#you are the maker of your own cage

[ilargeicontradictmiself]

The buddie girlies going blind when a hint at new female shortlived love interests for buck and eddie drops for the millionth time

[mune-writes]

Hear me out

Jason todd seeing you wearing nothing but one of his shirts, just barely large enough to cover your ass

I can't write, but I need closure to this little idea that has been floating in my brain, also heard you wanted asks so...

oh my god oh my god oh my god………(i love the way u think)

18+ Content, Minors DNI

warnings: dom! jason, teasing jason (are we rlly surprised), sub!fem!reader, slight belly bulge if u squint, size difference mentioned. (please inform me if i need to add more, thank you!)

the morning after

sunlight filters gently through the window of your apartment’s kitchen, bathing everything it touched in a golden glow, your eyes catching in the light, the rays dripping off your form like warm honey. you hum a soft, dulcet melody as you lean your hip against the edge of the kitchen counter, the whirring sound of the coffee maker the only thing that disturbs the peaceful atmosphere.

just as you stand on your tiptoes to reach for the mugs in one of the taller cabinets, the material of your boyfriend’s shirt riding up your backside, you feel Jason’s hand on your hip, pulling you away as he takes it upon himself to grab them, his sheer size practically dwarfing you as he leans over, a smirk on his lips.

“Let me get that for you, doll.” he drawls as you turn around, his hands now placed on either side of you, resting against the counter, caging you in, and you can’t help the way your thighs clench as you look up at him, mind racing with thoughts of how he had you in a similar position just last night, relentlessly pounding into your throbbing cunt.

Jason couldn’t stop looking at you, how could he? the fluid movements you make as you walk around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for today’s breakfast, the way your hair swayed with each movement. you were so sweet, he thinks to himself, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he continues to watch you, only for his softened gaze to intensify with a passionate fire as he catches sight of the lacy pair of red panties barely covering your ass—then he remembers how sweet you truly were, the soft whines that would slip past your lips, the low and breathy moans as your chest heaved up and down while he sucked and lapped up your sopping cunt.

could you really blame him when you had such a perfect body? mewling and writhing against him, reacting to his touches so perfectly, his good, sweet girl, taking him so well? and good god, the way that shirt draped over you, only reaching a little past your hips, rising just by a fraction to show off the round, soft flesh of your ass that once bore his marks, pink hand prints from his rough, calloused grip, and hickeys from when he ate you out from behind—just you wearing that shirt, seeing it ride up to show off the marks he’d left last night, it was your fault for teasing him, for wearing his shirt. why would you ever want to hide that body of yours from him anyway when he could worship you so well?

so really, you should’ve known better. now you were bent over the kitchen counter you once were making coffee on, back arched like a cat’s as you felt him draw a line over your weeping slit, your cunt pulsating with a heat only he could draw out from you.

“Please, Jay,” you whine, bucking your ass against him, hoping for some sort of relief as you rub your slicked pussy against his own angry tip, leaking with pre-cum. “Need you—need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, leaning over you, his hand pressed up against your throat to press your back to his broad chest. “Y’need me that bad, princess? Need me to stretch out that tight pussy, have you make a mess all over my cock?”

there’s a teasing edge to his words as he swipes at your hole, already dripping with your slickness, pushing his tip in just to give you a little taste of the stretch—as if his words weren’t enough to make you whine and beg—but pulling out just as quickly, the cocky bastard. he loved seeing you like this, so desperate for him.

“Please, Jason—“ your voice comes out strained from desperation as you attempt to wiggle your ass closer to him, your cunt nearer to his hard, thick cock, only to let out a frustrated mewl as Jason holds your hips steady in place. “Need you—need your cock, wanna have you fuck me full, fill me up with your cum, please.”

“‘S that so?” Jason grins, wolfish and wicked as he continues to tease you, running his fat tip along the length of your cunt, purposefully bumping your clit with each stroke. “Such a filthy mouth on you, doll. Makes me wanna stuff my cock in it, see how dirty it can really get.” he chuckles, licking his canines in lustful amusement as he feels your opening clench around his tip at his words.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Y’like being all dirty f’me, don’t ya, doll?” his voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble as her murmurs in your ear.

“Mhmm..” you nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, thighs already trembling in anticipation. “Jus’ wanna be good f’you, Jay.”

“That’s right,” he croons, chest welling up with pride at your submission, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he sees the look of adoration in your eyes swirled with desire for him. he lays kisses down your shoulder blades, landing a tender open-mouthed kiss against your nape—a reminder that even through the fiery hot intensity of the passion between the two of you, at the root of it all was a deep and profound love. “So good f’me, so perfect…’gonna take such good care of you, doll.” he murmurs, lining up his tip against your slit, pushing his aching cock into your drenched pussy. the tease that he is, he makes sure to draw out the moment, dragging his thick shaft against the walls of your cunt, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

the sight of your cunt stretching out around his girth makes a low groan of pleasure slip from his lips as he sheathes himself fully into you. you drag your nails feebly against the marbled countertop, a muffled whine coming out of your mouth as you feel his fat cock fill you up—god, you could never get used to the sting, how good it felt knowing that he was the only one who could ever fill you up this good. your eyes roll to the back of your skull in pleasure as his hand comes to press against your womb, making sure you felt the small bump against the pit of your stomach all due to his massive cock.

“Feel that, doll? Pussy’s all full of me—fuck, s’fucking tight—like it was made f’me, hm?” he lets out a breath, hot and heavy against the back of your neck, a low hiss emanating from his lips; he could never stop the way his cock twitched as he felt your cunt flutter around him, the warmth of your sweet pussy against his throbbing cock made his head murky with lust.

“Pussy’s all yours, Jay—h-hah, s’all for you!” you moan, feeling each vein and the curve of his cock against your spongy walls, his tip prodding and brushing against that spot that always made you see stars.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, his hand still around your throat, the other one holding your hip in place as he pulls his hips back before slamming his cock inside of you, beginning his quick pace. he’d been holding back before, but the way your cunt clenched around him makes any and all self-control slip from his being as he begins to fuck into you.

“Be a good girl and take my cock, yeah?” Jason whispers in your ear, his voice thick with lust as the lewd sounds of your sloppy cunt come into contact with his cock, his pelvis slamming against the meat of your ass.

it was going to be a while before the two of you have breakfast—all because of that damned shirt and Jason’s undeniable hunger for you. fuck breakfast, he had you, and that’s all he ever needed.

[diejager]

New Ownership

Pairing: Dark!Krueger + König x doll!reader

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, possessive behaviour, magic?, death, heartbreak, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.2k

You used to watch people awe at you, expressing their shock, incredulous and pleasing, under the protection of your owner —your creator. You were an object of emotion; of melancholy. You were a life size doll made of porcelain and wax, of hohair and glass eyes, painted in the richest pigments and dressed in the finest fabrics, you were the epitome of treasure in your time. A doll made with utmost care and tenderness to heal a wounded heart. 

Your creator was a doll maker, building every doll with a special kind of affection, be it for his collection or for a client, he always loved his dolls. He made as much as he gave, the single joy of his life was the present his late-wife gave him, a daughter to call his own, someone soft and living unlike the cold bisque of his creations. You were a present for her coming-of-age, a mimicry of her person, made with love for the adoration he had for his daughter, and sadness for seeing her grow up and leave, to start a new life without him. Every stroke was perfection and every detail was imperfection, you were perfectly imperfect, a mirror to a human.

You were made as an object to remember him by once she left to live with her fiance, painted in the last moments before he saw her off. He dressed you up in a pretty dress, a voluptuous crimson for the passion and a deep black for the end of he past and the start of a new beginning. He made you into what he saw his sweet, precious daughter as, a dream that he was ecstatic to gift, but she was in an accident the week before her celebration. She died of it, passing in writhing pain and tearful agony. It broke the man who lived to care. Your tender creator who lived to love and give.

He drowned in the throes of sorrow and agony, paraliysed by his own fears and torn apart by his nightmares, and left the house you once loved to rot and waste away just as he was. Sobbing nights and depressing mornings, you were unable to do anything but watch as he spent his days rotting, his skin sinking, his hair outgrow and his complexity pale unhealthily, yet he still cared for you. Your creator —your father cleaned you, dressed you and incased you in a thin layer of wax and gel to protect you from the changing times. 

You gave him solace, something to live for after he closed his quaint shop and became a hermit, crazed and lonely, having nothing but you to talk to and spend his shortening time with. You wished you could tell him how much you cared, how much you shared his sorrows or how saddened you were to see him like this. And like his daughter, your father passed away, heartbroken and lonely, leaving you to watch over his cooling body dissolving in his bed. All the wasted years, spent seated in your chair, unmoving and unliving, never being able to reach out to him to show him how much you loved him. Life, however, ran its course, uncaring of any kind of self-sought fury or self-given agony, you were just a doll given conscience and memory. 

You were picked up by a relative, estranged and distant from yours. He was German, or Austrian from the rough tone he used, a deep growl as he appraised you, rough fingers caressing your face like he was admiring you. He was, this wasn’t admiration in his eyes, you knew it, that sick and twisted gleam in his brown eyes, it was obsession. It was a perverted kind of adoration, it made you fear what he would do to you.

And these fears, these demons that clung to your peripheral, weren’t unfounded, weren’t an illusion your conscience made up to fill the void in your empty core. You were carefully stuffed in a box, stored safely during the long move from your small town in Germany to a place in Austria, locked away in a loud and dark place and only brought out to be placed in another cage of gold. 

He laid you in a pentagram of sorts, a crooked thing painted in a dark red and terrifying runes that promised nothing but evil. He enacted this… ritual that would affect you in some way, his low chants and hisses while he stared you down with hungry eyes once he stripped you of all clothes, lathering your porcelain with markings. He scared you more, knowing that he had this planned out, and that he wasn’t alone. 

There was a shadow of a giant behind him, a man heads taller than most with cold eyes peeking through a fabric to gaze at you. He had broad shoulders and thick arms, seemingly swallowing the corner he stood from. He took up a lot of your attention, ripped between the chanting man and him from your chair, placed perfectly at the center of this ritualistic circle. You were a show to the giant and a project to your new owner, a spectacle to watch unravel and writhe in pain.

It hurt. Why did this hurt? Your skin tingled, an annoyance that grew to a boiling agony, this sacrilegious magic reworking your imperfect body to fit one of his whims. You shook in your chair, the red sinking into your skin, lining the inside of your precious porcelain with runes as your fingers and toes flexed, limbs jerking from the information overload on your new nerves, synapses snapping into place and building a circuit of sensitive system. You could blink and you could cry, tears springing from your fluttering lashes, lips trembling before you screamed, a shrill cry that wailed out of your lungs. 

Your chest burned, it felt heavy with an erratic pulse, beat after beat slamming into your calcified ribs, warm fat and strained muscles. You felt like you were drowning, your throat clogged with something sick and dying after you shriek, acidic to your tongue. It stole the air from your lungs and you had to fill it back, the nagging urge to do so. Your chest expanded with your first breath, it hurt - it burned, but you didn’t drown - but it seamed the first seed of life within you. 

