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thedreamlessnights · 4 months

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Give The Devil His Due - pt. 2

Gale x F!Reader

{part 1}

Warnings: Major BG3 Ending and Epilogue Spoilers. Mentions of death, the use of the Netherese orb, grieving and loss. Amnesia, self-hatred, guilt-tripping. Raphael being a dick.

Synopsis: Gale is back. He's real, and alive, and... he doesn't remember you. You should be happy, shouldn't you?

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hi all! Thank you so much for your patience as I got this chapter out. Life has been crazy, essentially. Apologies for the angst - next chapter will be happier, I promise! We'll also see more Gale then ♥

You must have sat on this balcony a hundred times in the past year. More, maybe. Sometimes, Tara curled up on your lap as you read a book, her purring a constant comfort. Other times, you fell asleep watching the ships sailing by and woke in the darkness.

The view was always beautiful, even in the storms. Crystal-blue skies against an aquamarine sea. Lavender sunrises that swirled with orange. Dark clouds, streaked with silvery flashes of light and the bone-shaking crashes of thunder. You can certainly see why Gale favored it.

Until about two hours ago, it was a place of comfort. Now, it feels wrong. Or rather, you do.

Every inch of your presence feels out of place. A transplant, neatly sutured into surrounding skin only to be rejected a year later.

The moments after you’d kissed him are nothing but a blur in your memory. The sheer, utter horror when he hadn't known you. Morena’s voice taking on an edge of panic. Your feet moving you away - anywhere, anywhere where you couldn’t see the look on his face anymore.

You’ve been sitting on this balcony ever since.

Before today, thinking of Gale was painful. Every thought was a fresh shard of ice plunging into the warmth of your chest, slowly thawing - until a new wound came to start the process over again. But it’s different now.

It’d be easier to deny this situation, to pretend that it isn’t really Gale in that room, but you know better. You know that it’s him, just as you know that darkness will follow the sun’s fading light and greet you with the shimmering stars.

Gale is alive, and he doesn’t know you.

Gale is alive, and every memory of him - his face, his words, your old life - feels like it’s rotting away in your chest. You’re grasping at every thought, determined to keep him from slipping away, but there's only so much you can prevent.

Even you have to admit, it’s better than you’d expected of a devil’s deal. You’ve spent the last year picturing all the ways it could go wrong, laying out the risks and estimating the reward. If I word things in a specific way, you thought, if I prepare for the loopholes, then perhaps I can avoid the worst outcomes.

But a part of you had always known that you could have ended up like Mayrina. Dragging around a corpse just to cling to that tiny scrap of hope that Gale might return.

Gods, you could have had so much worse. Why, then? Why had Raphael let you have this? What more could he possibly want from you?

This isn't the first time you’ve felt this way. During your travels, Astarion had made a deal with Raphael to learn more about the scars on his back, and the only thing required in return was Yurgir’s death. You made a deal to bring back the one you love, and you’ve gotten it only at the cost of his memories.

Your soul remains intact. Gale still knows his mother and his tressym. He’s alive. That’s enough, isn’t it?

No, your heart says. No, it isn’t. But you’ll survive, as you always have. You’ve had worse than this.

Nearby, there’s the rustling of fabric. You know who it is, even before she speaks.

“I thought I might find you here.” Morena’s voice is gentle, as though she’s afraid she’ll startle you away, but it’s filled with a fullness - a radiant warmth you’ve never heard before. She gives you a reassuring smile as she approaches, then sits at your side and reaches for your hand.

Your throat goes tight.

“My darling, I know this was your doing,” she says. Her voice is measured, as well as her face, but the crinkling at the corner of her warm brown eyes - Gale’s eyes - bleeds the joy she’s trying to hide into her expression.

There’s no point in lying to her. She’s much too perceptive for that. All you can manage is a small nod in response.

“It’s really him,” she breathes. Her voice is suddenly thin. Hollow, almost. “I always thought… if we could even get him back, he wouldn't be himself. But it’s him.”

Tears sting at your eyes, hot and unwelcome. “I know,” you say. Your voice chokes at the last second. “He doesn't remember me.”

“No,” Morena murmurs, “he doesn't.” She squeezes your hand, resting her other hand on your shoulder. The comfort feels more like pity, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You’d known, but the confirmation still hurts to hear.

“What does he remember, then?” you ask, slow and careful.

Hesitation flickers across her features. The hand on your shoulder slightly tightens. “You have to understand, he’s still very confused,” she starts. “His memories are muddled, grouped together. It’s entirely possible more will start coming back, if you just give him a little time-”

“Please, Morena,” you interrupt, desperate with anticipation. It’s always the not knowing that hurts you most. The cruelty of your mind that swirls out horrors that needn’t be there. “I need to know. Is it - is it everything but me? A hole in his mind where I used to be? How much of himself did he lose?”

She sighs, and her expression crumples. “It seems to be a… specific loss,” she says. “A cutoff point, really. Everything before the Netherese orb is perfectly intact. Everything after, well…”

She trails off, and her silence says the rest.

It isn't only you, then. It’s everything else you know of him. The tadpole, the Absolute, the Elder Brain. His friendships with the others. All the months of travel, and every single experience you shared. Even his year of isolation in the tower has been lost.

His abandonment from Mystra; her charge for his life.

Something cold and numb blooms under your skin, trailing from the nape of your neck down your spine. Your lungs don’t quite seem to fill with air.

You’d hoped he wouldn't have to bear the burden of remembering his own death, but this… counting the time after his death, two years worth of life has been all but turned to ash. Morena doesn’t know of it, and Tara only knows glimpses. Your precious memories of him only encapsulate a few months of his loss. Is he still the man you fell in love with?

The spinning under your feet is making it difficult to think. You need to speak with Raphael. You don’t even know what you’ll say to him, but at this point it hardly matters.

For a moment, you’re silent, almost forgetting Morena is there. Then, you remember her presence and swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe. “I don’t think we should… tell him about me,” you start. “All of this… it’s enough for him to take in already. I would only complicate things.”

She gently pats your hand. “Your kiss said more than enough enough,” she replies, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Gale is a smart boy. Believe you me, he’s already pieced it together. Aspects of it, at least.”

Gods, what had come over you, kissing him like that? If you hadn't been so impulsive - if you had just waited a little longer, this would have been much simpler. The split would have been clean.

“Some time, then,” you land on. “I think it’s better for the both of us if I… if he - has time to process this. At least for now.”

Morena nods. “I can't pretend to know how incredibly difficult all of this must have been on you,” she says. “Whenever you need to come over, feel free. I’ll make an excuse for you.”

She gives you a wink, then rises to her feet and places a kiss on the top of your head. “He’ll come back to you,” she whispers. “I know it.”

Her words linger long after she’s gone.

The moment you’ve stumbled your way home, you’re met with a burst of orange light in the kitchen. You don't bother looking for the source - the scent of cinnamon and honey in the air says enough.

“My, my. Whatever happened to our poor resident wizard?” comes Raphael’s voice, a few feet to your side. “How… unfortunate that he’s lost his memory, don't you think?”

You’re in no mood for his games. You toss your things to the floor and meet his gaze dead-on, staring daggers at him. “What do you want, Raphael?”

“Tsk, tsk. What a temper,” Raphael purrs. “Aren't you satisfied? You got what you asked for. Gale Dekarios is alive and well. Of course, if you’re unhappy, I could always return him to the grave...”

You suck in a breath, attempting to dissipate your lingering fury. “I’m very happy,” you force out. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

Raphael eyes you, tilts his head, and finally sprawls himself out on one of your chairs. He trails his fingers along the table, then hums. “You know, of your ragged little group, I’ve admired you in particular. Such ambition. You could have dominated the brain, had you really tried.”

He pauses, and his gaze seems to sear straight into your soul as he looks at you. “Tell me, why did you let Gale sacrifice himself? Were you afraid of yourself, little mouse? Afraid that, given the chance, you’d have taken the power you so desperately wanted?”

Your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily, the way they always do when your brain decides to relive this moment. No merciful sensory images to distract you. Nothing but sheer agony, even now, when he’s alive.

Fear. It’s what you remember most about that day. Regret had come afterward, but first it had been fear and exhaustion and pain. Stiff joints. Fatigued muscles. How in the hells am I supposed to go on like this? you’d been thinking. How can I defeat the brain on nothing but fumes?

And with the fear had come temptation.

The voice of the Absolute was always a siren’s song in your ear. It was a path to complete control, to security and safety like you’d never known. No more humiliation, no more fear, no more pain. Nothing unless you wanted it, you commanded it. Even as shame and horror bled in your gut, keeping you from sleep, you ached for it.

With every inch closer to the Elder Brain, the temptation had strengthened. An itch that you could not stand not to scratch. A whisper in your mind that grew until you could hardly hear your own thoughts. By the time you’d reached the brain stem, it was so terrifyingly potent that you were ready to lay down your sword and end the internal battle you were undoubtedly going to lose.

Anything to stop yourself from going down that road and betraying your friends. Anything to stop the vision of

And when Gale had offered to use the orb, it had all been so fast… even now, you can't remember saying yes. Only that he’d insisted, despite your arguments. Just as you’d wanted to save him, he’d wanted to save you.

The rest is blurry, but still there. His last words. The helplessness you felt as his magic overtook you, teleporting you and the others to safety. The all-consuming panic as you met with the reality of what it meant for Gale Dekarios to die, much too late to stop him.

A flash of light.

And then, agony that never ended.

When the memory releases you, your body is stiff and heavy, and your cheeks are wet and raw. Your chest throbs. You feel as though you’ve been hit by a Thunderwave. At your side, Raphael’s face drips with false sympathy.

“Is that what you want to hear, Raphael?” you ask thickly. “That Gale suffered because of me? That I’m the reason he chose to use the orb?”

Raphael leans back in his seat. “I want to know one thing, and one thing only,” he replies. “Is Gale losing his memory a cruelty, or is it a mercy?”

You're silent, but your lack of reply must say enough.

“Really?” he muses, rising to his feet. “I see it as a mercy. The orb must have been dreadfully painful to detonate, after all. Not to mention the fear he felt as he plunged the knife into his chest.”

Raphael steps closer, and though he doesn't touch you, you can feel his presence on your skin. “How terribly alone he must have felt in those last moments,” he murmurs, his voice honeyed but sickening in your ears. “Yes. What a relief to have that washed away.”

