happily let it for a brother.”

Seifa nods slowly, understanding. “Family.”

“Family.” they echo. “Watched one burn. Pandora’s like that. Either burn alongside them or get walking. Pick yourself up or wait for the rakks” - they point at the ceiling, Seifa watching quietly as they continue.

“Walked and kept goin, didn’t look ahead, feet know what they’re doin by now. Sand can call you in this place. Walked into the COV. Walked to him ”- they nod towards the shadows to their right, and the recessed couch, the soft breathing trailing from it.

“It felt like family again, or the seeds of it. Same blood and bruises, he just keeps his hidden under steel. I don’t need steel. I can be the strong one so he doesn’t have to pretend.”

She’s nodding, looking at her hands as she tilts the bottle thoughtfully, JK appreciates that she’s clearly listening and not interrupting them.

“You though..” they lift the bottle towards her. “I don’t get you. Nothing against you lady, but there’s something off. This place, this planet, this isn’t your bones, is it. Why are you here?”

She breathes out a sigh, leaning back and resting her head on the edge of the chair, flittering her eyes between the dim spotlights in the kitchen area’s ceiling. “Same reason. Exact same reason.”

“I figure we might have a bit more in common than I would have thought the first time I saw you prowling behind him. You’d think I’d know by now to stop assuming based on appearances, huh. God..” She shifts forward again, tired eyes peering into the lenses of their mask, searching for the glint of their own.

“I’m just a bit shook up…” her voice cracks as she mutters. “He said some stupid shit tonight, bout how everyone leaves him and he knows it’s..” she sighs, letting her head drop to face the table with a weak shrug.

“Stupid as in.. it got to me. He ever say anything to you that’s just.. you know it’s off? I sometimes think it’s me..”

JK waited patiently, wanting to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder but not quite knowing if that would overstep their tentative friendship as it formed.

“…that I’m going crazy and feeling things that aren’t real, overreacting…” she pauses, swiping her auburn hair back from her forehead, thumbing at her temple as she lets her eyes stare unfocused at the wall behind their shoulder.

JK grunts thoughtfully, then shakes their head a little, their mask tilting downwards as they rumble out a huff of air. “He’s… talking a lot more recently, yeah, bout things no one asked.” 

They empty the bottle in a deep dreg, and lower it carefully to the table in front of them, spinning it slowly on its edge. “Like he’s replyin’ to a question that was never said, and he’s pissed about it. Gets snappy at nothin’. Gets angry at nothin’. I don’t say things, I just listen. He likes when you just listen, I think you know that too.”

She nods, watery eyes looking up at them through her thick eyelashes.

“It’s just, the thing’s he’s saying now, this last year?” JK glances to their side again, towards where Troy sleeps.

They turn back to Seifa and reach out then, touching a finger against her forearm as it rests against the table, happy to see she doesn’t flinch away even though she’s hurt too. Proud that though she’s struggling to hold back tears that swell along her lash-line, she’s still listening to them. Really listening, like what JK thinks matters.

“It’s the same kind of things axe-hands I knew in the clan would start to say before they’d go wrong. Harsh things to themselves, about themselves, about how others were seeing ‘em. I don’t like that kind of talk much either, I’ve seen where it goes. People start doing that and they aren’t themselves for much longer. Become the same thing they were worryin’ everyone already saw them as.”

They turn the bottle to its side, idly twirling it with their index finger, only the hollow grind of the glass on the table filling the silence. 

“I’ve seen him goin’ the same way. Same way they did, and I don’t know how to stop it, I’m not good with..” they gesture at the bone white mask still marked with that crumbling splash of old rust-red blood, pausing to collect their thoughts. “..Not good with talking the way it would help. Saw him hurt acolytes the last few months. He used to just grab, threaten...”.

Their leg bounces beneath the table, nerves firing haphazardly as they swallow down the frustration lodged between their teeth. “Now he grinds. Cracks their bones in that metal fist. Not enjoyin’ it, not laughin’, but doin’ it anyway. He smells like bitter antiseptic sometimes, and I think he’s takin’ things out on himself where he figures we won’t know, under the steel.”

“I don’t think he is well. Inside him. None of us are here, lady. We’re all broken a little, but we learn how to live with it. It’s that or die. He doesn’t know how to do it. We gotta...”

“... we gotta watch out for our brother”.

Asks are Open!

[shackleschains]

What happened? - Chapter Five (1,382 words)

+++++++++++++++++++

It had been two days since Charles and Paris' last meal together. Since then, they had spent plenty of time in each other's company. Charles and Teddy invited her to watch a movie with them, Charles invited her on his morning walks, and the four of them (even J.J.), had a game night. Charles was having so much fun that he forgot Kiara was coming home today.