You slumped forward, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the last words he uttered passed through your mind, a searing memory forever imprinted in your conscience. You fell into warm arms, a soothing warmth unlike the boiling pit of magma that raged over you, embracing you with a quiet coo from the man who brought you to life. He hoisted you up, wrapping an arm under your knees and another firmly pressing your naked chest to his. Yours limbs were strangers to you, new and uncanny that you couldn’t move or control just yet. You limply laying your head in the crook of his neck, burying your nose in a green veil smelling strongly of musk and metal, your legs too weak and arms too tense like a newly born fawn.

“Besorg mir etwas, um sie zu bedecken, König”

“Ja, bin gleich wiener da..”

“Welcome to the living, Rehkitz.”

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[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | minor character death, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo finds out the consequences of his actions and finds one of his friends dead

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 third chapter is here!! Do remember to give feedback, thank you!!

beta read:: @nowitsmissing <33

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

According to Coryo, Dean Highbottom deserves to be punched. Coriolanus truly wishes he could punch that man's face and break his teeth in the process.

As soon as he entered the classroom, with you in tow. Highbottom doesn't waste a second to praise your insight into welcoming the tributes at the zoo and how you acted in front of the cameras. Creating the very spectacle they had been aiming for. Snow was fuming because he was sure it was because of his songbird, not his soulmate that the views had gotten up.

But, he doesn't think Mr. High As A Kite cares. Coriolanus almost thought he wouldn't even get any attention, neither positive nor negative. He was willing to accept that outcome considering the fact he perhaps broke several rules being inside the cage along with the tributes.

He was wrong.

‘Three demerits and you will be expelled.’

And he officially has his first demerit, on his perfect darn record. He opens his mouth to speak against it-

“Snow falls down on the cage.

It falls down on the cage

But it landed…” Dr. Gauls’ voice echoes around the classroom as she walks down the stairs to Coriolanus level.

“On stage,” he replied, his face nonchalant but his hands fisted on his lap, hidden from view. He had an urge to kick at the table, his mind reeling over what if Dean Highbottom removed him from the games. Would that mean he will be disqualified from the Plinth Prize?

He can't have that. He can't.

Before his mind spirals into a panic attack, dr. Gaul steals his attention with her words.

“You're good at Games,” she said, “Perhaps one day you'll be a game maker like me.” Coriolanus Snow couldn't possibly think of a future in which he's a gamemaker, he never thought of it as a real career. Nothing of his interests nor challenging enough for him. Of course, he doesn't say his thoughts out loud.

He doesn't reply at all, he doesn't have to because Dr. Gaul asks him a question. What are the Hunger Games for? There's no true answer to that. Something so cruel, something so horrible. There's no way to justify that with the truth. Lies perhaps, lies he was taught in the textbooks.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, only to be replied with “Dull, dull, dull,” by Dr. Gaul.

“Why the games?” She asked again. And Coriolanus had no answer. Because there were plenty of ways to punish the districts. Starvation. Bombing. Public execution.

Why the games?

Coriolanus Snow had no answer and Sejanus Plinth took over instead. As usual, he spewed about the wrongness of the games. The words that will go one ear in and another ear out. Dean Highbottom butts in the discussion as well, talking about how the game had run its course.

Coriolanus can't have that, he can't even fathom the thought of the games gone and in return losing his chance of winning. Coriolanus stands up, gaining the attention of his peers and authoritative figures alike with a daring but simple sentence.

“Dean Highbottom is wrong. My classmates too,” he said, his voice filled with the confidence he didn't feel.

His fingers twitch, feeling the urge to touch the burned soulmate mark on his wrist as a way to calm his soul down. He did no such thing, burying the urge deep in his mind as he began to explain his reasoning.

“People need someone to root for and to root against. . .” He continues, “And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even get people to place bets.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had begun to sweat as he waited for a reply. After a bit, dr. Volumnia Gaul grinned. Her smile made his bones chill.

“Very well, Coriolanus Snow,” she said, her tone calm yet underneath laid excitement. “I’d like you to write a proposal of these thoughts, Mr. Snow.”

Before Coriolanus could agree to the opportunity, you jump in. You stand up, beside Coryo. Your soft voice rang in his ear and he subconsciously closed his eyes to savor your voice no matter what it said. For a moment he didn't even seem to hear what you were saying, he quickly opened his eyes, looking down on the wooden floor instead. His pale cheeks burning, praying that no one saw that.

He finally hears what you say.

“Let's not limit the Games to the Capitol. Let's unite the whole of Panem with it,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. “I am sure Dr. Gaul if you give me the chance to write a proposal too, you won't be less than impressed.”

“Very well, miss,” she said, cordially, “I will be looking forward to seeing what the star mentors have to say.”

“Do not disappoint,” Dr. Volumnia Gaul grins before taking herself out of the classroom.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

After a quick lunch (not, he decided to sneak food for Lucy Gray) and a plan to meet up with you in the library at night. He sets out in the Zoo with Sejanus Plinth on his toe. The rich boy carrying a whole bag of food, something Coriolanus could only dream of. While Coriolanus had some sloppy sandwich and cold cookies wrapped in a napkin.

Shamed filled his veins about the fact that in his current abilities, he could bring stolen food for his tribute. He takes solace in the fact Sejanus’ tribute refused the bacon sandwich offered to him. A satisfaction in his mind to see Sejanus being rejected by his tribute while Lucy Gray was cooperative as before.

She takes the food, giving some of it to the district twelve boy. Coriolanus frowned as he saw her share the food he bought her. He leaned into the cage to whisper, “Are you going to share everything I give you?”

Lucy Gray replied, not skipping a beat, “You think I ought to build up my strength so I can strangle him in the arena?”

Coriolanus wishes to snap at her and say yes but he knew he had to show kindness to the songbird for her to do his bidding. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, as Lucy Gray's eyes divert to his classmate, Arachne, his classmate who was busy amusing herself with her district ten tribute.

“Hunger is a weapon in the districts,” Lucy Gray comments, “Seems like your friend here knows it.”

Coryo barely suppressed a snort as he replied, “She's not a friend. She's poison with perfect teeth.” He smiles along with Lucy Gray. He leans down to Lucy Gray's level, his fingers gripping the bars between them. He whispered, “I may have the chance to help you. Make suggestions. I might even get the chance to send you gifts in the arena. Food and water.”

Lucy Gray replied, her voice hardening with the fact that she knew there was a catch, “What's the catch?”

“You might need to sing.”

“I don't sing when I am told. I sing when I have something to say.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows as he hears her response. She would rather die in the arena than create a spectacle of herself. Stupid in his opinion, to value the integrity of art over their life. He opens his mouth to convince her otherwise but then an incident happens that leaves him shaken to his core.

The district ten girl, the tribute Arachne was playing with snatched the water bottle from his peer, smashes it against the cage… and in a blink of an eye, Arachne had her throat slit.

Horror fills Coriolanus as he rushes to her side. His hands over her wound, putting pressure to stop the flow of never-ending crimson blood. He sees her eyes losing life, he almost didn't hear the gunshots killing the tribute who caused this. He cried out for help, only to be ignored. He was grabbed by the shoulder by a peacekeeper. He was dragged away, as Arachne Crane bled out in front of him.

She was dead.

The people from the district were truly animals is his last thought, as he blinks away the tears and shock and goes to his home.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

In the comfort of his ruined home, he had taken a shower and had dinner with his family. He listens to the warnings his grandma’am spewed and hears Tigris voice her opinion against it. He doesn't say a word in between, his fingers tracing the scar over and over again, it was the action that managed to keep him sane for the moment.

After the dinner, he begins to change his outfit. He wears a black shirt, something from his father's closet, and too-tight grey pants. He looks at his hands and imagines Arachne on them. He takes a sharp breath and watches the red fade away from his mind. He tugs at his shirt sleeve and the burned tissue comes into view.

He does so hoping that you're waiting for him in the library. Lucy Gray was a disappointment, Sejanus too. Arachne death is a disappointment too. You were the only one he could rely on not to do the same.

He pressed his lips to the scar and for a mere flash of the moment imagines kissing you instead. For a moment, he forgets you're District, for a moment you're just his and he indulges himself in the fantasy of having your soft lips against his.

Tigris breaks him from his daydream by asking, “Are you sure that she will be waiting, Coryo?”

He looks back at Tigris, his lips pulled in a smirk, his thoughts free of mourning. He covers the scar and replies,

“She was never one to disappoint.”

Next Chapter

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[aayakashii]

Hi! I know it's too soon to ask you for another HC from TD yandere but can you do more? I really love your work, love to see Romeo's yandere side or Jin's

THANK YOU FOR LIKING WHAT I WRITE!!!! ଘ(〃 ´)(´｡•ᴗ•`) and yes ofc!!! I will first do Romeo and then my next one will be Jin (I MEANT JIN), promise ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

gilded

Pairing: Romeo Lucci x MC

Warnings: yandere content (pls do not interact if it makes you uncomfortable!), obsessive behavior, kidnapping, implied drink spiking, very delusional and toxic male character

P.s.: go to this post by @/danieyells to see the way he looks when he's a delulu yandere

Romeo let out a shaky breath through his perfectly smooth lips. His porcelain cheeks were tinted rose, and heat wafted out of his body, as if he was succumbing to a deathly fever.

He might as well have been.

His knuckles paled as he tightly grabbed the golden bars of the most intricate cage of his secret room.

Tiny little droplets of sweat ran through his forehead and his back, and in any normal situation, he would be disgusted at the thought of him, of all people, sweating like some gross peasant.

But not right now.

Not when you were laying down, oh so defenseless, inside his cage.

Romeo licked his lips, eating up the visage of your body, cladded only in your underwear. His perfect little rare bird, all splayed out, inside their new home – their birdcage.

It was so easy, really. Romeo didn't even plan what happened. Everything just fell in place and then on his lap, like it was always supposed to happen. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe destiny did exist and you were always meant to be his.

The details didn't matter.

You knocked softly onto his door, peeking inside his room like a scared little animal checking if the coast is clear of predators.

Something about paperwork you needed him to sign, yet again.

The vein in his forehead pulsed and he felt the wrinkles form between his brows. That was what you always did. You always had something for him to do. Always someone ordering you to talk to him. Always an external reason for you to speak to him.

It pissed him off.

Why couldn't you talk to him of your own volition? Did you hate him? Why couldn't you visit him for just a simple drink at least once in your life? He KNEW you always visited that stuck-up captain from Frostheim for no reason at all, so why couldn't you share your time with him as well?

He tapped his fingers on his table, impatiently, as you awkwardly shifted from one leg to the other, waiting for something.

“Well?” he said, voice booming inside his office.

“Can I give you the documents?” you asked, eyes shifting towards every direction, except for him.

“Isn't this what you came here for? Just give them to me.” he rolled his eyes, exasperation sounding clear in the sigh he let out.