He smiles, and the tension in the room finally breaks. “On that note, I must take my leave. I’d love to stay, my dear, but I’m a busy man,” he says. “Watch over the wizard, won't you? I brought him back just for you.”

Without waiting for a response, he snaps his fingers, and he’s gone.

You buckle over and wait for the pain to pass.

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x you #bg3 spoilers #bg3 epilogue spoilers #my writing

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brabblesblog · 8 months

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Louder.

Centuries before the circumstances of his ascension, Astarion watches the sunrise. Inspired by this artwork by pickled0ctopus For @glorious-void

TW: Torture, implied SA, Non-con elements, Suicidal Ideation Read on AO3.

Louder.

He tries, gods, he really tries. But he doesn’t have much voice left; today’s session with Godey had all but scratched his larynx raw.

He feels the chafe of the manacles on his wrists. He knows better than to fight against them, knows there’s no winning that, but Cazador liked having him do it anyway - for the theatrics of it, he had said.

That voice in his head, incontestable.

So he had fought, tugging and pulling and yanking with a desperation that was not his, no, if it were up to him he’d just hold his hands slack but he has to fight, has to pull until his wrists are broken bloody weeping everywhere -

A loud crack behind him, and he screams as the whip lands, as requested. However the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a broken, hoarse groan. He despairs, knowing he’s failed his master yet again.

“The master said louder.” Godey cracks the whip again, and Astarion manages a louder sound this time, halfway between a shout and a moan.

Please, he thinks, let that be enough.

He knows it is anything but.

He’s on a bed, the sheets white and clean in one of the guestrooms; a small comfort, one that he knows won’t last.

He eyes the window warily. The curtains are peeled back just far enough for a sliver of moonlight to land across him; Astarion arches his neck. The moonlight falls across his Adam’s apple, his hair falling back in silvery waves.

Whatever new thing Cazador has thought up, Astarion thinks, might be preferable to the horrors Godey does. He had run out of sounds to make, of screams to titillate his master’s ears.

And so Cazador had instructed him to clean up, boy, and lay down on the guest bed.

Open the windows a fraction. Let the moonlight touch you.

Do not move a muscle and watch the dawn arrive.

Astarion had done just so. He wonders if the master intended to kill him this way, hopes for that to be the case. Likelier than not, however, he knows that this is yet another sort of cruel punishment that he just can’t see yet.

The question of being able to die… well, he supposes not die die, as he’s dead -

Of not existing, then, is something that has been plaguing him ever since he dug his way out of his grave.

His master’s rules have so far prevented it. Not that Astarion hasn’t tried to find a loophole; years of his training as a magistrate have been put into exhausting, terrible use, trying to find some way he could circumvent Cazador’s words, twist them, and allow himself peace.

No matter what type of logic he’d use in his head it never worked; he’d always find his own body betraying him, seeking safety when push came to shove. He’d scream at himself, to just please, please, stay put and die, but his body acted of its own accord, in accordance with his master’s will.

His body. Not his anymore.

Astarion’s eyes, the only thing he feels allowed to move, keeps staring at the window. He watches the moonlight slowly wane. The hope is still there: perhaps this time with Cazador asking him to stay put he can last long enough to end; he could twist his interpretation enough to finally free himself.

Highly unlikely, he knows, but the embers of hope in his heart cannot be so easily tamped down.

All too soon the sun begins to rise. Astarion has not seen it in what seems like forever; his eyes widen to take it all in. Beautiful, the way those gentle rays illuminate everything; the small glimpse of color in a world so full of darkness makes his breath catch.

There are worse ways to end, he figures. This is positively divine.

The thought is unfortunately cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching him. His footsteps.

Cazador stares down at him, hidden in the safety of the shadows.

“Not exactly how I imagined you would execute this, but satisfactory,” he says. “A rare accomplishment, boy.” Despite himself, despite the gnawing hatred for his master, Astarion feels the swelling of pride at these words and immediately curses himself. Was he so wretched now that he craved even praise from him?

“Thank you, master,” he croaks out automatically.

Fuck.

Cazador smiles, as if hearing the thought. “One more thing.”

Astarion sees that gleam in Cazador’s eyes; in an instant what little hope he has dissolves and his undead heart begins to speed up.

Of course there was to be no freedom. His master knew better, wanted him by his side forever, of course he did, who else brought the most beautiful victims, who else had the most exquisite screams -

“You want… to live,” Cazador says, eyes glowing a faint crimson as he taps into his power over him. “You’ll want to beg me to spare you from the sun.” Long, thin fingers, fingers that have touched him in so many ways and in so many places, all of them horrible, rest against his thigh.

He feels the magic slowly take, the calm resignation and expectation of finally being allowed repose slowly morphing into panic that wasn’t his own, an alien feeling taking over him, ruling his heart and his mind.

His heart races, breathing quickens, whimpers, even as he tries to tell himself this isn’t what he wants. Betrayed yet again by his body and mind, trapped within the confines of Cazador’s will. He should be used to this by now; it’s been years of this, of endless waking nightmares of neverending bodies of dead-end hallways and pure shit -

The stream of sunlight begins to creep towards him, and Astarion struggles. He needs to keep still as commanded, but cannot stop his mouth.

“Master, please, I - I don’t want to die here,” he begins to say, his voice a wreck still. Cazador, still above him, watches with wry amusement, the hand on his thigh moving higher.

Astarion cannot help the whine that escapes him. “Please. Please.”

I’ll do anything say anything be anything just please don’t let me die here.

Never mind that those words, those thoughts, are not his; that he will never mean them in his deepest heart. He says them anyway, feels them anyway.

“I think I’d rather you be quiet, child,” Cazador replies.

Immediately his mouth snaps shut. His eyes shift over to look at Cazador, the defiance in them slowly ebbing away as the sunlight finally touches him.

Blistering, sizzling pain erupts from that line on his throat. He can hear his skin begin to burn, the crackling sound loud in the near-silent room. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t speak. Instead he watches his master, gaze conveying those traitorous feelings Cazador forces him to possess.

The pain increases, incrementally at first, and then worse as time passes. However it isn’t worse than any other pain he’s felt before, especially in Godey’s sessions.

He stares at Cazador and then at the sunlight, feeling freedom slip away from his fingers. So close to escape, to peace, and he is reminded that he can never have that. That this is it for eternity, to be Cazador’s, to spend day after day reliving the same waking nightmare without end.

A single tear falls. A different kind of pain.

If he could scream, he thinks, he could have been louder now.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal@youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanart #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion whump

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donnabenevientosimpingzone · 8 months

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Professor Benevientos notes cuz I spent way too much time thinking about this AU

Donna

- sticks mostly with @shortstrawberry’s AU which originally inspired this

- Botanist and Toxicologist professor, teaches both undergrads and grads

- Still a doll maker that does it as a hobby, takes commissions at her own leisure online for extra cash

- In charge of the greenhouses, she designs the labs in there too

- She’s also conducting her own research in there for her PhD

- Is usually very on-top of students, she’ll reach out to students she notices not doing well in the class and do her best to assist in their success

- Surprisingly prefers teaching toxicology, but that’s mostly because she gets to work with Claudia for those lessons

- Workaholic, she’ll drown herself in grading papers or reading research papers and needs constant reminders to eat

- Most students are intimidated by her lol

Claudia

- Trauma surgeon and a licensed family doctor, she works these during weekends and holidays

- She teaches Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Biochemistry every other year

- Also an instructor in the organic chemistry labs if she can fit it in her schedule

- In charge of the cadaver labs

- Mostly teaches undergrads

- A pretty laid back professor, she definitely has the belief of “you’re paying for this, you’re choosing to be here, and you choose to do well or not”

- That doesn’t mean she’s an unfair professor. She is constantly reworking and reorganizing lessons and exams to make them as fair and educational as they can be

- Tells the best stories if class finishes early. She has the most students that remember her and bond with her out of the sisters

- Sews in her free time, loves making outfits when she can find the time

- Loves bothering the fuck out of her younger sister in staff rooms and meetings (Donna secretly loves it)

Bernadette

- Psychology and Neurology professor, works as a licensed therapist

- Helps with Donna in the greenhouses

- Mostly teaches grad students

- In charge of the Anatomy and Physiology labs

- Has a fair approach with students, she’ll reach out to those who are struggling but doesn’t pursue them

- Use to be on the board but has stepped down since then to make more time for her family

- She will take runs on campus between classes, sometimes Claudia joins her

- The heaviest tea drinker between the sisters, almost always seen with a bottle or flask

- Donna often weaves flowers into her hair and she’s not taking them out for the rest of the day, she’ll rather spread dirt and petals and insects around campus than throw out a flower her baby sis gave her

Angie

- human in this one! Claudia’s daughter

- She’s studying music at the campus, hoping to make it big like movie scores or video game soundtracks

- The building the classes she takes are close enough to the buildings her mom and aunties teach in so she often stops by to visit them

- Definitely privileged- she gets access to back offices and free stuff- especially when Donna is around

- Knows the guitar from her mom, got taught the piano by Bernadette, and both her and Donna learned the violin together. She’s self teaching herself the drums.

- Knows the loopholes around campus rules and abuses the shit out of them

- If there’s a new rule that’s added to campus, it’s because of her

- Doesn’t dorm, she lives with her family- it’s free food, rent, transport, and she doesn’t have to do chores most of the time- why wouldn’t she? (The real reason is that she loves them too much to leave but you won’t hear it from her)

- But she does have a group of friends who are all musicians and all dorm together so when she’s not home she’s with them

#resident evil village #resident evil #donna beneviento #bernadette beneviento #claudia beneviento #professor au #professor donna #angie the doll #angie beneviento #headcannons

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devieuls · 2 years

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I’ve always been there for you. part.I

Childe ( Tartaglia) x Fem Reader !smut¡

Warning : Smut 18+ MDNI; Childe Dom! ; unprotected and rude sex; dirty talk; threats; slaps; spit; bites; hickeys; punishments; blood; power play; teasing; choking, jealousy and possessiveness; pseudo-toxic relationship; violent foreplay; BDSM.

Reader with Cryo vision.

Synopsis : You are the only daughter of the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya, heir to the throne and general of the nation. The diamond of that place characterized by the eternal winter, loved by the people and adored for the angelic but fierce facade that you show. The only person with whom this mask fell is your secret lover, the one who manages to make you forget your duties with a touch and takes you to heaven whenever you end up in bed together. Your relationship was reserved for the bedroom, although you liked to tease him in public, as the 11th Harbinger was also your personal guard.