××××××××××××

Charles had his long hair in a ponytail, his white buttoned down shirt had its sleeves rolled up to reveal his massive arms (and busy tattoos), and his green-ish pants looked lovely compared with the rest of his outfit. In Asalia, the weather wasn't humid but it never snowed. The weather always stayed just below a hundred. The breeze was never strong and the tides were never angry. It truly was the perfect place (especially with its beautiful waterfalls).

He and Paris were on a walk through the kingdom, listening to the birds, talking about shapes in the clouds, not a care in the world. Suddenly a bunch of children ran past them. Cute little girls in pretty dresses and dance shoes with little boys in their best clothes. Charles gave Paris a dashing smile and she instantly nodded in agreement.

They ran after the children. Soon enough, a soft flute could be heard. It didn't take Charles long to realize that it was his sister playing in the town square. She was sitting Indian style, the squirls and birds surrounding her. Soon followed by young children. The children began to dance playfully to the music.

Charles shrugged to Paris and held his hand out for her to take. She did and blushed gracefully as his hand touched hers. They both knew she wasn't as good at this kind of stuff as he was, but it was all in the name of fun. She wrapped her arms around him as they danced in a circle along with the children. It was quite fun. Soon enough, almost the entire town was there. Some were dancing, some were clapping and cheering on, some were painting the events around them or writing what they saw. Either way, the entire town was celebrating the beautiful day.

Theodora, like her older brother, is quite good at playing instruments. Her specialty was brass and wind. The first she ever played was a saxophone when she was four years old. This was around the age Charles was when their parents started teaching him the piano (the guitar wasn't until a year later).

Teddy would spend most of her free time in the town square playing for the people. Mainly the children. It was a different instrument and different song each day. Every time she did, the people would gather round and have fun.

After half of half an hour of dancing, Charles and Paris excused themselves from the dancing crowd to continue their walk. It would be so much more interesting with the people out as well. As they walked they saw several interesting people. The first they spotted were little girls braiding flowers together to make jewelry. As they walked past, the tallest of the group handed a daisy crown to Charles. He thanked her kindly before slipping her a twenty. She was so shocked she didn't know what to do. He was always very generous with his money. He was raised not to overprice materialistic items.

Charles placed the crown on Paris' head before they continued walking. Next, they saw little boys playing soccer on the rolling hills that lined the forest side. As Charles and Paris passed, one of the little boys kicked the ball to Charles. Charles happily played along. He passed the ball to the next kid after pulling off a trick so bad ass, I couldn't describe it. Paris loved watching how he was with kids. He was so gentle and compassionate. Why did she have to feel like this?

When they got back to the palace, Kiara was waiting for her fiance with open arms. He had barely entered the grand hall before her arms were around him. Her faded white and orange two piece stood out against her deep black skin and fiery red hair. The tube top and lacey skirt look as always. As she removed herself from around him, she thought nothing at all of their arrival together.

"Oh, Charles darling, we have so much to plan for! Only one full month away from our wedding! Darling aren’t you excited?!" She spoke quickly with her overbearing happiness. She spoke so fast that you could barely realize that English was her second language. He couldn't help but smile at how cute she was when she did that.

Paris felt tears pricked her eyes as she saw how he was looking at Kiara. She knew then that she was right about him needing her. Paris wiped away her tears before anyone noticed she had moved at all.

Charles hesitated before moving his arms around her waist. She hugged him back and snuggled her head into his chest as he rested his head on hers. Paris left quietly and quickly after that.

××××××××××××××××××××

That night, Charles was sitting on his windowsill, watching the stars. It was a circular window with no class. He had one leg draped over the edge and one to keep him from falling. Kiara was in the connected bathroom changing into her night attire.

Kiara walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She didn't know what was wrong with him. He was usually so happy and energetic. He placed his hand on top of hers and turned around to face her. She looked stunning. Her dreadlock-like hair was braided, his white t-shirt hung from her shoulders, and a pair of black shorts were barely visible beneath the too big shirt.

He placed his hand on her cheek before running it up to her eyebrow. Kiara was a descendant of ancient martians. This is why her eyebrows ran into her hairline. Charles loved rubbing her eyebrows before gently kissing her nose. Her hair was thick because of her genetic origins. All the dust and dirt on mars made her ancestors have very thick dreadlocks.

Over the years, some of the marshon had been bred out of her family, but not much. She still had the exotic curve to the legs that only martians had, hers was just harder to notice. Her eyebrows still connected with her hairline, but her hair was cleaner and easier to manage. Though her skin was dark brown from the African heat, that was one of the only non marshan things about her, except her skull shape of course.

She smiled at him and kissed him back.

"I'm glad I met you." She said with a smile.

Charles gave her a kiss on the lips. She giggled before dragging him by his large arms over to the bed. After they got situated (her snuggled into his chest as he held her), he began to read to her. It was her favorite book.