You waddled closer, clearly uncomfortable with him and it pierced his poor bleeding heart to see you so eager to run away as quickly as possible.

“At least this time you're giving me these papers in private. Learned your lesson, huh?” he remarked while he grabbed the papers from your hands, fingers so, so close to brushing your own.

“Yeah, you said I shouldn't give you classified stuff in public, so…” you trailed off and put your hands behind your back.

Romeo hummed, staring at the fine print, but not really reading it, as he racked his brain in order to find a way to make you stay with him, even if just a little longer.

“... Why don't you sit?” he murmured.

The offer sounded weird coming from someone like him, who seemed completely foolproof against politeness. So you wondered if you heard correctly.

“What?”

“Sit” he ordered, “You're distracting me.”

Yes. That was more like it.

You sat straight and uncomfortable in front of his desk and he got up, sighing heavily again.

Romeo walked towards the little bar in the corner of his room, and turned on his coffee maker.

The silence in the room was only broken by the humming sound of the machine, and he knew you were finding this whole situation awkward, just like he was.

He clicked his tongue inside his head. Well, if you gave him the time of the day, then he would know more about you and, in turn, know how to talk to you! It's not like his Eyes In The Sky picked up sound! Yes, he watched you closely whenever you were in Sinostra, but that was all he could do! He wasn't able to read lips!

“Um… can I leave?” you asked, meekly.

“No” he replied fast, then added “I haven't even signed your papers anyway.”

“Okay…”

You really wanted to leave. God. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Was it that hard to be with him? He did nothing wrong to you! Why did you want to avoid him so much? How could he stop you from trying to avoid him for once? He just wanted to know you better! To know everything about you. To know you better than anyone else.

His cheeks reddened and his brow creased as he felt the anger boil inside his chest, but, for once, Romeo did not allow it to overflow.

He breathed deeply and rested a hand on his front pocket, feeling the shape of the small vial he had one of his lackeys pick up from Mortkranken earlier that day.

Fine.

You didn't want to spend time with him like he wanted you to? That's okay. You didn't want to give him all the attention he truly deserved? That's totally, totally okay.

Because it's not like he needed your permission to get what he wanted from you anyway.

Romeo bit his lips, once again recalling the way you drank the “special coffee” he had made just for you, his mind flashing the image of your tongue darting out of your mouth to lick every last drop of the very thing that would be your downfall.

Oh, so naive, so defenseless. So his.

His hands let go of the golden cage's bars and went straight to your discarded clothes on the floor.

He only took them off of you so you'd have an easier time wearing the designer clothes he was already planning on buying, but that didn't stop him from bringing your shirt to his face and inhaling your intoxicating scent.

Romeo's eyes rolled back as he felt goosebumps spread throughout his body, overwhelming himself with you.

He was so, so excited for you to wake up, so he could finally enter the cage and put his soft, manicured hands on you; to have them wander on the curves of your body and feel the texture of your skin against his… But it's okay, he could wait until your pretty eyes opened. He would never touch you while you were unconscious, obviously – he was not a brute man at all!

He already had all the time in the world, since he had you exactly where he wanted you. Right there, inside his most expensive and secure possession.

After all, his most precious bird deserved only the prettiest cage.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Dystopian Konig verse anyone??? With oviposition also?? MDNI

I had the wildest fucking dream about Hunger Games style verse where all of my college mates were forced to fight against each other in different tests that were more resembling that of a squid game. But everything was run by the Evil GovernmentTM and I was somehow also a part of these games. Everyone had their own punishments that would come after they'd lose, and my punishment was to...marry Konig?? Who was a very respected member of society and made the EvilGovernmentTM make this my punishment. Everyone was praising that amazing love story and every time sponsors of the games would send us stuff to compete, Konig would send me dresses and useless cute stuff. SO The dystopian monster-ruled verse where people are reserved to places of sex slaves and hybrid makers. Some of them are given the privilege of competing to make their place in society a bit more bearable - and the ones who are less lucky, get thrown to either harems or monogamy marriages of the wealthy and powerful monster hybrids. Konig is an anomaly because he never had a harem, despite being an eldritch monster/tentacle hybrid with an intense need to breed and deposit his eggs in a warm, tight host. He wasn't interested in anyone...until he met you, a precious being with the perfect fucking tummy to hold his eggs, and a nice body to hold in place while he is keeping you spiled and pampered in the bedroom, not even allowing you as much as lifting a finger. Just...being his precious incubator, taking him nice and slow in every of your holes, whine and cry under him because he softly non-cons you into submitting and you don't want this...but he also protects you from other monsters, you don't have to survive on your own, and he makes sure to keep your cage as golden as possible. Just lay here and take his eggs like a good girl, your dear colonel will take care of everything else!!

[kirain]

I honestly don’t know who to scream about this to so I’m here in your DM’s as an anon~ but how do you think Emmrich would react if he saw how mages are treated in the south? Harding and Emmrich go on a little camping trip to the south at some point, so it got me wondering! Especially how necromancy is viewed down there!

Hello!

In game, Emmrich does seem painfully aware of how differently he's viewed. When you speak to him for the first time in his study, he mentions wanting to "make a good impression", saying he noticed how some of the companions side-eyed Manfred or whispered about his skulls. He knows Nevarran culture is considered "weird" outside the kingdom, and he's considerate enough that he takes steps to ensure he doesn't make anyone feel uncomfortable.

I do think all Nevarrans are aware of this as well, as they tend to keep to themselves. Don't forget, they broke off from Tevinter and fought to implement their own laws and practices. For example (and I do wish Veilguard had explored this more), Tevinter basically runs on slavery, but Nevarra banned and is vehemently against slavery. They're also one of the most devout kingdoms in Thedas, hence the necromancy. In my opinion, it would've been nice if the devs had Emmrich go into detail about why Nevarrans place so much importance on the dead—and for anyone who doesn't know, it's because they believe you need to be "whole" in order to join the Maker beyond the Veil and avoid being possessed by a demon.

Cassandra goes into some detail in DAI, but as a Nevarran estranged from her own culture, her views on necromancy (and mages in general) are pretty negative. She was raised by her uncle, who was a member of the Mortalitasi, after her parents were executed, but she grew to resent him because he spent more time with the dead than with her and her brother. In addition, he kept them locked up in the Grand Necropolis, which she called a "smelly gilded cage". She admits to both Varric and Dorian that she thinks necromancy is bizarre, so she's a pretty unreliable narrator, but she also confirms that Nevarrans know how they're regarded by the rest of the world.

As for how mages are treated in the South, Emmrich seems aware of that, too. There's some party banter where he speaks to Neve about mage independence and their influence on politics, and he simply says "politicing does happen" but he's not interested in it, even in knowing that mages don't have that kind of power elsewhere. Plus, at the end of Dragon Age II, all mages throughout Thedas became apostates—and Veilguard takes place about twelve years later—so even if he came across any mage-haters while travelling with Harding, they wouldn't be able to do anything to him. He'd probably talk them down or break all their bones if they tried. 😏

Overall, I think he'd react with sass or sophistication if someone truly pressed him about his necromancy, which does happen a few times in game. He's a kind person by nature, but if he saw any actual injustices, I don't think he'd take it lying down. That said, he seems happy in his own little world, having hardly ever left Nevarra or the Grand Necropolis, though he is eager to expand his knowledge. At one point, he does say he's envious of Rook for being so worldly and experienced, but he also ends up feeling extremely homesick and wanting to go back; which makes sense since he credits the Mourn Watch for saving him and the Necropolis seems to be his safe space. He's just a peppy older man living his best life with his peppy little skeletons.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Dirty Alphabet - Eustass

Eustass Kid x Female Reader

*This one I got carried away cause he's my boo lol 🥵❤️‍🔥🫦*

*banner*

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you're already in a relationship he will be a big snuggler but don't you dare mention it or he'll deny it. If it's a casual/ one night stand thing he'd probably see if you wanna go get drinks…or just bounce up outta there. Lol

B = Breath Play (do they like it done to them or doing the deed)

Loves choking you and knowing he's so strong he could crush your windpipe buttt he's a kinky man so he loves it if you return the favor when you're riding his cock. Your smaller hands trying to squeeze even just the smallest amount of oxygen makes him grunt and groan out curses.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Big mess maker for sure!! Wants to fill you with cum but also wants to cover you in it too. Smear that shit along with your makeup till you're a big sloppy mess that he can tease. If you swallow so be it but he loves shooting it on that pretty face of yours. Also he cums A LOT! So be prepared!

D = Dirtiest Kink (what they think is their dirtiest kink)

Wants to tag team you with Killer which you expected but the real secret is that he thought of sharing you with Law and Luffy. He doesn't know why but the thought plagues his brain. Maybe it's the fighting they've done together in Wano that drew him to the idea but he'll never admit it to you…maybe he'll tell Killer though.

E = Exhibitionist? (Do they like being watched)

Loves attention!!! Watch him all you want but don't think he'll be shy about it baby. That man will solo masturbate and talk you out of your panties in a second to join him. Also loves watching you as well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything to showcases his strength and his big dick. Full nelson, mating press to keep you pinned down and feel his entire length. Also pronebone so you can't push him off and his big arms can cage you in how he likes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Will crack jokes but always in a teasing way as he's fucking you into the mattress. If you try to make an embarrassing joke though just expect him to scowl.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I wanna say kind of trimmed cause he looks like he manscapes but he likes having a happy trail of red hair leading to the ‘main treat’.

Idk why but I feel like if you didn't shave he'd go feral. 🤷‍♀️ Idk why lol but I think you not following the usual beauty standards would drive him literally insane lol

I = Initiation (how do they get you going? Vice versa )

He's a horn ball 24/7 so he's super handsy and if he's not touching you he'll spill pure filth no matter who's around. His crew gets a kick out of it but if they try and make comments to you best believe they'll be thrown overboard or spending their time scrubbing their own blood off the deck.

J = Jealous (how do they get when jealous )

It's Kidd…he's territorial. I can totally see him getting jealous and storming off somewhere. But if you've been together a long time he's not asking questions just grabbing you and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to punish you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation Kink! He loves the both of you being fucked out beyond the point of words, shaking and drooling from round after round.

Corruption Kink! If you're a good girl, best believe he wants to change that. Wants to turn you into a horny ticking time bomb, literally desires to turn that shy exterior into a handsy sex machine just like him.

Glasses glasses glasses!!! If you wear glasses it makes you look nerdy/sweet which plays into his corruption Kink and now he can't help but picture what they'll look like covered in his cum. (Totally self indulgent but IDC it's my page lol)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. This man has no shame when it comes to sex on his ship, hell he'll even fuck you in an alley way. Weirdly doesn't like you being seen though so he'll pick positions that he can cover you with his big body. Even covering your mouth so no one can hear the sweet sounds you make for him only.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's always horny but loves when you get just as handsy as him though. If you do try flirting he'll make you work for it just to see how far and bold you get.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Can't really think of anything this man won't do tbh lol 🤣 He's a freaky freak.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves fucking your face but loves eating pussy, it's his favorite meal. Ask him and he'll be honest.🥵 So sit on his face and then you both can devour each other.