Everything was great and perfect... until one day your game was pushed too far, breaking the thin thread that gave you so much stability. Appearances were deceiving, and everything you thought you had under control suddenly hit you, dropping that house of cards you built for fun.

Length : 3.5k+

Notes: In the story there will be some slightly violent or excessively harsh parts from the reader or Childe himself, read the warnings to better understand what it is. It’s a mini series, I hope you like it.

OH, CLICK HERE TO SEE WHAT YOU'LL WEAR IN THE MEETING!

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 END

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The icy wind of Snezhnaya hit your still too sensitive skin after coming out of the warm bed sheets, causing you chills and goosebumps. Your gaze fell on the messy hair of the boy across the bed, failing to see his face completely because of the rebellious strands that hid him; His bare shoulders out of the blankets, showing much of his back, not reacting at all to the winter cold of the capital.

You stretched towards him, passing your hand over his soft skin, stroking with your fingertips some scratches left by you the night before, observing how he shuddered at that attention from you. That back, like his whole body, was your favorite canvas to paint with hickeys, bites and scratches, framed by some battle scars who aged with time.

You couldn’t say you didn’t appreciate your guardian, after all he was a passionate and devoted lover, and it was he who took your virginity, making you completely obsessed with him, even if you didn’t admit it so easily. Not that your jealousy toward him didn’t scream how crazy and possessive you was toward him.

No one could know what was between you two, it would be too inconvenient for the princess of Snezhnaya to attend her own guardian, even if only sexually. A Harbinger was clearly a respected authority but was supposed to serve the Tsaritsa and her family, not fuck the princess of the nation.

You followed his column, slipping your hand, making the boy growl under you. Childe woke up slowly, enjoying your gentle touch on his skin, hoping to stay a little longer in that corner of paradise you had created as a loophole from public duties.

< Good morning, my Harbinger. Did you sleep well? > You asked once you heard that the red-haired guy had woken up, leaving a gentle kiss on his neck, approaching his face turned sideways.

< My princess, how could I sleep badly if I have you by my side? > He answered by turning towards you, then quickly locking you under him, putting his hands on the sides of your shoulders. You passed one hand over his bare chest and the other over his face, caressing him gently.

< You’re always so flattering, Ajax. > You said smiling, and then receive a kiss from the boy above you, who soon became wet and needy, as if the two of you hadn’t kissed each other until your lips were consumed just the night before.

The kiss was interrupted by the "knock-Knock" produced by your closed door, accompanied by a voice. < Your Highness, it's bath time... are you... are you awake? > she asked in a trembling and low tone, but always remaining delicate.

You raised your eyes to the sky, mentally vowing to have your caregiver cut off her tongue. Childe smiled knowing what you were thinking, breaking away from the kiss and then moving away from you.

< Your Highness, is rude not to answer the servants > he whispered on your ear, causing you a sigh of dissent.

< Come back in a few minutes, 15 minutes will be fine. I need to be alone for a while. > You said in a tone obviously annoyed and maybe slightly acid.

< But Your Majesty the Tsaritsa told me... > She continued obviously uncertain about the business.

< Your princess commands you. My mother will not disagree about a bathroom postponed for a few minutes, don't dare to bore me further. > Your voice now hard and sharp had made sure that the servant left apologizing.

The guy next to you looked at you and then laughed and bit his lip, holding a hand on his face and then in his hair. < Do you want to hunt me, your Highness? > He said blatantly provoking you, not that you were sorry, you liked the way Childe took these small liberties in private.

< Hmm... I don’t know, do you have something to offer me in such a way as not to bore me? > You said turning to him and taking him by the face with one hand.

< All that your highness desires > He answered the mischievous tone, knowing where you were going. < Sometimes I forget how sexy you are when you’re so bossy > he caressed your naked side and squeezed it slightly, admiring the little marks he had left you the night before.

< Oh, I think you know very well what I want. > Your gaze was mischievous, clearly suggesting to the boy your desires.

< My princess, fifteen minutes wouldn't be enough to ensure that you enjoy properly. I thought you understood after all those nights. > He answered taking you by the hips, carrying you above him, admiring your naked body and exposed to him. He would never get tired of seeing you like that.

You snorted at yourself from the bed, taking away your sheets and covering yourself with it, knowing that it was an obvious wrong to your lover.

< I’m your princess! I can have what I want whenever I want and as much as I like. > Your dramatic voice rang out in the room as you wandered around the room not to give him the pleasure of touching you again.

< Y/n, you’re not just my princess, don’t play these games with me, you know I like to strip you of your titles. Also, in the bedroom, I’m in charge and.... Look, we’re in the bedroom. Come here before the maid returns and forces me to flee like a thief. > he responded in tone, knowing perfectly well that your titles in that chamber were completely cancelled.

You approached him daubed, then you were greeted by his warm arms, resting your face on his chest. He began to kiss your head, caressing your body, causing you chills along your back.

Will you be at the meeting with the Harbingers today? Her Majesty is going to force you to participate if you refuse to be present again > He said by clutching you to his chest, hoping to persuade you to leave again.

< Her Majesty, Her Majesty and Her Majesty... blah, blah, blah, blah, she is always spoken of as the center of the universe. I’m not going to go along with her wishes like anyone else > You responded acidly, sinking into his warm embrace.

< My angel, don't do so... is still an archon and is our Tsarina, it's obvious that everything revolves around her in Snezhnaya. You should really participate out of respect for your people and your servants Harbingers > continued, stroking your hair.

< I don’t care about the other Harbingers, I already have you... what more can I want? > You said lifting your face and kissing his jaw. < I really don’t want to hear my mother’s plans to "bring peace to Teyvat". They are hers battles, not mine > You answered by mumbling between one kiss and another, touching the boy’s chest. < Don’t insist... Why don’t you skip this meeting and hang out with me? I know it bores you too > You continued, leaving a few bites and making pant the man under you.

He had to detach you so as not to give in to the temptation to really stay with you, it wasn't like him to disobey the Tsarina’s orders. He was loyal to her and deified her as the goddess she was, not that it prevented him from giving in to lust with you and letting go.

< Mh... y/n, one day you’ll take your mother’s place and you’ll understand... You are close to the throne, you should really think about participating, if not for your majesty, do it for me > He said as he got out of bed and dressed, knowing that the longer he was with you, the more he would be carried away by your rebellious spirit.

< Come back here, come on! It sucks when you’re so devoted to my mother, phew. > You snorted and dropped on the mattress, watching the guy putting his clothes back on. < How can I be here if I see you sexy in your Harbinger uniform? I wouldn’t stay focused and just think about the ways you fucked me last night. It’s frustrating for me, Ajax. Don’t do this to me > You grumbled with your hands on your face, making the guy who took you from the foot laugh and pulled you towards the edge of the bed, then get you up slightly and kiss your lips.

< Not that I find you unattractive and sexy dressed as a general. If you showed up being a good girl, I could think of rewarding your good behavior > He said on your lips, and then pull away and approach the door before being stopped by yet another "knock-knock".

< Punctual as death. Perhaps it's better to get out of the balcony, I hope to see you at the meeting, my princess. > He whispered kissing the palm of your hand, then went out on the balcony and disappeared completely in the light fog of the capital.

You bit your lip with a smile, maybe he really convinced you to play your mom’s stupid power play. You covered yourself again and told the maid to come in, then follow her to the royal baths and let her wash you with the other women.

< Anya, no daily clothes today. I’ll wear the uniform of the nation’s general. > You said smiling at your most trusted servant, surprising her for the first time.

You had never directly asked to wear your uniform, except in military events that required your presence. The girl nodded and notified her subordinates to start cleaning and fixing your uniform.

Hours later you were ready for your entrance into the great hall built to house the Harbingers in the royal house. You had never heard that room of yours, it was yet another thing existing because of your mother, not that you hated her, she just always stood up, watching you and criticizing you in silence.

You waited to be announced before you entered the room, out of respect for the people who gave themselves every day to keep the nation safe.

Once inside, you found all the Harbingers standing solemnly bent over you, while remaining around the rectangular table. You could tell from their looks that they were amazed to see you come in, after all, it was a long time since you had actively attended meetings like this.

You could feel your mother’s sharp, burning look on your body, you knew she was surprised but you didn’t know if she was positive or negative, after all this time it wasn’t her who extended the invitation.

You took your seat at the head of the table, parallel to the Tsaritsa’s raised throne. That seat was usually reserved for the Fatui's leader, but it had to be ceded in the event of the presence of the General of State, namely you, as well as the princess of the nation and future Tsarina of Snezhnaya.

< I hope I’m not late, I know Her Majesty the Tsaritsa loves punctuality and it would be rude toall of you to arrive late. > You said and then nodded your hand to allow them to sit down again, sitting down after you gave the Tsarina a sharp look.

< Not at all, Your Highness. We're honored by your presence. > Pierro’s strong but servile voice broke the silence that was being created in the room, always with a calm tone as usual. You gave a gentle smile to Leader of Fatui, then crossed your legs and looked at some documents left on the table.

< So, what were we talking about? > You said looking up at the man waiting to be made aware of the various plans and events. Your tone was firm and professional, really interested in political dynamics, participating in the various debates and moves to be made to help the Tsarina get the gnosis and counter the power of Celestia.

The only thing wrong was to literally have your lover by your side, unfortunately or fortunately, the place assigned to Childe was exactly the one by your side and it was ironic how you could forget about it. Not that you were sorry, you had the opportunity to take a little risk, put a shiver in your hidden relationship.

You knew it was risky for both of you to look more intimate than you should, but who would have noticed your foot climbing on his leg? after all, the table concealed perfectly your hidden games, to betray you could only be poor control over your body or in the reactions of the face.

Ajax’s eyes were looking at you, as if to ask you what you were doing or why you were doing it; he didn’t mind, no, you would have noticed if you were invading his space and comfort zones, he liked it when you played like this, but maybe there was concern in his eyes. On the other hand, it was one thing to be discovered by a citizen or a servant, history changed if it was the highest authority of the nation to discover you two.

It was difficult, indeed, impossible not to drop the eye on the boy’s gloved hands, on the tight shirt or on the scarf that you yourself had given him; not to mention his posture so elegant but at the same time they made him seem annoyed or disinterested in conversation; the face in a perennial poker face, as if you were not touching his dick right at that moment.