P = Pace (rough and fast, slow and soft)

Depends on his mood. He's always rough but sometimes he'll fuck you slow with deep mind numbing thrusts till you're begging for him. Yet other times he'll fuck you fast and hard till you're shaking and drunk on his cock.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes yes yes. Whenever and however many he can get from you he's down.

R = Rope (shibari, bondage? Do they like it?)

Yup whether giving or receiving that man is down. He's a big boy who can take you whipping him or even slapping him across the face while he's tied up. But won't go as hard on you as you can go on him. He knows his strength but won't push yours unless you beg of course.

S = Sharing? (Are they willing to share you?)

Depends on who it is. If it's Killer, absolutely lol If he's having a captains talk with Law and Luffy and they just so happen to mention you he'll freak out in a feral lust but ultimately it's up to you of course.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He makes his own of course. He's a craftsman with many skills and desires so of course he'll come up with something.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The meanest 🥵 teasing you till you're pouting and begging for relief

V = Voyeur (do they like to watch)

Yup yup! He'll even join you in giving him a show lol

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If you wear heels, step on him! Not in a submissive way but more in a, “I'm strong those pointy heels won't do shit” type of way. It's like a play on a pain fetish and heel/foot fetish. The feeling of your heels scratching at his shoulders make his groans so much raspier. Will also kiss along your ankles when you wear them telling you how hot they look.

If your feet end up hurting while you walk he'll just toss you over his shoulder before you can even think of removing them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick baby~ heavy dick and veiny with big breeding balls 🤷‍♀️ just saying the man cums alot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always on go!!!!

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

His brain can be pretty active so it takes him a minute tbh but he'll cuddle you to sleep and fall out shortly after.

[kataraslove]

how do you feel about people saying Katara post the show was just a “house wife” and a “baby maker”? I personally think it’s super stupid and fucked up…while I do understand the criticisms for the comics ESPECIALLY the promise. TLOK criticisms for her character are pretty damn dumb to me…honestly the only thing I can get is the critical for her not being at Jinoras ceremony.

something that the original show does really well is present the dichotomy of katara; she's hot-headed, stubborn, determined, argumentative, protective, a fighter and a warrior. at the same time, however, she's presented as compassionate, kind, caring, nurturing, a healer. atla does an incredible job to avoid caging katara into one facet, unlike other media that tend to restrict their female characters who present feminine personalities into the group's resident healer/mother teresa figure. fighting and healing are core tenets of her identity. she uses both of these aspects of her identity to win the war, to save the lives of her friends and family, and most importantly, connect to and honour her decimated culture.

i don't think tlok makes an attempt to capture the fighter aspect of her identify, hence where the argument that "she was reduced to a healer" comes from. yes, she's incredibly old. yes, she deserves to rest after a lifetime of fighting. however, you could make the argument that toph and zuko are still in active combat mode during their old years. it's an all or nothing scenario; either everyone in the remaining gaang deserves a fight scene or no one gets one. so i can see where that criticism stems from. however, much of the criticism also stems from the fandom's refusal to correlate power with healing; to see how being a healer is an honour in it's own right, especially in the atla world where it's the equivalent to being a doctor (and katara would be the most renowned doctor there is).

katara does not deserve a shoe-horned fight scene where she's going to be tossed down in the snow five seconds later (like zuko) or where she's going to complain about her back problems (like toph). i can go on and on about how toph’s depiction in tlok is another form of sexist writing, but i think this post highlights it perfectly well and captures everything that i wanted to say.

if it were up to me to write tlok katara, i would:

have spent more time exploring her role in the white lotus. how much input did she have on korra’s training during the south, because i doubt caging her up until she’s 17 and delaying her spiritual journey is something that katara necessarily would have agreed with. i imagine that she would have (should have, at least) a lot of sway in the decisions surrounding korra as a world leader and legendary hero [per avatar legends]. if not that, even as korra’s waterbending master, the companion and spouse of the previous avatar, and the mother of the only airbending master in the world, would be enough to earn her decision-making title.

actually have her take part in the council of elders, especially during the civil war in book 2. no bryan konientzko, a tumblr post explaining that you can see her on the council of elders while your show is airing isn’t enough. we should have gotten katara’s perspective on the independence war currently happening with her tribe. particularly, it would have been an excellent opportunity showcasing her leadership abilities that we saw in imprisoned and the painted lady, encouraging her tribe to fight for their justice and independence.

expand upon her relationships with her children and grandchildren. yes, the legend of korra isn’t about katara or any of the former gaang members. but jinora, tenzin, kya, and bumi are all important characters that should be defined by their respective relationships with katara, much like how they’re defined by their relationships with aang. bryan and mike shy away from featuring former members of the gaang to avoid nostalgia bait, but there comes a point when deliberately avoiding the presence that your original characters play on their successors ends up hindering the success of your show. i think katara should be a critical character in the subplot between her and aang’s children, providing her perspectives on her husband’s parenting and relationships with their children.

have her actually leave the southern water tribe. if toph can leave the swamp to stop kuvira, and zuko can leave the fire nation to stop the red lotus, then why was katara constantly portrayed in the southern water tribe? there was an excellent opportunity to have her attend her granddaughter’s air mastering ceremony. i actually disagree with claims that the writers were avoiding having katara and zuko in the same scene specifically because of zutara; i think they didn’t want any of the former gaang in the same place. hence why we don’t ever have zuko and toph meet, or katara and toph (i know toph mentions katara by name, but i truly believe that that was a throwaway line serving as a substitute to appease the audience’s thirst for old gaang interaction. kind of like a, “here you go!! toph mentions her. now shut the fuck up.”)

give her a statue representing her bravery, courage, and determination. this one’s self-explanatory.

she didn’t need to be present at the bloodbending trial if the focus was for the avatar to take away yakone’s bending (and her being a bloodbender, i mean.. there’s NO WAY for anyone else to suspend yakone if she’s there). but i do believe the show should have mentioned something about katara not being able to there last-minute, due to tensions in the south or whatever, and how they cannot delay yakone’s trial even by one week.

i disagree with criticisms that katara became a “baby-making machine” for the air nomads. there’s no substantial support that katara and aang had children solely to repopulate the air nomads. there’s contrary evidence, in fact:

tenzin was the only airbender. if katara’s purpose was to serve simply as a baby maker, aang would have tried to have more children. from a writing standpoint, i think the narrative would have gone out of its way to portray kataang’s family as only having airbenders, or having more airbenders than non-benders or waterbenders.

we would have seen a lot more children in a relatively short time period. bumi, kya, and tenzin have sporadic age gaps, indicating that their conception wasn’t really at an urgent pace, but something that katara and aang took their time with, due to life events and circumstances.

as for whether the show turned katara into a “baby-maker,” by highlighting her family relations over her career prospects, i disagree. i don’t think we’re shown anything about katara in the legend of korra; i think we’re presented with limited information about her on all aspects. from a family perspective, all we know is that she had three children with aang. the narrative goes one step further to even separate her from the family conflict, such that the cloudbabies do not pull her into their grievances with their father and childhoods. kya and bumi’s overall arcs are about embracing their father’s legacy, while tenzin’s arc is about moving away from his shadow. from a career perspective, we know that katara at some point banned bloodbending, became one of the best waterbenders and the greatest healer in the world, then trained korra. in fact, katara’s relationship that is given the most narrative weight is her relationship with korra. i can understand if people’s criticisms are her being reduced to korra’s mentor and a healer, but i will not be able to understand the baby-maker or housewife claims simply because there is no proof.

if we’re examining tlok katara, i think there are many criticisms to be held, many missed opportunities and abandoned threads, but i do not agree with fandom extremes that she was ever presented as a “baby-making housewife turned healer.” i disagree with claims that tlok emphasized katara’s legacy as only having children (particularly her one airbender child). especially because tlok goes out of its way to separate her role in her children’s life, instead emphasizing her role in korra’s life. narratively, we get more exploration of toph’s storyline with her children than we get with katara.

as for the shitty gene yang comics that mischaracterizes just about every member, even momo and appa, i’ve got much to say on that. i think the only comic worth exploring is north and south, and katara’s portrayal in that. rather, there’s a particular criticism of katara’s portrayal in north and south that i want to rebut.

[genderqueerdykes]

any tips on binding when you're hypermobile? i'm aware my ribs may react badly to it, so i wanna do this smartly and carefully

that's a good question, i somewhat have experience with this, but this may vary greatly from your experience depending on how your own rib cage responds

whenever i got a chest binder online, it was from a decent maker at the time, but i found myself not being able to wear it for very long without feeling extremely uncomfortable. i ended up not finding it worth it, but i had already used a strategy in the past. some folks can find success with a well fitting sports bra that doesn't have individual cups sewn in- some have a flat front that will help with compression

trans tape is also an option! this can depend on the size of your chest, but it's definitely an option:

otherwise i would say play it by ear, if you find yourself feeling very uncomfortable and especially if there's pain, it may not be worth your time to use a binder or sports bra. for some of us it's difficult or impossible because of our disabilities and that's okay. if anyone has any suggestions for anything else this anon could use, feel free to add!

[ouijarat]

Too Weird to Love, Too Scared to Die.

Chapter One

(This was just a silly goofy idea that my partner convinced me to get out of my brain and onto the internet. This takes place in an alternate Weirdmageddon Finale scenario. Btw I hardly ever write and this is my first fic like ever so PLEASE BE NICE TO ME and let me know if y'all like it. Ty <3)

_________________________________________

“I’ll give it to you!” Stanford Pines’ voice echoed from the cage and through the cavernous hall of the fearamid. The world seemed to stop as Stanford’s once beloved Muse-turned-monster’s gigantic eye turned from the two children in his grasp he was about to send to meet their maker a moment ago and onto him. Bill’s gaze was as blinding as the sun. 

“I’ll give you the equation, Cipher! Just… don’t hurt my family… please.” 

Bill stared while Dipper and Mabel’s terrified expressions drilled themselves into Ford’s mind during the stillness. Just as Dipper opened his mouth, seemingly to protest against Ford’s decision, Bill’s shrill, inhuman laughter enveloped their senses; the sound loud enough to rattle one’s skull and make one’s ears bleed should they stand too close. 

“Oh, Sixer! I just knew you’d come around~!” The demon cackled smugly, depositing the young twins on a high up support beam, safe for the time being yet out of their uncles’ reach. The grotesque, gargantuan form of arms and teeth and tongues the triangle had reverted to when angered began to shrink back down to size, the red fading back to yellow as he looked down at Ford with as much sick satisfaction a creature without a proper face could possibly express.

“I’m so happy you’ve finally, finally come to your senses!” 

Stanford looked over his shoulder to glance at his brother, expecting to read contempt, maybe anger at Ford for not thinking of something fast enough; but when their eyes met he only saw fear and uncertainty. He couldn’t bear it, so he averted his gaze. He yelped as his body was lifted off the obsidian palace floor as Bill effortlessly levitated him out of his confinement.

 “I’ve gotta say, IQ,  you really had me going there! I thought you were actually gonna make me kill one of the brats!” He gently dropped Stanford in front of his now much less threatening form, straightening out his bowtie as his little heels collided with the ground with a small click, making himself level with Ford as though foolishly trying to perpetuate the illusion that they were equals here. The laughable notion of respect. 

Ford grimaced, six fingernails digging into each of his palms as he steeled himself, remaining woefully silent. Bill was clearly annoyed that Ford refused to play into his verbal sparring, the demon’s expression souring. 

“Aw c’mon, Fordsie. Don’t be like that. Cheer up! Soon I’ll be free, and I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted!” 

Ford’s eyes darted up to the two children clinging onto each other at least 30 feet above him before he looked back to Bill, his expression flat. “You could never give me anything I would truly want.” 

The triangle looked almost hurt for a moment before he laughed again, regaining his composure.

“And why’s that?” 

Stanford stared at him. “You’re selfish,” He said, his voice tainted with the shadow of disdain. “You couldn’t emotionally fulfill another person if you tried. You’re a monster.”

The demon’s eye twitched, his gaze suddenly distant as his yellow glow seemed to dim. Above them, Dipper squeezed Mabel’s hand in a vice grip, scared that Ford had just signed his own death certificate. Instead, Bill just snapped back to normal in an instant, giggling again. “We’ll see about that. But for now..” He extended a dainty black arm, his hand suddenly engulfed in blue flame awaiting Ford’s palm to complete their deal. 

“Let’s get this show on the road. Eh, Sixer?” 

Ford looked down at the floor below him, too ashamed to meet his family’s gaze as he pressed what was, for all intents and purposes, the big red button for the apocalypse. At least they’ll be safe. He held his breath and grasped Bill’s hand, memories of thirty years ago flashing through his mind as soon as they made contact. The demon’s eye widened maniacally as he cackled, his grasp tightening around Ford’s polydactyl hand as the world around him froze. His surroundings turning to black and white and sensation melting away. In a low, gentle voice Stanford hadn’t heard since he worshiped a god rather than feared a beast, Bill spoke. “You’ll see, Fordsy.” 

And suddenly Ford’s vision went dark. 

…

Stanford woke with a start and quickly shot up, having just woken from the most terrible nightmare. He caught his breath, running a hand through the graying hair that had plastered itself to his forehead with sweat, blinking blindly. His glasses must’ve fallen off the couch as he slept. Only, even for as blind as he was, he could very quickly gather that he was in… a bed. Not his bed. That was odd. He frantically groped around for his glasses, finding them neatly folded on a nightstand beside him. He pushed them up his nose with an index finger and -much to his dismay- confirmed that this was not his room, and this was not the Mystery Shack. 

Ford looked down at himself, noting the red satin pajama set he was dressed in that were also very much not his. Despite how soft the sheets were, he quickly threw them off as though they’d burned him. He stood up carefully, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet. Taking in his surroundings, he first noticed the room had no windows or interior lamps, and yet was perfectly illuminated in warm, comforting light. Everything about the decor style was so very pointedly… him. The dark oak furniture, the golden constellation map on the wall, the chess set on the desk, the detailed antique globe in the far corner. It was all extremely reminiscent of everything he had wanted to do with his basement study back home, had he had the time. This greatly unsettled him. 

He approached the bedroom door with caution, stopping in his tracks with a hand hovering over the doorknob as he heard the sound of dishes clattering distantly somewhere else in the house. Ford gulped before turning the knob excruciatingly slowly, the door cracking open with a soft creak. Nothing jumped out at him and he wasn’t immediately incinerated, so he continued on, gently pushing it all the way open to reveal… an exceedingly normal hallway. 

The walls were adorned with refined red wallpaper and ornate picture frames, the pictures inside so familiar and yet so violently wrong. Nausea bubbled in his stomach as he stared at the family photographs he had gladly kept hung up throughout the walls of the shack, except now half the family had seemingly vanished, or rather been purposely eliminated from the photos. The only two people present in any of them were himself and Mabel, leaving eerily empty spaces where his brother and grand-nephew should have been. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image of his grand-niece, her colorful braces on display as she smiled happily with her arms wrapped around nothing but dead air. 

Ford jumped, suddenly ripped away from his horror once more as the loud crash of pans echoed from what seemed to be a lower floor, followed by a soft string of curses in at least five different alien languages, two of which he didn’t recognize. He tiptoed further down the hallway, his right hand itching to wrap itself around the grip of his gun. He distantly wondered what had been done with it, as well as his coat. He’d miss that coat. Ford mentally cursed himself for not simply improvising a weapon sooner in case whatever was downstairs tried to attack, yet he couldn’t stop himself from inching further and further into the house and toward the noise. Damn his curiosity. 

He rounded a corner and was met with a grand staircase leading downward, taking a breath and quietly descending with his back pressed against the wall in an attempt to not risk being seen. Upon reaching the bottom, Stanford froze in place, hearing something sizzling in the next room over, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of burning roadkill. He slowly peeked around the corner, his jaw dropping at the sight before him. 

He peered into what was, he had to admit, a very nice kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops. In the middle of said kitchen, holding a pan full of what looked to be a mutilated opossum over the stove, was Bill Cipher in a frilly pink apron. Said apron had the words ‘Kiss the Triangle’ printed across the front in a loopy cursive font, a heart in place of the dot over the ’i’. 

Sensing his presence, the triangular demon turned to look at him cheerfully, eye upturned in a makeshift smile. “Heya, smart guy! I was wondering when you’d wake up, sleepyhead! You’re just in time for breakfast!”

Ford prayed to every god he knew of, earthen, alien or otherwise, that he’d wake up soon.

(Thank you for reading, let me know if you want a chapter two!)

[denial-permanente]

Given your knowledge, if you were a beginner, would you consider buying a silicone device?

🔏Tom here. Absolutely not. The squishy silicone sound like it would be a good fit, but the plastic itself is more porous, so it tends to retain odors, body oils, sweat, urine, etc. The cage portion has a "sticky" surface, and tends to ride along with your underwear, which isn't always what you want. Oh, and because it's squishy, you can manipulate it to give yourself enough stimulation to have an orgasm pretty easily.

I tried one for a month. My own opinion is that it might be okay for a casual play toy, but my personal preference is stainless steel. For beginners, I would suggest trying a few different inexpensive Chinese stainless steel cages to get an idea of what fits, and then betting a better made cage from one of the several established online makers, like Mature Metal or Badass Workroom or Steelwerks Extreme.

[lafiola]

There were two bodies on the bed, Daniel had counted them. He had fucked them, he had killed them. There were two dead bodies on the bed, and Daniel was still counting them; with his eyes on a torn neck, toward the edge of the blood-soaked mattress, where another stranger hung. Two dead bodies, two strangers.

"Why are you making me do this?" he asked in the darkness, immersed in his own self-destructive ideas, in his own misery. "Why are you making me do this?" he repeated louder; voice more broken.

He searched the gloom for a blind trail. He pushed only his head, tired, furious, and found two opaque suns hanging out of the darkness. Two burning points, floating in nothingness itself, existing beside him. Daniel looked hard at Armand's hidden face, and fantasized about his silhouette in that corner, where he could no longer reach him.

"You could have said no," the other vampire replied softly, "but you prostrated your body on this bed by yourself, Daniel."

The boy did not respond. He closed his eyes, pushed his head to the other side, and opened them to face the darkness again. He kept his body tense on the bed, attentive to the sounds, to his maker's breathing, but he did not respond. He did nothing.

"You can always leave," Armand continued. "Who am I to stop you, Daniel. What could I possibly do to stop you from living what awaits you out there. Without me, if that's what you want. You can always go."

"Can I?"

"I don't know, can you?" a light, pleasant wait. "Do you want to?"

Armand sighed as he rose from the seat, calmly stalking the boy's body on the mattress. Daniel knew he found himself inches from his skin with the caress of soft breathing; the suns hanging over his face, soaking into his retinas as if they burned with the ghost of idyllic warmth. Armand's hand on his neck brought him back to the world. A firm, threatening grip.

"I asked something," the vampire whispered against his lips. "I want to hear your voice, Daniel."

"I'm tired," he replied. "This is too much."

"This is what you need."

"It's what you think I need; I never asked for this. I'm not like that."

The suns disappeared. Daniel panicked, a silent and barely noticeable one, but he trembled against his will under the solitude to which he was delivered with the parting of those eyes. Instead, a sigh much longer than the previous one collided against his lips; the pressure of a dry kiss made him close his own eyes again. It was an instant, nothing more.

"The pretty boy like a bird," whispered Armand, "with the cage open and the world at his disposal. The creature does not escape. I wonder, is there anything to escape from? Is there anything I should know, Daniel?"

But the boy didn't respond, he didn't have time to; there was no right time. Armand's lips stole another kiss, this time deep, slow, and a couple of sighs as they caressed his face in a light drizzle of wet caresses; a winding path up his neck, over his pulse.

"It's what you want," the vampire whispered, insistent, "even if you don't know it, but I do. I know what you need."

[soon-palestine]

To Minister of International Development Ahmed Hussen,

Ahmed,

Our Dear Cousin

We cheered for you when you passed your bar exam. We cheered for you at your beautiful wedding. We cheered for you when you had your first child, your beloved son. We cheered for you when you were elected as a Member of Parliament, and finally a Minister. We were so excited to see you represent Canada on a global stage. The New York Times wrote a historic piece on you titled "In Canada, an Immigration Minister Who Himself is a Refugee" - we could not have been more proud. When you shared your experience with systemic racism but highlighted how Canadian generosity changed your outlook on life through your TEDx talk we were delighted to see you share a piece of yourself with the world. We shared your work all over our social medias, we proudly announced your accolades, we celebrated you with full belief that you would be the change maker Canadians needed and deserved. Sadly, our hopes have been met with a different reality. Once, we were blinded by our admiration of watching you turn nothing into something, but today we are seeing a sobering truth.

Since you have been appointed as a Minister, hundreds of thousands of Muslims have been killed around the world with impunity. Now, we don't fault you for those crimes, but your consistent silence has been deafening. Although your role is to represent the interests of all Canadians while remaining secular, you have proudly shared that your faith and identity has undoubtedly played a part in bringing you to where you are today. With this in mind, we see clearly that you have failed in your role as Minister of International Development. You stood firmly beside Ukrainian people and supported their refugees when they were resisting an oppressive force, but when it comes to Palestine and it's people today, your recent statement lacked the condemnation and passionate stance we have seen you are capable of taking. Your statement minimized the plight and struggle of your Palestinian brothers and sisters, lacked depth and clarity, and did not name today's current situation in the most accurate terms an actively occurring genocide. Although we will never minimize the pain of any civilian or refugee, we are compelled to clearly state the stark difference between your statements for Ukraine and Palestine. With Ukraine you said "Canada stands united with Ukraine and all those around the world, fighting for democracy, human rights, and justice" but when it comes to the struggle of Palestinian people, you fell flat.