You continued to play on his leg while discussing ways to retrieve the electro gnosis, possessed by the Raiden of Inazuma, famous for being ruthless and difficult to deal with; your speech was not an impediment to finish on Childe’s thigh, touching the groin and his crotch wrapped in his pants.

Suddenly Childe’s grip made you stop, tightening your grip slightly, fingering your stocking, making you shiver slightly, which could be excused by the slightly cold temperature of the room.

You sighed as you listened to the ideas of all the Harbingers and the Tsarina’s opinion about it, involving the manipulation of a certain Traveller who had become a renowned Hero in Teyvat. You looked at Tartaglia once it was his turn, talking about how he could direct this girl to do whatever he wanted. It bothered you his intimacy with such hero, since for months you were forced to stay away from the boy, all without being able to complain.

Your game of touches proceeded throughout the meeting, leaving both of you really eager for each other. Your professional demeanor, your authoritarian and firm tones, as cold as the nation you belonged to, had you two horny as fuck. Not that the clothing had relieved the thoughts of jumping on eachother, indeed, it was perhaps the first thing that had brought you back to the night before.

The boy left your leg just before he got up to bow down at the exit of the Tsaritsa, greeting her in the same way as everyone in that hall.

The Harbingers turned to you, waiting for your exit or permission to be discharged, they would never have allowed themselves out without your decision. You returned to your upright position after greeting your mother, immediately noticing how one of the Harbingers was watching you with an accomplice look, passing the gaze from you to Childe, smiling maliciously.

Shit, did he understand? You thought worried. You cleared your voice and looked at the other people in the room. < You’re discharged, go ahead... > you said and then take a short break. < Pantalone, please stay. I need to discuss some business with you. > You concluded by inviting the man to sit down again while the others left without any problems, except your lover. He gave you a confused look, not understanding why I let Pantalonve stay and not him.

Once you were alone in the room, you approached the black-haired man at a decisive pace. < I know you saw and you know. > You started with a firm and cold tone.

< My princess, I have no idea what you’re talking about > his tone made everything shine except innocence.

< Regrator, don’t play innocent with me. We both know what I’m talking about, don’t pretend not. That would be a huge disrespect to the royal family > You ended up putting a threatening hand on his shoulder.

< Princess, with all due respect, I think you disrespect the royal family plus what you and Tartaglia do. Don’t you think? > He responded by teasing you, he knew where to hit you and he did it fucking well. < Tell me, my general, does Her Majesty know what you do behind everyone’s back? I suppose not... that indecency, with one of his Harbingers...> He smiled brazenly, knowing he was right.

You held on to his shoulder, looking at him in a dark way. < You are not showing me respect by addressing me in these ways. I know you, my dear Regrator, I don't ask you to keep my secret at the cost of anything, you know better than me that I can give you everything you want. > You started by sitting in front of him, crossing your legs and your arms across your chest. < So, what is the price for your silence? Money? More power? Tell me what you want. > your tone was serious, just like your look, while his mocking and not caring.

< My princess, you shouldn’t ask a man what he wants, especially if you promise to give him everything he wants. > He breathed deeply, his tone was slightly mischievous. < Even if you are the princess of Snezhnaya, you shouldn't say such things... Now I could ask you anything and you couldn’t say no, are you sure you could afford it, my princess? > He concluded with a cheeky smile.

< A good general never retires when she knows she can win the battle. I do not take back my words, so tell me the price of your silence. > you slammed your hand on the table, waiting for an answer from the man.

The black-haired man approached you, placing a hand on your face, stroking it and then tightening the grip around your jaw and approaching him. < The battle, not the war, Your Highness. If my price was to have you? Could you really afford it, General? >

You swallowed looking at him, trying not to let emotions shine through your face. < What exactly are you asking me? > your words clung desperately to a stable and serious tone, hoping to have misunderstood his request.

< I don’t need to teach you about birds and bees. Tartaglia is always away on missions, leaves you alone for months and then comes back as if nothing had happened. I see you, my princess. How you look at him, how you need to be touched when he’s not around, the flesh is weak. You may have stability with me, I’m in the Tsaritsa’s good graces, and I wouldn’t mind ruling by your side in the future, I wouldn’t mind your little flings with him once in a while, although I know you wouldn’t need it after trying. > your hand rose to strike his face after that blatant offense to your person, and then be stopped by his firm grip on your wrist. His lustful and ambitious gaze watched you. < Come on, princess, it’s a reasonable price for my silence. It would be outrageous if it became known that our princess is no longer a virgin. What do you think? >

You sighed heavily, turning your face to the side and removing your hand from his grip.

< Oh, maybe our future Tsarina can’t really afford everything, didn't she? > he said in a mocking tone, laughing with taste, getting a look from you.

< It’s not something I can offer so easily, as well you know. Are you asking me something out of proportion, aren't you afraid that I will cut your tongue or condemn you to death? > You spit bitterly.

< See, my general, I’m not afraid of losing anything if I can make more. I fear nothing, life is a game, why not bet everything? > He said by fixing his glasses. < The choice is yours, I will keep your secret until I receive a confirmation from you but... the time is precious, you can not know if tomorrow or in a week the price will be higher. > He ended by getting up.

< Is it a threat? > You asked furiously.

< only if you want to understand it so > he answered with the same amused tone < How dare you! Get out of here, right now. > You responded coldly, with an acidity never felt, your gaze was sharp and threatening, which made the man feel chills.

< My princess... > he said to then bow and kiss the back of your hand, then take leave.

You brought a hand on your face, clearly nervous that he’d asked for something like this. The nervousness didn’t subside at the thought that he had known about you and Childe for a long time.

You got up from the chair and threw some papers on the table, pushing the chair where it was sitting and dropping it on the floor.

< Fuck it. You manipulative bastard. > You said clenched teeth, furious with anger.

What to do now? Risk your mother taking away your title and throne and degrading Childe, almost certainly exiling him, or accepting Regrator’s indecent proposal?

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candyhoiic · 4 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Roleswap Au but my Take on it (Part Two)

Part one: Featuring notes on roleswap Lilith, Lucifer, Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel Dust.

Alastor

Just like the original world, Alastor’s rise to power happens overnight, but unfortunately for him it doesn’t stay that way for long. While he still maintains his rank as an overlord, his powers are significantly reduced after his initial rise to power.

However, given his quickly gained infamy many sinners aren’t willing to test his limits. With most believing he’s still as powerful as the day he arrived or even more powerful now that he has souls under his belt.

What they don’t know is that Hell has cursed him with constantly needing to feed his powers more soul in order to maintain them. But as he feeds on souls, his magic starts to grow resistant towards its own power source. Leading him to need even more souls just to maintain the same power level.

Slowly but surely causing his powers to dwindle. With there being simply no way for him to collect the amount of souls he needs to keep up with his power’s growing demand for souls.

He was given this curse due to his greed for power while he was still alive. While he was still a serial killer like original Al, his moral code was more self-serving than what I believe original Alastor’s were. He killed people not because they were bad or rude, but because they were in his way to rise to the top of the entertainment business or they simply made his life more difficult. If they happened to be abusers then that was just a happy coincidence.

Anyways due to the limits of his power, he eventually made a deal with a higher level entity. To which they supply him with souls in return for his own. The catch? Well there’s a loophole to where they don’t need to give him the souls on a silver platter; they merely just have to provide him with a plethora of opportunities to obtain them. It doesn’t matter whether he actually manages to obtain the soul or not, they still technically uphold their part of the deal.

When he fails to obtain enough souls he can always borrow some of their own powers. For a price of course. So, nowadays there are so many extra clauses to his soul contract that it’s about a mile longer than its original length.

Vox was one of the souls the entity presented Alastor the opportunity to obtain. However, Alastor grew to genuinely like Vox and therefore became reluctant to follow through with his original plans. All of this unbeknownst to Vox, who ended up collecting feelings for him.

The two of them became unlikely friends and during their friendship Vox slowly became a better overlord than Alastor. Vox made soul owning look like an art form catching onto the finer details and using them against others. While Alastor approached soul owning with force and oftentimes an undignified hunger due to his curse.

The entity saw Alastor’s own fondness for Vox, and didn’t care for how happy he made him. They also saw their relationship as a weakness. So, gradually they started feeding Alastor less and less opportunities. As well as made sure to pick harder targets for him. Ultimately, leading Alastor to ask the entity for some of their own power.

They agreed to it but only if he showed them how grateful he was by finally taking Vox’s soul. The soul they had been oh so gracious in presenting Alastor with all those years ago only for him to spit on their offer by becoming ‘friends’ with Vox instead.

Alastor initially refuses due to valuing Vox’s friendship and knowing this would break it forever if he took his soul. But he only grew weaker from there with the entity refusing to alter the proposition, and only sending him enough opportunities to fulfill their initial bargain.

It wasn’t until Vox was dangerously close to becoming even more powerful than him that he attempted to take his soul. He was desperate and partly delirious due to the significant power drain he was experiencing during their confrontation.

He said anything and everything to knock Vox off his game and gain the upper hand. It worked for a while with Vox having not seen this fight coming, and being more focused on trying to reason with Alastor than actually fight him.

It wasn’t until Alastor ended up proclaiming that he never actually cared for Vox and was only raising him like a pig for the slaughter. While simultaneously, revealing- at least partly- that he needed souls to maintain his power that Vox finally started fighting back.

Feeling betrayed, the Tv demon stopped holding back his punches and went more on the offensive. The entity offered no extra support to Alastor until the very end, and only then to wisp him to safety once it became clear Vox had won the fight.

This effectively ended the two's friendship and led to Vox going missing for seven years.

The entity revealed soon after that they never expected Alastor to win the fight and from there on they became more willing to feed Alastor more souls to get his powers back up. But not before making it clear that they wouldn’t react as kind the next time Alastor decided to play with his meal.

This also made Alastor fully realize the deep shit he was in, and that despite their deal he couldn’t trust the entity to give him the souls he needed.

He also recognized that he had ruined one of the good things Hell had given him and desperate to at least know where his friend was, Alastor had his shadows look for Vox, and while the entity was well aware of it, they did nothing to stop him finding amusement in the fact that the man who proclaimed he couldn’t love was acting like a worried lover over an insignificant picture box.

Alastor wouldn’t find Vox but he did find his own opportunities to get two powerful souls under his belt. Gaining him business partners of sorts, but never friends, never again.