Our hearts were broken at your lackluster words when referring to a historically oppressed people. Sadly, we have realized that you won't live up to our expectations and your own promises to be a change- maker and leader. Where is your condemnation of the Israeli occupying forces murdering thousands of children? Where is your condemnation of the genocidal language and unfounded aggression of Benjamin Netanyahu?

As a refugee, how can you ignore the ethnic cleansing Palestinians have suffered for over 75 years? Why have you let your position of power stop you from using clear language to stand with the oppressed people caged in a concentration camp being carpet bombed daily? Children the same age as our own are being blown to shreds or left as traumatized and injured orphans, does your blood not move?

The world is changed through the words of brave people who stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Decades of unprincipled statements that shy away from addressing the root cause of Gaza and Palestine from politicians like you is the reason why this genocide has continued, claiming the lives and livelihoods of well over 1 million people.

Page two. We write to you this open letter today as your family to simply say -wake up! Open your art and recognize this horrific illegal occupation for what it is, A GENOCIDE. Do not let personal gain, a reputation, and a seat at a colonial nation's table make you complicit to this inhumanity. Announcing Canada's aid commitments without addressing the root cause of this genocide does nothing to recognize the dignity and humanity of Palestinian people. It is a slap in the face to see you announcing humanitarian aid to Palestine when you haven't taken a clear stance against the use of our taxpayer dollars funding weaponry being used to kill innocent Palestinians. We don't need band aid solutions, we need this genocide to be recognized. We need you to speak to the liberation of the indigenous people of Palestine. Your party leader has failed Canada in many ways, the average Canadian's quality of life has tanked according to our shrinking GDP.

There is no re-election in sight for the Liberal party. Is this how you want your legacy to end? With a stain of genocide complicity? You won't have the golden opportunity of standing on the right side of history if you choose not to make yourself clear. We are devastated that today we as a family can no longer cheer for you, you no longer have our respect or admiration. For the sake of saving your legacy and preserving the principles we expect all of our family members to uphold, we ask you to please wake up, take a clear stance, and step down as a Minister to side with the oppressed! You are a humanitarian lawyer, fight for the oppressed! Leave your mark politically to restore our faith on who we know you to be, and hoped you to be. One day your children will see your work as a Minister and they will question you, how will you explain your complacency with a population of indigenous people being massacred?

We leave you with one final note, when we all depart this world we will take nothing with us. Rich or poor, educated or not, we will all be wrapped in a white cloth and placed in the dirt left to answer for all of our worldly actions. So we ask you: Do you fear your maker that you are returning to? We pray and hope you will come to your senses before it's too late. Your role in this government no longer serves you in this life or the next.

#FreePalestine

#EndTheOccupation

#CeasefireNow

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

INEVITABLE [3]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mentions of the slave trade, canon violence, blood and injuries, PTSD flashback, mention of torture

word count: 6,183

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[previous] [next]

03: CALL IT FATE, DESTINY, CALL IT LUCK

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"luck is my middle name. mind you, my first name is Bad."

⏤terry pratchett

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Every blow to his body made you flinch as if you had been hit yourself. Blood splattered into the air, raining down into the already formed pool, and your cries of desperation had morphed into moans of mourning. Rough fingers dug into your cheeks holding you in place and keeping you from turning away from the assault. Lips pressed against the shell of your ear. Poisonous words hissed out in a voice that made your blood run cold.

‘No, no. You keep watching. I want to make sure this lesson sticks. I want to make sure you know who you belong to.’

You startled awake with a gasp⏤ eyes wide and searching for Viktor. His cruel, cold laugh lingering at the back of your mind. But, he was nowhere to be seen. You weren’t in his palace. The cockpit surrounding you was silent. The lines of hyperspace casting a soft, blue light on everything it touched. The Mandalorian. A breath of relief left you as you sunk in your seat. You were safe. Well, maybe not safe. You didn’t exactly trust your new captor. 

The room was empty save for you and as you sat up you realized the binders were gone from your wrists. Now, you trusted Mando even less. Who in their right mind captures a bounty and then leaves them unrestricted in their ship’s cockpit? You jumped up, staying quiet, and stepped over to glance over the blinking control panel. You were no pilot, but you knew the basics in case of emergency⏤ not that you’d ever put those skills to the test. How hard could it be? You pressed a button and when nothing happened you hit it twice more.

“It’s locked.”

You cried out in surprise and spun. Mando had climbed up the ladder right outside the open cockpit door but he only rose enough to rest his arm on the floor. You set a hand to your chest to try and calm your racing heart. “Maker, bucket head. You’re quiet.”

“You’re not.” He replied, then tilted his head. “Come down.”

Mando disappeared from view and you huffed in annoyance at how cool and collected the guy seemed. You rushed forward, sliding down the ladder, and when your boots hit the floor you spun to give him a piece of your mind⏤ determined to get under his skin. However, your eyes landed on the small, green child sitting on top of a crate now staring at you while his father rummaged through a weapons locker. Mando shifted enough that you were able to see your firearm hanging in the locker.

“Hey, that’s mine.” You barked. You had only gotten a step closer when Mando turned around and hit a button on his vambrace to close the doors. The tell tale sound of a lock being clicked into place. “Give it back.”

“Why do you only have one slug?” Mando asked.

“Why did you take off my binders?” You countered. It wasn’t something you expected to be answered, you just wanted to answer his question with a question.

The man shrugged. “You looked uncomfortable.” You blinked in surprise. “Where did you get the slugthrower?”

“It was…” His first answer had caught you so off guard that you nearly answered his own without thought. You caught yourself at the last minute and shook your head. “I found it at the bottom of a cereal box. I’m trying to collect the whole set.”

Mando sighed irritably and you took that as a victory. Although as great as it felt annoying Mando and getting a rise out of him, you realized that these moments you called ‘victories’ could possibly add up until the Manalorian snapped and murdered you. This scenario was like any other involving a bounty hunter. You had a person to escape from, and though it was a bit unconventional than your usual situation, you were nothing if not flexible.

“Alright Mando,” You crossed your arms and placed emphasis on the name he told you to call him, “What do you want?” He tilted his head and you shrugged. “Everybody wants something. What’s your price? What do I have to pay to get you to crush my fob and taxi me to Corellia?”

“Corellia?”

“It’s next on my list.”

“Why are you⏤”

You forced a frustrated laugh. “Why does it matter? Just tell me what you want and I’ll⏤”

“I already told you, I want answers.” He replied sharply. A soft coo came from the child, and Mando drifted closer to you. “I want to know who you are. I need to know.”

It was confusing as to why he seemed so desperate for something that had nothing to do with him. You rolled through the facts you had gathered. If rumors were true, Mandalorians were all about honor. You had saved his son⏤ sort of. He could’ve done it himself with that jetpack, but you hoped the intention was enough in this case. He didn’t shove you in carbonite, he let you sleep in his cockpit, removed the binders… Even now, he made no move to detain you. Did the Mandalorian want to help you? Was that it? Maybe he wanted to help you, to settle any debt he thought he may owe you, but he wanted to know he wasn’t aiding the scum of the galaxy. 

“You’re not a slave trader.” Mando said. He nodded in your direction, “Not with that collar.”

Your eyes widened, hand shooting up to touch the metal welded around your neck, and gaped, “How… You don’t know that.” You pushed the words out firmly. Nobody assumed the gold choker was what it truly was. “It’s a necklace, bucket head. You⏤”

“No, it’s not.” He replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not with those scars. Nobody claws at a necklace.” 

Mando’s words were jarring. It would’ve been easier to handle him just punching your lights out. There was a slight tremble in your hands and you forced them into fists at your side to compensate. How had he even noticed? Nobody looked close enough to puzzle that out. They saw gold and assumed wealth. Any normal slave’s collar was made of scrap parts. Plus, Viktor had ensured that most of the marks you left had been healed properly. The only ones who hadn’t just lingered right under the band itself.

“Fine.” You forced all your emotions into the back of your head, out of the light, where it wouldn’t been seen or felt. You absolutely hated that this man was able to so easily get under your skin.“I’m a slave seeking revenge, Mando. Searching the galaxy for the man who used to own me so I can put a slug in his head.” He remained a statue as always. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“If it’s the truth, then yes.”

“Well, it is.” Sort of. More or less. That was the quick description of your mission, at least.

“Then why are you visiting cantinas? I can’t imagine a slave trader who is rich enough to decorate his slaves in gold would be hanging around the places you’re searching.”

Again, the Mandalorian wasn’t wrong. Viktor would never set foot in a public cantina, and you knew exactly where he was. Canto Bight. The issue was, in order to get to him you needed to find the ‘Reaper’ for information. Otherwise you’d never get close enough to pull the trigger.

“You’re right.” You said slowly.

Mando tilted his head. “Then who are you looking for?”

“A guy.”

“That’s vague.”

“Yeah,” You snorted, “It’s almost as if I’m being vague on purpose to avoid connecting to you in any way. Funny, huh?”

The cargo hold was filled with an uncomfortable silence. You couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s eyes, but you could feel his heavy gaze cutting straight through you. Growing up the way you did, born from a slave and raised with only one destiny for yourself, you had gotten used to being seen but not acknowledged. The places you worked equated you to a house plant or a piece of furniture.

Then Viktor saw you. He saw you. And the words scrawled on your ribs made you precious to him. He got some sick kick out of owning something fated to another. You joined a collection of others and you were no longer a piece of furniture to be ignored, but rather you were a trophy. An item to be seen and not touched. Admired but not connected to. As Mando guessed, Viktor dressed you in gold and flaunted you to every ne'er do well who visited him. That was your life for years, and it hadn’t changed until six months ago.

Six months ago you ran and your face decorated bounty pucks all over the galaxy, but you felt invisible. Nobody, save for a bounty hunter here or there, sought you out. You were a stranger on the street, a random face in the crowd, and you could live with that. It was better than the alternative.

Right now though? Standing in front of the Mandalorian you felt seen. Mando was actively seeing you at this moment, taking in details nobody had noticed before, and it unnerved you. He wasn’t looking at you like house decor or a trophy. He wasn’t looking at you like you were his next pay day like the other hunters had. Mando was treating you like another living soul and it bothered you that the sensation felt so foreign. How could a man who hid behind a wall of metal see you so clearly?

“If I told you that you could trust me,” Mando said slowly, hesitantly, “Would you believe me?”

“No. But it’s cute that you asked.”

Mando took a step toward you and your confidence faltered. You stumbled back a half step and spat a curse at yourself in your head. If he noticed your slip up, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “I’ll take you to Corellia, with the promise of safe passage, on one condition.” You nodded. “When I drop you off, you don’t contact me again. This? This never happened. We never met. I’ll crush your fob and tell the guild you weren’t worth my time.”

You snorted in amusement. “Deal. That’s a win-win situation for me, bucket head.”

Maybe you weren’t the unluckiest son of a bitch on this side of the galaxy.

Din was tiptoeing through a minefield. And, the only person he had to blame for being stuck here was himself. He shouldn’t have kept you on the ship. Kriff, he shouldn’t have brought you on in the first place. Din should’ve shot you a quick ‘thanks for the help’ and left you behind in Bespin. But, no. Like the karking idiot he was, he brought you along and worse he spoke to you.

There was still a lot he didn’t know. He’d be foolish to think otherwise, but he felt a tinge of truth with your admittance a day earlier. For years, for most of his life, he cursed his soulmark and he loathed the idea of ever meeting his criminal soulmate. Now, he knew differently. Not a criminal, just a person seeking vengeance. Din was aware that a bulk of the galaxy would still consider someone with plans of homicide to be a criminal, but from where he sat Din could hardly judge. He was by no means a good man, without sin, and he had very recent memories of mowing down Imperial after Imperial for the sake of his son. So, your half truth didn’t shock him or fill him with disgust.

No, what Din felt disgusted over was the knowledge that his soulmate had been wronged. The word ‘wronged’ didn’t even begin to cover the atrocity you must have endured. His soulmate. You had been a slave, treated as such by society and owned by some bastard, and that made every single molecule of his body vibrate with rage. 

Mandalorians' belief in soulmates was by no means unique. They were very much like the rest of the galaxy in their reverence for the words. Maybe the one trait Mandalorians shared with the majority.

However, Aq Vetina was different. The culture nearly worshiped the concept of soulmates⏤ saw it as a true blessing and treated it as such. Din didn’t have a lot of memories of his home world. Didn’t have a lot of memories of his parents either. The memories he did have though he treasured, and one of the more prominent ones was this: his parents were soulmates. The reality of soulmarks was more dim than most would like to believe. Soulmates didn’t always end up together. For hundreds of different variables, but just because fate had scrawled words on a person’s skin didn’t mean it guaranteed them a happy ending.

His parents adored one another. Din remembered that. He grew up in a house filled and overflowing with love. An emotion as strong as that wasn’t easily forgotten. Hell, it felt like it was ingrained into his own soul. Tangled with his DNA. When Din lost his parents, he lost everything. Including his culture. The one comfort Din always took was who his soulmate would be. He knew he’d have a soulmark once he hit puberty, with both parents bearing it the chances of him not having one was incredibly low, and though it bothered him his parents would never see his mark he’d still take comfort in it. Just as every man from Aq Vetina before him, just as his father had, he’d find his soulmate and shower them with every ounce of love and adoration he could squeeze from his being. Din would find his soulmate and he would have a family once more. He’d have that love again.

There was no doubt of the love and care his Mandalorian buir and teacher had for him. Din owed the man everything. But the love was different. Not worse, not better, but different.

When his words formed on his skin, Din had never felt such joy and had never felt it turn sour so quickly. It was why the insult of who he thought his soulmate would be stung even worse. It felt like the last bit of his culture, the last shred of his parents he had left, was being taken. Insulted. Spat on. He spent years after convincing himself that a soulmate wouldn’t be worth his time and he was better on his own. Din didn’t seek relationships beyond flings and one night stands across the galaxy because any relationship would be a sad ghost in comparison to the memory of what his parents had. A reminder of what fate took from him.

Now, he sat in the same ship as his soulmate and it felt like so many of his years were wasted on an assumption.

Din was angry that his first words to you were a threat.

He was angry you grew up with that on your skin.

He was angry the mystery and excitement of having a soulmate had been taken from you as well.

He was angry you were treated as lesser than by the people surrounding you.

He was angry that someone had the audacity to put a collar around your neck.

Din was fucking angry.

It burned through his veins and had him seeing red. He was no stranger to anger, but this was overwhelming. And, the worst of it, the thing that made him burn alive from the inside out was the anger he had for himself.

Din never sought you out. He mentally and emotionally tossed you aside without even an attempt to understand. Din gave up on you. His soulmate.

The only thing keeping him from exploding and destroying everything in his radius was the depressing and mellowing thought of his father. His father would be so disappointed in him. His mother would be so disappointed in him. His buir would be disappointed in him. 

Din’s spiraling mind tried to comfort itself. It told him that he was doing better now. He knew better now. He was going to get you to where you needed to go and tell Karga to drop the bounty. He’d separate himself from you and then he’d never have to think of you again. You’d be better off without him. All those thoughts only worsened his shame.

What else could he do? It wasn’t just a thought. It was a prayer to the universe, to fate who got them stuck like this to begin with. What else could he do? Din wasn’t the wide eyed little boy starstruck at the notion of a soulmate anymore. The years had changed him into someone that didn’t deserve that. That left him pleading as he sat in the cockpit fuming silently. What else could he do?

The answer given to him was the sound of your feet climbing the ladder to meet him. He huffed out a quiet sigh and when you entered his peripherals he questioned your presence, more gruff than he intended, “What?”

“Maker, relax.” You dropped into the passenger seat with a scoff. Din cursed himself. Again. “Your kid fell asleep downstairs and I’m not desperate enough to start talking to your walls.” He stayed silent and you let out a chuckle. “Although, maybe your walls would be a better conversationalist.”

“You should sleep.” Din replied. It was his best case scenario right now.

“Not tired.” You slouched in your seat, finding a comfortable spot, “So what’s your kid’s deal? You have a mid-life crisis and find the closest kid to adopt?”

You were annoying. You never shut up. Din liked the sound of your voice way too much.

“No.”

“Then how’d you end up with him?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s still two days until we reach Corellia.”

Din shouldn’t answer. The less he knew about you, and the less you knew about him, the better. He should keep his mouth shut, get you to the world you wanted, and speed away as fast as he could. Travel to the clear other side of the galaxy. He knew all of this, and yet his mouth opened. “He was a bounty.”

Fuck.

“Seriously?” You chuckled. “Why would there be a bounty on a kid?”

“It’s hard to explain.” And Din really didn’t want to. “Empire wanted him.”

You hummed and he was caught off guard when you didn’t ask any further questions on his vague statement. He was surprised further when you chuckled, “Good for you.”

Din turned in his seat to look at you. “I turned him in.”

“And then obviously went back for him, I’m guessing. Since he’s, you know, here.”

“That doesn’t change what I did⏤”

“We’re all assholes and it’s human nature that the first thing our brains think to do, our instinct, is sometimes selfish and stupid. It happens.” You said without missing a beat. “The only thing that matters at the end of the day is if you’re willing to fix what you fucked up and the conscious decision you make from there.” Din could only stare at you in response as your words rolled around in his head. You said it so simply, like an offhand comment or passing thought, but it felt so profound to him. You shrugged. “I know, I know. I can be inspirational sometimes. It happens.”

Din found his lips twitching up into a small smile and he forced himself to look away. The only safe spot to stare was the control panel. You stayed silent and Din realized that if he focused hard enough he could see your reflection in the glass panel that sat in front of you. Without any attention on you, without the business of a conversation, Din watched your features soften. There was a melancholy in your gaze that stirred something in his chest. 

“I can…” Din began and your eyes darted to look his way while he stayed facing forward, “I can remove that for you.”

“Huh?”

Din spun in his chair so he faced you, and he motioned to your neck where that damned collar sat. “That. I can remove it. If you’d like.”

Your eyes widened marginally and the surprise dissipated as quickly as it came. You shook your head. “No. I don’t want it off.”

“You don’t…” Din tilted his head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want it off?”

“It’s a story for another day.” You mumbled.

“But, I don’t understand.” Din blurted before he could reign it back. Never, ever would anybody in the entire galaxy claim him to be the nosy type of person. Din kept to himself and expected others to respect him in that same way. Silence never bothered him. Yet, that same sensation that stirred in his chest, urged him to learn more. It was the most unfamiliar feeling he’s ever had.

You shook your head. “You never take your armor off, right? Even when it’d be more comfortable to shed it all?”

“My armor is not the same as a slave collar.” Din bristled.

“You wear your armor because it stands for something. It represents a part of you, and carries a belief.” You replied sharply. “Right now, this collar serves the exact same purpose for me.  So, no, I don’t see a difference.”

Din leaned back and found himself speechless. That was all true of his armor, but he couldn’t fathom a person feeling similarly to the kind of metal soldered to your neck. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on his elbows. “I chose to wear this armor. I put it on willingly.”

“Who says I didn’t choose to put this collar on? Who said I wasn’t willing?” You replied and Din found himself floored again. The melancholy in your eyes hardened and turned to something sharp, mean, and cold. “You can find a sense of protection, of belonging, and what once brought you comfort can just as easily turn into a prison.” You stood up abruptly and Din’s gaze followed you. You motioned to him, “Are you telling me that beskar never feels like a prison?”

You turned on your heel and left. Din didn’t understand how easily you were able to spin him in place. The question you left him with felt like a blow to the chest. Din stiffened in his seat and shook his head. He needed to get you off this ship as quickly as he could.

“You’re kind of a weird kid, you know that?” You were laying on your stomach in the cargo hold, kicking your legs in the air, while leaning on one fist. The child, Grogu, sat in front of you munching on a ration bar that you had scavenged for him in all the the Mandalorian’s supply. You hadn’t asked permission, but you figured Mando couldn’t be upset at you for feeding his child. “Not because you’re green with giant ears. I have no issue with that.” You continued. “You’re just an oddball. In a good way, I mean.”

The boy babbled between bites and you nodded your head as he spoke.

“Mhmm.” You agreed to whatever he was saying. “Yeah. Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Three days on this ship with the Mandalorian and his son hadn’t been the worst thing in the galaxy. You were fed, you had a place to sleep, and the walking tin can hadn’t murdered you. It had been a while since you came away with this many wins back to back. The last bit of real tension you dealt with was when Mando offered to take the golden band around your neck off. You hadn’t meant to take it so personal or make it personal back. You must have seriously pissed the guy off though because since then he had maybe only spoken a total of ten words to you. Even when you tried to egg him into an argument. You found you missed talking to him which meant you must have been more desperate for interaction than you thought. Why else would you crave to hear his voice? 

You could always apologize for comparing his armor to your collar. The dig had been a guess. An attempt to get under his skin as he had gotten under yours. You pushed yourself up off the floor to sit criss cross and your hand drifted to the gold band around your neck. It’d be nice to have it off, but you couldn’t yet. Not until you dealt with Viktor. For now, you would just have to daydream about the day you’d walk around with a bare neck.

“I’m sorry.”

The sound of the modulated voice had you whip around in surprise, eyes wide and heart racing. Mando was leaning against the wall behind you. He must have come from the kitchen area or fresher, but considering you thought he had been up in the cockpit it really caught you off guard.

“Maker, how are you that silent? You’re basically covered in pots and pans.”

“Practice.” Mando shrugged. His hands were resting on his belt. “I’m sorry about,” He paused and nodded toward you, “you know.”

Your hand fell from your neck. “Why are you apologizing? That was like 48 hours ago.”

“We’ll be landing in Coreilla soon. It’s now or never.”