Husk

Much like the original Husk, he still sells his soul to Alastor. Their deal took place in a private section of Husk’s casino. With them having done deals with each other in the past; usually deals that didn’t have such high stakes. They had also gambled souls with each other too, but this particular time, Alastor was out for blood as it took place shortly after the confrontation between Vox and Alastor.

At the time, their fight hadn’t reached the public with neither Vox nor Alastor disclosing the fight. Both of them took precautions to wipe out any evidence or witnesses of the battle through various means.

Alastor played Husk like a fiddle acting his usual self until it became clear he had the upper hand. Mainly accomplishing this by underhanded tactics such as slipping drugs into Husk’s drinks so he would lose count of how much he had to drink. While Husk was thinking this was just another friendly gamble between two overlords on good terms.

By the time he realized he had nothing left, not even his own soul Husk was already too sloshed to properly react. He blacked out shortly afterwards, and by the time he woke up Alastor was still there.

Unlike the original Alastor who I’m sure gloated to kingdom come, this Alastor was quick to lay ground rules and acted as if this was just a business transaction and that he didn’t just betray a ‘friend.’

Alastor makes it clear that Husk will still maintain his overlord status. With only him and Alastor knowing Alastor owns his soul. Putting a secrecy clause in their soul contract. So, any other soul simply believes the two formed a partnership as they were close enough that them forming a partnership didn’t surprise anyone.

To save face, Husk willingly agrees to the clause and keeps up the appearance of them both still being good pals. Although they still butts heads in private.

Still in public Husk and Alastor can be seen cracking jokes with each other like old pals. Usually the jokes are at each other’s expense.

Husk doesn’t know Alastor is on someone else’s leash this time around.

He also swears off alcohol after what happened between him and Al, which is ironic since he still owns a wide range of casinos and bars across pentagram city.

At first, other sinners would ridicule him for it openly, but after both him and Alastor making an example out of them, it became clear that the only one allowed to make fun of him was Alastor. So, now sinners just accept the fact that the overlord of gambling and alcohol ironically doesn’t drink.

There have been times where Husk falls back into old habits but it never lasts. As long as Alastors around Husk can’t help but feel sick after even a lick of alcohol and it’s not caused by the drink itself.

He’s unclear; rather Alastor regrets all the shit he’s put him through, but he doubts it would make much of a difference either. Husk is even more untrusting of others because of it.

He ends up meeting Angel Dust shortly after the other overlord starts helping Vox with the Hazbin Hotel. With him scoping out the hotel, Angel Dust was the first one to notice him.

They don’t get off on the right foot much like the original timeline, but mainly due to Angel Dust’s own aggression towards him, knowing him for being one of Alastor’s lackeys.

Despite the difference in their relationship and personalities compared to the original timeline, the two’s relationship still develops similarly to canon.

Husks ends up hanging around the hotel more than intended especially after he and Angel get closer, but he never officially gives a reason as to why he comes around in the first place. He sure as hell wasn’t going to mention Alastor.

Vox doesn’t trust Husk at all, but knows Angel can handle himself and if it comes down to it, Vox is sure he could squash the other ‘overlord.’

Niffty

Niffty is well Niffty. She’s still pretty much her same chaotic self only this time she has more power! Oh my!

Like the original universe, Alastor still owns her soul. Although their soul transaction was on much more pleasant terms than Husk and Alastor’s with Niffty practically jumping at the opportunity to give Alastor her soul. Did I mention she’s a little more delululu in this one?

Well anyways! Niffty was heads over heels for Alastor’s bad boy persona the moment she saw him, and was amenable to do just about anything to get closer to the allusive radio demon. Including trading in her soul. Surprisingly it was her idea to form a soul contract between them with her being a smaller overlord at the time.

Although she didn’t just want to give her soul to Alastor to stay close to him, but also because she had no interest in managing all the souls she had under her control. She just wanted to make and design clothes, but due to the high demand for her clothes needed the extra hands her souls provided her with. However, she really had no interest in everything else that came with being an overlord.

So, she made the deal to hit two birds with one stone, she gives Alastor her soul and in return she gets to be closer to him, and she doesn’t have to worry about anything but her true passion: fashion!

Much like Husk, sinners still believe she’s an overlord with her soul intact. It was more surprising to hear the two forming a partnership, but no one actively questioned it.

Niffty gets along with Alastor surprisingly well even though she has issues with keeping her hands to herself, and she isn’t shy about her interest in him.

While Husk tolerates Niffty at best. He acts indifferent towards her most of the time knowing being mean to her would only encourage her. Niffty finds Husk boring because of it.

Nowadays, Niffty is a more known ‘overlord’ with her face and fashion line being seen throughout Hell ( mainly on posters since Alastor doesn’t care for tech and therefore she doesn’t either ).

She still enjoys cleaning but she keeps her interest in it more lowkey.

She doesn’t know the history behind Vox and Alastor, but when Vox comes back into hell’s power structure, she forms an interest in the new bad boy in town.Vox doesn’t carry the same sentiment, seeing through her cutesy persona and knowing just what she usually does with the sinners who grab her interest.

He does find it funny to make Valentino and her be in the same room though. Vaggie doesn’t approve of it, labeling it as inhumane treatment.

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millersdjarin · 2 years

Text

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Two

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Chapter warnings/tags: slow burn, dad!din, grogu is always the cutest lil guy, bonding, hunting for food (very brief, not detailed)

Chapter Length: 6k

Previous Chapter | Series masterlist & info

Notes: hello i hope u enjoy ♥ as always the title is from taylor swift's 'daylight'

there are so many lines that i've crossed unforgiven

At sundown, Mando suggests making camp for some food and rest. You agree, knowing that the dawn will come earlier tomorrow as summer approaches, and you need to make the most of the daylight.

This planet is safe, but travelling in the dark is no fun. Especially through the forest. It might provide cover from any prowling animals or stalking birds, but there’s also a lot of things to trip on, a lot of stinging lizards to accidentally piss off if you don’t see them underfoot.

It’s safer to be still.

Besides, you’ve come out here hiking and camping before. It’s nothing you’re not used to.

“I’ll hunt us some meat for dinner,” you announce as Mando sits the kid down on an old tree stump, starts gathering materials to make a fire. The trees above are still covering the darkening sky, but the cover isn’t as thick as it was before, perfect to allow the smoke to rise without interruption.

Mando nods, and leaves you to it.

You find a few of the rabbit-like creatures that live in the forests and come out at dusk, making their deaths quick with a silenced shot from your rifle. It doesn’t take long, and soon you’re back at the makeshift camp, finding Mando sitting beside the kid and stoking the newly-made fire.

He offers to help you cook, but you politely decline. Help is more of a hindrance nowadays.

Of course, he doesn’t eat in front of you. At least you understand why now. “I can look away,” you say to him with a mouthful of meat. “So you can eat.”

“I’ll take first watch. Eat while you sleep.”

You don’t exactly need to take watch, though you can understand that it’s probably a bounty hunter’s instinct if the possibility is there.

But regardless, there’s only one tent.

So, in agreement, you nod.

It’s a curious thing, this Creed he speaks of. You wonder why it’s prohibited to take off his helmet. You wonder if there are loopholes, if he could take it off in the dark in front of someone, so they couldn’t see his face. If it has to be this helmet in particular, or if any face covering will do. If he can take it off if he’s injured, or if someone else is injured and he needs to give them mouth-to-mouth, or something.

(Maker, you can’t let yourself imagine it.)

But, surely a Creed worth devoting your life to would allow you to remove the helmet to save someone’s life.

Not that you don’t know a thing or two about hypocritical religions.

When it comes time to sleep, the two of you set up the tent together, propping up the canvas on twigs, letting it hang down to form a little door. You spread out your sleeping mat, covering it with a blanket. “What about the kid?” You ask. He’s still sitting on the tree stump beside Mando, but after such a big dinner and a long day of hiking, he’s very clearly already drifting off to sleep.

Mando looks down at him, then back at you, then at the tent. “He can stay with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. Grogu is all but falling to the side, careening towards Mando’s armoured thigh like it’s a pillow he’s aiming for, but he’s going to fall asleep before he gets there.

“It’s going to get chilly,” you say, looking up. What you can see of the sky through the trees shows that it’s clear. You hesitate, glancing between Mando’s unmoving, visored gaze and the half-asleep kid. “He can sleep in the tent,” you offer, tentative, unsure if it’s overstepping to suggest such a thing. “I mean—if you want.”

He’s silent again. Just staring. Not a twitch of a muscle. Maybe he’s looking you all over under that helmet, observing you, taking in every inch. The thought makes you blush, sends heat to your neck and your cheeks.

“Are you sure?” He asks, finally.

You blink, surprised. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to agree to it; you’d have understood if he didn’t. “Yes, I’m sure,” you offer a smile, hoping it’s reassuring.

This is his kid.

This kid he keeps strapped to him at all times. You’ve never seen Mando without a hand on his back or an eye on him.

Mando seems to consider you for another moment, and you think he might change his mind as you wonder desperately what that unreadable face is thinking beneath all that armour—but then he stands up, cradling the kid in the crook of his elbow.

With a soft smile, you follow him over to the tent. You climb inside first, spreading out a second sleeping mat for the kid, right next to yours. You bolster it with the extra blanket, fold half of it to make more cushioning and the other half to be used to cover his little body.

And then, Mando tucks him in.

He pushes the blankets around him with two fingers, making sure there’s no room for a draft. The kid is fast asleep, snoring softly.

You watch, fascinated, as Mando makes sure he’s comfortable and secure. Then his visor is on you again, and you feel caught, that he saw you looking at him. Gazing.

“You let me know if he’s any trouble,” Mando says.

Wide-eyed beneath his hidden gaze, you nod. “I will.”

He lingers again, quiet. Then nods, gives the kid one last affectionate tap on his forehead, and leaves you both in the quiet.

As you lie down, you decide to lie on your side and face Grogu. You’re not sure why. It feels weird to let him out of your sight.

Then, as his ears twitch with a dream, he reaches out one of his clawed hands. At first you’re not sure what he wants, or even if he’s aware that he’s doing it. He’s still asleep, definitely dreaming.

Nonetheless, you can’t turn him down. Carefully you reach out your pointer finger and place it between Grogu’s. He coos happily, lets out the cutest little sigh you’ve ever heard, and squeezes your fingers.

It feels like he’s squeezing your heart, too.

It’s a lot.

And you can’t very well let him go, can you? That would just be cruel.