“Okay.” You mumbled. It surprised you again when the child waddled from around you and crawled into your lap. You scratched his head while he continued to eat. “I’m sorry too then. I didn’t have to drag your armor into it.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

Your eyes widened at his admission, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it. There was an energy between you and the Mandalorian you couldn’t quite explain. The close quarters made you naturally want to bond, but from experience you knew that was a poor plan. Plus, Mando didn’t seem all that interested in starting up any kind of friendship. Which made sense. You’d be out of his life soon enough. You just wondered if you had gone too long without any real social interaction. Back when you were with Viktor, he had others in his collection that you had grown close to⏤ like sisters. You missed being social.

Before you could think of a bridging conversation, Mando pushed off the wall and climbed up into the cockpit. You blew out a breath of air as soon as he was out of view then glanced down at the kid in your lap.

“Why is your dad so hard to talk to?” You asked. “I can talk to anyone and anything, but that beskar may as well be a wall.” Grogu babbled another string of nonsense and you nodded. “Yeah, I mean he probably doesn’t make a habit of befriending quarries, huh?”

It was fine. It didn’t matter.

And, a few hours later when the ship was landed on the tarmac and the ramp was lowering you repeated those phrases to yourself again. 

“Well, uh, thanks.” You nodded. Mando had given you back your weapons and he now stood inside the cargo hold with his son in his arms while you drifted down the ramp. You paused at the bottom. “It’s been fun, bucket head.”

Mando didn’t reply, but Grogu did offer you a wave which you cheerily returned. With one last nod, and a mocking salute, you spun on your heel and began to tread away. You had only gotten a few feet from the ship when you heard Mando call out after you. The sound of his voice calling out your name grinding your feet to a halt.

“Just…Be careful.” Mando said tensely. 

“I always try.” You replied with a grin and a shrug.

As you continued to leave, your stomach churned in discomfort. The Corellia shipyard was dreary and gray which could sour anyone’s mood. When you reached the gates, the overwhelming urge to look back slammed into you. In fact, you nearly turned on instinct alone. A moment of weakness born from a desperation to connect to someone again. Shoving it as deep down into yourself as you could, burying it with the bloody memories and traumas in the graveyard of your mind, you pushed forward deeper into the city of Corellia. 

It took you only ten minutes to travel through the city and find the first cantina of many. By time you arrived thoughts of the Mandalorian had been successfully shelved and you were seriously craving a strong drink. The bartender was kind and cheerful, the opposite of how this city of Corellia looked, and after he poured you a drink you drifted to a back table. 

You decided this was going to be your least favorite world. Even in comparison with Jakku. Never before had entering a city filled you with such dread and distaste. Like a cloud of darkness had rolled over your mind to match the stormy clouds above the city itself. You were honestly just in shock that there could be a place worse than Jakku. That rolled into the realization that the galaxy was a big place and you still had a lot of ground to cover. There was a chance you had yet to see the worst this universe had to offer. That only worsened your misery.

Something solid, something you unfortunately recognized as the end of a blaster, pressed against your spine. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

Fate just couldn’t give you a fucking break could it?

With a sigh, you turned around and began to mumble your usual spiel, “Would you really arrest your⏤” The words died in your mouth as your eyes landed on the man standing behind you. A Nikto wearing a grin filled only with malice and eyes that shone with rage. One who gripped the blaster tight in one hand while his other hung loosely at his side with three missing fingers. You grimaced, “Oh, my luck can’t possibly be this bad…”

Din was pacing the cargo hold while Grogu watched him curiously from the cot. Already he had climbed up to the cockpit just to immediately come down twice. He wanted to leave this kriffing planet. Why couldn’t he leave this kriffing planet? He mumbled a string of curses after the rhetoric question. Of course he knew why. 

“This is a bad idea.” Din scoffed aloud. Grogu chirped and his feet came to a stop so he could stare at the kid. His son. Saving Grogu had been a bad idea too. A life changing one at that. That didn’t make it any less important that he went through with the rescue. Din had gambled, taken a chance, and his pay out had been worth more than he could’ve ever imagined. Could he take a gamble on you?

Considering how quickly he had given up on you years prior, taking a gamble was the least he could do.

Din sighed and grabbed his satchel to place Grogu in before hurrying off the ship. He didn’t have a plan. Then again, he rarely did. What would he say to you? Admit that he was your soulmate? Din probably should have done that three days ago. But with the way you had blown off the idea of soulmates, he had a high suspicion that telling you the truth would only worsen the situation. Besides, he was not interested in exploring the soulmate relationship further. Din didn’t deserve that. What he could do, what he owed you, was help in your mission. If he told you the truth, you wouldn’t let him help. If he kept it to himself, then maybe he could help you meet your goals and put you on a path to a better life. One you deserved.

There. Plan made.

Din knew he needed to find a cantina but he wasn’t sure which you’d be in since there were a few in this city. He picked the closest one and hoped for the best. 

The hand knotted in your hair roughly threw you back to the asphalt ground of the alley behind the cantina. You landed on your back, the air briefly leaving you, and you stared up at Nivor. With a wince, you spoke, “You know, for only having two fingers you got a pretty tight grip.”

A boot slammed into the side of your rib cage before Nivor knelt down and pressed his knee against your sternum. Your hands reached out to claw at him, shove him off, but he grabbed your wrists with his one good hand and pinned it to the ground above your head.

“You always have something to say.” Nivor spat. “Don’t know why Viktor liked you so much.”

“You and me both.” You replied.

He applied more pressure to your chest with his knee and you clenched your teeth to bite back a moan. Nivor chuckled, “He wants you back.”

“I’m aware.” You snapped, breathless.

“Told him I’d bring you back, but I don’t think he’d mind a few missing pieces.”

“Wrong.” You glared up at him. “You bring me back less than whole and he’ll rip your head off.”

Nivor shook his head, “You’re overestimating your worth, little bird.” Your glare deepened at the nickname. “Viktor’s found a new favorite plaything.” The Nikto pulled a vibroblade from his belt. “Besides, you owe me some parts.”

“Is this about the fingers thing?” You replied. “That was an accident. I wasn’t trying to shoot off half your hand, I was trying to kill you.” You couldn’t help but paste on a smug smirk. “So really you should be thankful.”

“What is it they say? A leg for a leg.” Nivor dragged the blade up from your knee to your hip. Not deep enough to cut through your clothes, but enough to make you uncomfortable. “An eye for an eye.” The blade kissed the skin of your cheekbone as it circled around your eye softly. “How about a hand for three fingers?!”

You shook your head. “The math is not adding up there, buddy.”

With a cry of anger, Nivor lifted the blade in the air and at the motion his knee lifted off your chest. Using the window of opportunity, you rolled into him as hard as you could and he fell back on his ass. However, though his grip had loosened some, he still had a tight hold on one of your wrists and it kept you from running. You tried to twist out of his grip to avoid the blade he was swinging wildly now, and your free hand shot to grab your own dagger. Nivor was stronger than you gave him credit for, and once he gained his footing he was able to yank you back to the ground. The dagger you managed to grab clattered away from your grip when your chest slammed into the asphalt and a cry of pain slipped from your lips as Nivor twisted your arm back to keep you pinned down. Now, his knee dug into your spine.

You tried to reach around and grab him, but your fingers only grazed the leather of his jacket.

“For that, you’re losing your whole arm.” Nivor chuckled. 

His blade pressed into your shoulder and panic flooded your entire body. No, no, no. This was your dominant arm. This injury would put an abrupt end to your mission and that was only if you survived it. Between blood loss and Nivor choosing a grimy alley to operate, your chances were slim. With another scream, you tried to shake your entire body in a poor attempt to knock him off of you, but you only felt his blade begin to dig in deeper. Heat flare in your shoulder as Nivor deliberately sunk it in as slowly as possible. 

“Stop!” The plea left your lips and you immediately felt shame for begging this man for mercy. You heard his chuckle, the blade sunk a bit deeper, then with the familiar sound of a blaster going off the weight suddenly fell from your back. You were gasping for air, your heart still pounding as you felt hot blood drip down your back and shoulder, and when you glanced to the side you saw Nivor slumped to the ground. The sinister light in his eyes was gone and his features were slack. There was still smoke rising from the blaster burn in his back.

You turned the opposite way, whipped your head in that direction more like, and there stood the Mandalorian now holstering his weapon. You had tucked his memory away, sure you’d never see him again, but now you felt so relieved to be wrong. Seeing that shine of silver may as well have been the glowing end of a long tunnel. The little green child, resting in his bag by his side, lifted his hand and gave you a small wave.

With the arm that wasn’t numb with pain, you waved back.

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a/n: this was supposed to be my silly, funny, light hearted story, but the reader in this grabbed me by the shirt collar and went 'bitch nah'. soooooo here we are :)

[marcell-arts]

snippets from Rookie V

Rook takes care of Viago after he survives an assassination attempt.

The rich aroma soon filled the room like a comforting blanket. Rookie was just pouring the liquid into some fancy cups she found on the shelf when she heard Viago's tired voice behind her. 

"Since when do you know how to make coffee?" It lacked his usual sardonic sneer. 

"Do you remember that job I did in Rivain?" she asked. She loaded a little tea tray with his coffee and the soup. "I spent a week as a maid in a cafe to gather information." She added a generous chunk of bread to the side. 

"You learned to make coffee from Rivainis?" he sounded somewhat disgusted. 

She turned and pinned him with a look. "Don't be a snob. And besides, it was owned by a good Antivan couple, if you must know." 

She brought the tray over as he dragged himself upright against the pillows. "We'll see about that," he muttered as she settled the tray over his lap. She ignored him. 

"Coffee, soup, bread," she pointed out each item on the tray, "I'll fetch your kit so you can test for poison yourself."

With her back turned as she rummaged his desk drawers for it, she missed the exasperated but fond look on his face. Sometimes he hated how well she knew him.

"Did you tell anyone you came here?" he asked. 

"I was with Soren and the girls when I left, but I didn't say where. Didn't talk to anyone else." 

She passed the kit over to him. He grunted his acknowledgement and began his usual ritual. She plonked herself at his desk chair to enjoy her own coffee and breakfast. 

Now in the daylight, she could admire the place for what it was. It was similar to his office in a way, but with much more texture; heavy satin drapes and Nevarran rugs, bedsheets made of fine-spun silk, and chaise lounges of velvet and gold. The furniture was all made of a dark and rich wood, carved into intricate wardrobes, tables and a very fine desk. She was quite sure the painting over the mantle cost more than her entire year's earnings. His personal messaging crows were quiet in gilded cages by the window. 

"This is a nice place," she commented as he finally deemed his breakfast safe and took a sip of the coffee. He swallowed and sighed. 

"I knew it was only a matter of time until you found your way here eventually." He glanced down at the cup. "You put honey in this." 

"Yes, you like it black with a bit of honey." 

He looked at her askance. "I have never told you that." 

Rookie smiled. "You didn't need to. Why else would you have a half-empty pot of honey by the coffee maker, hm?" 

Now he just looked annoyed. "Perhaps I have guests who like honey in their coffee." 

It was Rookie's turn to scoff. "You do not bring guests to your personal villa." 

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