You fall asleep like that. And when you wake to swap watch with Mando, the kid’s hand is still in the same place, and it takes everything in you to pull away.

Sitting around the fire with your blanket around your shoulders, you gaze up at the stars that you can see glinting through the treetops. You remember what it was like to be up there, the day you escaped, when you found your way here. Your dream was always to travel the Galaxy, to see all the planets you possibly could, to fly past moons and see suns and find yourself in a life on each planet, even for a short time.

It could never be an option, of course. That small glimpse of such a life that you had on the day you left for this place will have to do.

You think about Mando, wonder what sorts of places he’s been to. A bounty hunter must have been all over the place, surely?

It might be too personal, but you make a mental note to ask him about his travels in the morning.

It’s not long until the sun rises. The forest comes to life as the sky lightens above you, fading from the inky blackness at the zenith to a lighter pale blue and amber towards the horizon. Birds start to tweet in the trees, animals and insects skittering along the floor. Dew coats the tufts of grass at the bases of trees, and moss shines on rocks, just like it does every morning. You can smell it, earthy and familiar. It’s beautiful. It’s been a while since you came for a hike; you had forgotten just how serene it is.

Even when Mando steps out of the tent with the kid in his arms, somehow he doesn’t break the serenity. You’d think that any person would mess with that, let alone someone head-to-toe in Mandalorian armour. But he moves so quietly, so casually. He doesn’t talk too much.

He’s still got his helmet on. You wonder if he sleeps with it on; if the kid has ever seen him without it. Would that be breaking the rules, for his child to see his face? Are there exceptions to who can and who can’t?

“Morning,” you say to him from your place on the tree stump. The fire is still burning steadily, crackling with new kindling.

He nods in response. The kid, cradled in his arm, lights up at the sight of you and makes a happy babbling noise, reaching towards you. Mando notices, glancing between the two of you. “Do you mind…?”

Shaking your head, you mirror Grogu, reaching out ready to hold him. Mando hands him over and you bounce him on your lap, cooing a good morning greeting to him, asking how he slept. You wonder if his species can speak Basic; if he will learn as he gets older, or if he will always speak in babbles and coos. Either way, he seems pretty good at communicating, and Mando definitely understands him well.

Ironically, even though Mando is the one who speaks, he’s the harder one to decipher.

“You hungry?” You ask the kid, who garbles in response, blinking up at you with those big eyes. You look to Mando, and ask him, “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

“You should eat. We all should; we’re going to be walking all day.”

Mando nods. “Alright. Are you going to hunt?”

“I can. But we have ration packs.”

“I’m fine with anything.”

“What about the kid?” You ask, ducking your head to meet Grogu’s eyes again. He grins at you, tilting his head like he’s listening. “Do you like boring old ration packs?” He makes an indiscernible noise in response.

You look to Mando for the translation.

Something in his modulated voice is lilted, perhaps with a smile or a smirk, “He’ll eat it. He’s pretty good at finding his own food, though.”

“He hunts?”

“Not exactly,” he says, still sounding amused with the tilt of his helmet. He stands with his weight on one leg and the other relaxed, leaving his hip cocked out just a little. He’s so casual, so commanding but not demanding or intrusive. It’s really fucking attractive, actually, and you have to stop yourself from staring at him, opting to use the kid as a distraction. “He’ll eat all sorts of stuff. Frogs, frogspawn, insects…”

“Oh, you’re a resourceful little guy, huh?” You ask Grogu, bouncing him on your knees. He coos in response and reaches out to put his little hand on your bicep. You look back to Mando, pointedly looking right at the dark T of his visor instead of the shape of his body. “In that case, I say we just eat some ration packs and get started for the day.”

He makes a gesture of agreement with his gloved hand.

Then you realise, “Oh. Unless you want to eat before we pack up, so you can…you know,” you gesture vaguely to your own face, only realising after doing it that it might be a little disrespectful.

He doesn’t seem bothered. “Thank you. I’ll eat now. I won’t be long.” He hesitates before turning towards the tent. “I…I can take the kid?”

Grogu makes a sound of disapproval. One of his clawed fingers is curled around a lock of your hair and he pushes his face into your chest, as if pointedly hiding from Mando.

Well, one thing’s for sure, the kid doesn’t need to speak Basic to be able to say I don’t wanna.

Mando chuckles, a definite laugh this time rather than that ambiguous huff of air through the modulator. The helmet tilts slightly towards you, and he says, ruefully, “I don’t think he wants me to take him.”

“That’s alright,” you say, finding that you mean it. Probably the first time ever you’ve been happy to be left with someone else’s baby. You look back to Grogu, who is staring at the lock of hair he’s got in his hand. “We’ll make do, won’t we, kid?”

Mando is silent for a minute, observing. You can feel his gaze, intense even through his visor. You wonder if he’s smiling, or if he’s frowning with concern at the prospect of leaving his kid with you while he ducks away to eat. But when he speaks, he sounds calm. “I won’t be long,” he promises again. “Be good, kid.” And with that, he disappears into the tent.

While he eats, you stand up and start disassembling the makeshift camp you’ve made, propping the kid on your hip as you potter around. You kick dirt over the fire and snuff it out, pack up your cooking pot and mess tins from last night and put them in your pack. Grogu reaches out for almost everything that you pick up. You can’t exactly give him all he asks for, but you do give his hand a little squeeze and a shake each time you have to turn him down.

Once the three of you are fully packed up, fed, and ready to head off, you sling your pack over your shoulder, and hand the kid back to Mando.

“Was he good?” Mando asks.

“Very,” you say, giving Grogu an approving smile as Mando puts him into the satchel, his head poking out over the top. “He’s a curious little guy, isn’t he?”

“Too curious. Gets him into trouble.”

You laugh. The morning breeze is mild, blowing wisps of hair away from your face and up into the air. “I can imagine.”

You walk in silence for a while, through the forest that is slowly getting less and less dense. It starts to thin out soon, opening instead into open planes of rolling, green hills. When you first got here, it was surprising that no one had claimed this land for farming; the fields are so large, so open, just asking for someone to come along and build a crop farm. But it didn’t take long to realise that the only things that can grow in this soil are native plants; and even then, it’s just during spring. Halfway through summer, the grass on the fields fades away and leaves just dirt in its wake. The land isn’t fertile enough to make it profitable for crops.

So, like the rest of this place, it’s left untouched.

As the fields approach, you point to the horizon ahead of you. “We have to head over the hills for a while,” you say, “lots of ups and downs.”

“Any more wild animals I should be on the lookout for?” He asks, dry humour slipping through his modulated voice.

“Oh, always. But, don’t worry, I’ll warn you about them. I told you about the lizards?”

“Briefly.”

“They tend to live near water, or come out in the rain. They have stingers.”

“Great. Poisonous?”

“Yes. Not lethal, but painful.”

He tilts his head to look at you as you walk. “You been stung before?”

“Yes. When I first got here, I…thought they were cute.”

“…Did you try and make friends with the stinging lizards?”

You laugh. “Yes,” you admit, sheepish, “yes, I did. I learned my lesson. They’re not generally actively hostile, unless you stumble upon one of their nests; but if you approach one with your hand held out like it’s a cute Lothcat, you’ll live to regret it.”

“I tend to stay away from creatures I know nothing about,” he says, and you could swear that he’s teasing you.

It’s kind of addictive. The soft lilt of amusement in his voice as you wonder what his expression might be, if he’s smirking, raising an eyebrow. “I’d never met a lizard with a stinger before,” you say in defence.

“Even Lothcats can be pretty ferocious if they want to be.”

“Tell me about it. Once got near-mauled by one for almost stepping on its tail by accident,” you say, shuddering over-dramatically as the memory comes back. You think about Lothal, about the planet you’d heard so much about, growing up around its native felines. Eyeing Mando curiously, you venture, “So, you’ve probably been all kinds of places, haven’t you?”

He hums noncommittally. A vague gesture of a gloved hand. “The job takes me everywhere. Can’t say I go for sightseeing.”

“And what about the kid? Has he always been with you for your travels?”

Shockingly, Mando’s confidently casual steps falter for just a second, a hesitation so fleeting that you could have imagined it. The helmet glances at you, looks away just as fast. “Long story,” he eventually settles on.

Halfway up the first hill, the rising sun shines up from behind the crest right ahead, long beams of light flying up into the air above you, blue skies beyond. Mando doesn’t break his stride as the landscape changes, but you slow a little, taking a moment to appreciate the view. It really has been too long since you’ve come for a hike, seen the sunrise.

Now that you’re a few paces behind Mando, though, you are shamefully distracted from the beauty of this planet’s nature, because the beauty of this Mandalorian’s nature is very much something that seems to steal your attention at the first chance it gets. His wide shoulders that, if you look closely enough at, you can see shifting beneath the flight suit that lives under his armour. There’s actually quite a lot of the thick, brown fabric showing in between armour plates. He’s got a cape, too, flowing behind him in the breeze like something from a cheesy HoloNet movie. His cowl covers up the back of his neck. You find yourself wondering what colour his hair is, if he has any; whether he has facial hair; what the curve of his jaw looks like…

Before you realise it, you’ve reached the crest of the hill.

You’re out of breath. It’s either because of the hike or because of the incredibly inappropriate thoughts currently rushing through your mind.

Now that you’re up high, you can see much of the surrounding landscape. In fact, right on the edge of the horizon, through the thin morning haze that’s forming in the distance, you can see the valley that leads to the scrap heap.

You stop walking and point to it. “See the valley up ahead? We’re not far, now. Should be there by the afternoon.”

Mando nods. Suddenly thirsty, you reach into your pack for your flask and take a big, long swig. The water is still cold from the river where you collected it this morning.

“You thirsty?” You ask the kid. As expected, he reaches out his little hands towards you, and takes the flask in them as soon as he can. It looks comedically large compared to him, and as he tips it up to take a sip, some of it dribbles down his face.

He giggles at the sensation, coaxing a laugh from you, too.

“Kid,” Mando scolds, not a hint of actual disdain in his voice. He reaches down his gloved hand and rubs off the droplets of water that sit upon the canvas fabric of Grogu’s little robe. As he does so, the cowl of it pulls back, revealing something bright and shiny beneath it. It’s the same silver colour as Mando’s armour, but not a solid panel like his breastplate. It’s chain mail, tiny little hoops hooked around one another to form a cute little armour shirt.

Once Mando has cleaned him up, he tucks the neck of the robe back up again. Either he’s unaware that you saw the armour, or he doesn’t care that you did.

He’s staring out at the horizon, waiting for you to move again. As you take the flask back from the kid, you observe Mando out of the corner of your eye, something warm flaring in your chest. The kid has armour made from the same material as Mando’s. You wonder if he took some of his own to make that, if he gave it to protect him.

“The armour,” you say, tentative. “Did you make it?”

He puts his hand over Grogu’s chest, almost protectively. His shoulders tense, twitch a little. “No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Is it made of the same metal as your armour?”

“Beskar,” he provides, then, “yes.”

That’s cute as fuck. You smile up at him for a second, squinting in the sunlight that shines bright in your eyes. “It suits him,” you say, and then start down the hill, towards your destination.

He follows.

It takes another couple of hours to get to the scrap heap; there isn’t really a path, per se, so it’s a lot of winding around obstacles and avoiding various patches of impenetrable land.

A stinging lizard passes across the ground in front of you at some point, and Mando’s blaster is aimed at it before you even realise what’s going on, his other hand moving to block the kid.

The lizard, of course, could not be less interested. It’s gone before you can even blink, and Mando is just left standing there with his blaster pointed at nothing.

It’s funny. You can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up in your chest.

He glances at you, and if you didn’t think he seems like the most self-assured person you’ve ever met, you might think that he looks a bit embarrassed.

“Can’t be too careful,” you say with a smirk, hoping that the tease isn’t overstepping.

He holsters his blaster again, gets the kid comfy in the satchel. He nods, and keeps going.

The scrap heap is just how you left it last time you passed it, if a little more overgrown than before.

“How long has this been here?” Mando asks, gazing down at the shiny, greenery-covered mess of some kind of crashed starship.

“It’s been here as long as I have.”

He looks at you. “Which is…?”

You bristle. “A while.”

“Why has no one raided it? I can already see parts here that would get a decent price for a trade.”

“I told you,” you say, shrugging with your arms folded over your chest, “I’m the only person on this side of the planet.”

Gaze on you, he tilts his helmet. Either in amusement or consideration, you’re not sure. Maybe both. “And you’ve explored the entirety of this side?”

“Alright, alright,” you roll your eyes at his wry tone, “not literally. But isn’t the fact that this is still here proof enough of that? That, and the empty maps you had.”

He looks back to the scrap pile. “Yes,” he decides on.

“Right. What do you need?”

You get to work, following Mando’s instructions for what to look for, and finding a few pieces he didn’t ask for but presenting them anyway, just in case. Most of them he takes, using a large piece of sheet metal from what was the ship’s body as a big carrier for them. Grogu explores the wreck of the small ship, too, sifting through piles of metal and wires to find things to play with.

You scavenge for hours, until the sun is lowering in the sky and glowing insects are starting to gather in little floating orbs. Mando has his metal pallet covered in a net that he found amongst the wreckage, and he ties a rope to it, slinging it over his shoulder for the journey back.

“I can help with that,” you offer.

He shakes his head, which is probably dumb of him, because now he’s carrying his usual arsenal of weapons and heavy armour, the pack carrying the tent, along with the kid in his satchel, and a huge trailer filled with metal that he’s going to have to drag along the forest floor. But he doesn’t seem too worried by it. “Let’s go.”

You watch him go for a second, raising an eyebrow. The pallet lifts up and down with each swing of his arms, each step, the metal rattling away underneath the net.

If he wants to wreck his back carrying it alone, so be it.

Night falls quicker than you’d expected, and you’ve only just made it back into the forest before it’s getting dark and stars are starting to twinkle in the sky. Mando is still carrying everything himself, you with only your regular pack and a small bag of tools you gathered from the heap. They’re a little dirty, some even housing some green leaves and vines, but it’s nothing a cloth and some scissors can’t fix.

Setting up camp is quick, the two of you finding the same rhythm you’d discovered last night. Grogu sits on a fallen tree trunk by the fire, playing with a large bolt he must have found back there.

“Do you think you got everything?” You ask, stoking the fire as Mando sits down beside Grogu.

“Yes. Thank you for your help. You’re right, this place is a maze, I’d have got lost on my own.”

You nod your agreement. There’s meat cooking in a pan over the flames, sizzling away along with some herbs you found in the forest. Your stomach rumbles hungrily as you scrape the finished meal into two mess tins and one small bowl for the kid.

“Careful, Grogu, it’s hot,” you tell him, placing it down on the floor in front of him. He looks at you curiously, then down at the bowl. He reaches down too quickly and goes to shove the meat into his mouth, but Mando’s gloved hand gets there first and stops him.

“She said it’s hot,” he tells him. “Be careful.”

Grogu seems to consider Mando in the same way he had you, then he looks down to the food, back up to Mando. Like he’s waiting for approval.

“Go on,” Mando assures him. “Slow.”

Tentative, like he actually understands what Mando is saying to him, he lifts the meat up to his lips and puts it in his mouth. Instantly he spits it out with a strangled whine, and glares down at the offending piece where it sits, steaming, on the forest floor.

Mando sighs tiredly. “Here,” he reaches into Grogu’s bowl, pulls out a few chunks of meat in one go and places them on his hand. “My hand’ll cool them off in the air. Take this one, see, it’s not steaming.”

Grogu hesitates, looking up at Mando again, making sure it’s safe. Mando gives him a short nod and extends his meat-laden hand closer to Grogu, who tentatively takes a new chunk, keeping his eyes on Mando as he moves it to his mouth.

He chews this one without burning himself, and a pleased noise comes from his throat instead of a pained one.

You watch the whole interaction, too distracted by it to remember that you’re supposed to be eating. Grogu clearly relies on Mando, trusting his word and his guidance, knowing that he wants the best for him. They might not be related by blood, but their relationship is the closest one can get to father and son.

Mando catches you staring.

You look away, clearing your throat before putting some food down it. “I’ll take the first watch tonight,” you offer. “You’re probably tired after lugging all that metal around.”

“I don’t mind if you want to rest,” he says. “I need to eat, anyway.” His shoulders are slumped, the first time you’ve seen them like that, and something about the slow way he moves just screams that he’s tired.

You look around the forest. There is literally no need for one of you to keep watch. No one is here, only the wildlife, who will always steer clear if they have no reason to come for you.

The tent is right there, easily big enough for three of you.

Mando rolls his shoulder as he waits for a response, and you could swear you hear a soft grunt come through his helmet, like he’s in pain. You’re not surprised; that’s the shoulder that both Grogu’s satchel strap and the rope for his pallet have been hanging from all day.

“We don’t really need to take watch,” you say, swallowing a mouthful. “We can sleep together, if you want. I mean—” you catch the awkward fumble far too late, the words having already slipped from your mouth, embarrassing and filled with double meaning. “Sorry, that’s not—I meant—”

He watches you scramble for words. His free hand is on his knee, fingers tapping against it. The helmet tilts a little.

You’re still trying to make up for what you said, “I didn’t mean…like that,” you say, though now that you’re thinking about it… “Obviously. There’s a kid here. I mean—! Not that I’d mean it like that if the kid wasn’t here, I just—”

He’s still staring.

Still tapping his finger.

“Maker,” you mutter to yourself and look down, shaking your head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Pardon?”

“Not you!” You snap your gaze back to him, panic setting in again as you realise he thought you were talking to him, “I—not you, I was talking to myself…”

Silence. You wish more than anything you could read his face.

Then, though, through the quiet comes a gentle huff of air, like a laugh just came from his nose and through the modulator. He relaxes, leaning back. “I know.” Is all he says, and yes, there is definitely a curve to his voice. A smile.

You gape at him. “You were just fucking with me,” you say. “You knew what I meant.”

“I did.”

A smile twitches at your lips unannounced. “I see how it is,” you let yourself relax, stabbing another chunk of meat with your fork. “You know, that’s not fair. I can’t see your face to tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Without lifting your head, you glance at him. The visor stares, always staring, always thinking. His gaze might be unseen, intangible, but it’s still blatant and hot on your skin, and even though it sometimes makes you feel like squirming beneath it, you can’t get enough. “As I was saying,” you say, “if you want, we can sleep…at the same time.”

He twitches, glancing around, unsure. You watch him, finishing off the last of your meal. Grogu is still eating food, picking up pieces of it from Mando’s glove. There’s grease on the leather, little flaky pieces of wilted herb.

“It’s alright if you don’t feel comfortable,” you assure him. “I know it can be hard to let down your guard when you’re used to it being up.”

The helmet turns back to look at you, and your cheeks go hot under his gaze. “You do,” he says, half-question, half-statement.

“Yes. But we could both use the rest, if you want to get a full night.”

He’s quiet once again, and his fingers are tapping on the armour over his knee just like before.

You’re just starting to think he might be considering the offer when Grogu finishes his food and coos, lifting each of his fingers to lick between them. Mando is still staring at you, though, and it’s a lot. It’s like, even though he sees you through a dark visor, he really does see you. When he looks at you, it feels like he sees you. For real.

And that’s kind of terrifying.

You look back to his glove, welcoming the distraction. “Here,” you grab a scrap piece of cloth from your pack and wet it with water from your flask. “Your glove’s all messy. Can’t shoot a blaster like that.”

It’s only when you’re over there, crouched down in front of him and taking his hand in yours, that you realise this was a terrible distraction and has only made things worse.

Your palm holds the back of his hand, your other using the wet part of the cloth to wipe all the dirt away. Through the leather, you can feel the heat of his body. Feel the curves of his fingers, the bumps of his knuckles. You’ve never been this close to him, haven’t let yourself imagine how warm he’d be under all that armour, how human he really is—

And he’s staring, again, helmet tilted down to look at you. What is he thinking? Is he paying attention to your warmth, like you are to his? Is every touch to his glove like torture, like sparks going up his fingers from yours?

“Thank you,” he says once his hand is clean.

Startled by the sound of his voice, your eyes shoot up to look at him. You wonder if, if you looked closely enough, you’d be able to see his eyes. “You’re welcome,” you say. Then, realising you’re still holding the underside of his hand, you jump back like something has surprised you, needing to get away because you’ve been staring for too long; returning the same sentiment he so often gives to you, though undoubtedly easier to read than his.

You move away, and almost tumble back into the fire.

Like an idiot. Again.

But before the heat of the flames can touch you, gloved hands are taking a firm hold of your arms, holding you away from gravity’s pull. He’s even closer, suddenly, the firelight reflecting in the bright silver of his helmet. You see yourself in it, too, as the light flickers and fades in the breeze. He’s so close that you could just tilt your head and it would touch his helmet.

A part of you wants him to let you go, to drop you—though not literally onto the fire, thanks—to stop touching you because it’s making you feel things and he’s so close and you’ve never had someone that close that you actually wanted that close—

He moves you to the side, away from the fire, and gently lets you go.

As your backside settles into the dirt, you stare, dumbfounded, while he backs away from you and sits down beside Grogu again like nothing ever happened. Like that was nothing to him, just saving you from your own clumsiness.

And yet, the place where he’d held your arms feels like his hands were the flames.

“I’ll take first watch,” he decides on.

It’s ridiculous that disappointment sinks in your stomach.

“O—okay,” you stammer. You’re still just sitting there on the floor, a cloth in one hand, your other hand poised in front of you like you’re still waiting for his to sit in it. Embarrassed, you snap your fist shut, and force yourself to look away. “Alright. Wake me when it’s time.”

And you head off to bed, head spinning, skin still hot where he’d touched you and you’d touched him.

His hands were gentler than you could ever have expected from such a strong man. Firm enough to hold you in place, to keep you safe. Not hard enough to hurt you. Just gentle enough to drive you a little bit crazy, to keep you up for far too long after your head hits the pillow, as you imagine all the other places that his hands could find.

Kriffing hell.

I need to stop.

I’m just lonely. That’s all. Not crazy, just lonely.

It’ll pass.

It always does.

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the-travelling-witch · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐂: 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍

Name: Cheron von Blocksberg

Homeland: Hell

Dorm: Diasomnia

Class: 3-C

Age: 18(ish)

Height: 192 cm w/o horns

Club: Had trouble picking but ended up in the Science Club

Best Subject: Ancient Curses & Practical Magic

Hobbies: Studying magic, reading, fashion

Pet peeves: His wings getting caught on door frames… just build more arched gateways, mortals

Favourite food: The souls of the damned… just kidding, it’s lasagna

Least favourite food: Anything too sweet and tacky

Talent: Getting under people’s skin (without the teachers noticing)

Cheron von Blocksberg, the Prince of Hell, cuts an imposing figure befitting his position. Even if his height doesn’t manage to impress, his leathery wings and the pair of thick horns crowning his head, paired with his sharp claws and fangs, are enough to have people backing away from him. The crimson ends of his dark hair, reminiscent of hell fire, and the blazing intensity of his ruby and golden eyes do not help in making him more approachable. One look at him makes it apparent why he was sorted into the dorm based on the Thorn Fairy’s spirit of nobility.

Coming to Night Raven College is more of an excuse to leave the bleak and lifeless planes of his home. Considering his status, his education growing up was already pretty all encompassing, so his life at NRC is more about entertaining himself by toying with the living souls around him and seeing what he can tempt them into. Cheron’s not exactly hostile but some of their reactions are just so funny, he can’t help himself at times. Before coming to NRC, he wasn’t quite sure how much the living would differ from the damned but it turns out you can talk circles around them all the same; all the better for a silver tongued demon like him.

Unlike others, he doesn’t go around flaunting his power, though he will put people in their place if necessary. Besides, it’s not like he has to go around making people more aware of how threatening he can be; his title, high grades and the gossip going around campus do that for him. Despite his charming and easy-going smile, most people like to keep him at arm’s length, just like his housewarden. However, unlike Malleus, Cheron is actually present around campus and his mood can be rather unpredictable behind that amused expression of his, which makes people as wary of him as of Floyd.

Still, it’s not like he’s completely heartless, putting in some effort, especially for those who’ve earned his respect, and joking around most of the time. No, no, he is taking this seriously, trust him. After all, he is here to meet new people and build connections, and humans fascinate him. In his free time, he’s quite fond of researching old magic and even experimenting with altering and creating new ones. Some students have also reported seeing him pour over fashion magazines or with his nose stuck in a book.

“Hm? Oh you’re the Ramshackle Prefect, aren’t you? I’m Cheron, nice to meet you! Say, you must have some interesting stories to tell, I wouldn’t mind lending you my ear over a coffee some time. Just call me when you’re feeling chatty~”

Relationship with other students:

Riddle - If there’s someone Riddle has to resist collaring as often as Floyd or Ace, it might be Cheron. Sure, in front of the teachers, the prince is a model student; always properly dressed, never late and on top of his coursework. But Riddle knows better. Calling Cheron an angel is like trying to convince him the sky is red. Yet, the Diasomnia student isn’t technically breaking any rules, always operating through some kind of loophole, which frustrates the Heartslabyul housewarden even more. Still, he’ll give credit where credit is due and silently commends his meticulousness and will to study.

Leona - If Leona had horns he could lock, it would probably happen more often than anyone would like. In a way, Cheron ticks him off more than the other lizard by the sole fact he has to see his face more often around campus. While Malleus is annoyingly oblivious at times and many of Leona’s taunts fall on deaf ears, Cheron returns them with interest each time. The lion prince isn’t sure if he prefers that, so he settles for not meeting the Diasomnia student more often than necessary.

Azul - At first Azul thought he might have struck big. Another Diasomnia prince from a distant land? One far off from living society? Perhaps if he was as clueless as Malleus or naïve as Kalim… In his conversation to test the waters, however, the octomer soon learnt he’d get burnt if he tried anything funny and has made a berth around Cheron since. Whenever he sees the demon with one of the tweels, he can feel a headache incoming.

Kalim - Cheron has seen more than enough souls who had to pay the ultimate price for their greed in the end, so when he heard the heir of the Al-Asim family would be joining NRC, he couldn’t help but be sceptical. Yet, he would admit, Kalim surprised him. Despite all of his wealth, greed was one of the least fitting words to describe him and Cheron could respect that. If you could fault Kalim for anything it was his naïveté but that was hardly a sin. So Cheron found himself being much more genuine with the second year than with others, no matter how distrustful Jamil was of him.

Vil - Vil tried not to get ahead of himself when he met Cheron the first time. Sure, he carried himself with grace and elegance befitting his position but he knew from experience with Leona and Malleus, that didn’t have to mean anything. Yet, the blond was positively surprised when Cheron maintained his pristine appearance and showed off his manners. And against all odds, the demon hit it off with Vil surprisingly well after commenting on the magazine the model was studying. Then again, Vil is one of the few people who have earned Cheron’s respect, so maybe it’s not so surprising after all.

Idia - Listen, Cheron gets it. Being from a gloomy environment and expected to take over the family business himself, he can sympathise with Idia, almost to the point of leaving the fellow fiery-haired guy alone. Almost. However, the Ignihyde housewarden is just so much fun to tease. The first time they met, Cheron had to stop himself from grinning too hard as Idia nearly fell over backwards, stammering out an excuse to get away. As one of the first interactions with the living, it had a pretty forming impression on him. Still, he makes sure to cut the poor guy some slack… every now and then.

Malleus - As the heir apparent of Briar Valley and his housewarden, Cheron obviously treats Malleus with respect, though his tone is laced with playful teasing most of the time, which usually results in Sebek popping a vein. Malleus does not pick up on it. People sometimes wonder if Cheron is jealous of the other prince for snatching the housewarden position but those are just rumours. Sure, he doesn’t shy away from metaphorically locking horns with the dragon but being a housewarden sounds like a hassle and Cheron’s not about that. His gargoyle-esque appearance does net him some points with Malleus though, who was terribly disappointed to learn he was, in fact, not a sentient gargoyle.

Jade - Octavinelle’s vice housewarden has always taken to studying the behaviours of those around him, either to learn more about them or to learn from them. In the case of Cheron, it’s both. On one hand, Jade finds great amusement in watching him interact with students around campus, an air of sly aloofness surrounding him. One the other hand, there are so many rumours surrounding him without enough proof to match them, which fascinates Jade the same way a good puzzle would.

Floyd - Putting Cheron and Floyd together can either lead to a catastrophe or… well, a catastrophe. Their moods either clash and they are ready to go at each other’s throats -Cheron hiding it significantly better than Floyd- which spells trouble for those in their vicinity. Or, they get along splendidly, egging each other on and terrorising the poor souls around them. Either way, avoiding them together might be the smartest option.

Trey & Rook - As his clubmates, they regularly interact with Cheron outside of normal classes. And while Trey sometimes still sweats bullets seeing both Rook and Cheron around certain chemicals, he learnt pretty soon after the prince joined the club that he was very well read and much more responsible than the whispers about him would suggest. Rook just holds a general fascination for the demon and enjoys bouncing ideas off each other.

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #┊twst! oc: cheron ೃ༄#after having him in my drafts for so long #i'll just throw him out there #and yes #he's twisted from chernabog

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lauraroselam · 6 months

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In the UK, Dragonfall is 99p for the month of April! on Kindle. Grab it for less than half the price of a latte these days!

In Dragonfall, you can expect: - extremely slow-burn enemies to lovers epic fantasy romance between a dragon trapped in human form and a genderfluid thief - queernorm world (in fact, a queer celebratory world) where it's considered a bit rude to assume a stranger's gender, so you tend to default to they until told otherwise) - multi-POV, experimental narrative positions (4 POVs, first person, first person direct address, and third person in the same book) - lyrical, descriptive writing (?) - lots of lore and worldbuilding (I'd say it's epic fantasy first closely followed by romance rather than a more traditional romantasy approach to pacing) - a heist! - magic! (also if someone uses too much magic without fuelling themselves properly they transform into a cannibal vampire thing) - a reluctant assassin with good biceps and a pet wyvern - Deaf & hard of hearing representation - I'm really not joking when I say slow-burn--these two characters can't really physically touch for most of the book (they find some loopholes) and are very bad at expressing their feelings Content notes: available on Storygraph.

If you've read it, I'm always grateful for reviews on Amazon or other retailers to feed the algorithm (it is so very hungry). If you're in the US, it's not on sale but you can always take a gander at and perhaps pre-order the exclusive Barnes & Noble edition with red sprayed edges and gold foil.

Help spreading the word about the deal also always welcome to help this get out of my tiny corner of the internet and maybe convince someone to take a chance on my weird, queer dragon book.

#kindle daily deal #dragonfall #epic fantasy #epic fantasy romance #i smuggled a paranormal shifter romance into an epic fantasy

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secret-third-thing · 1 year

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For your prompts post, I wanted to request something with Eris preparing for or fighting in a blood duel! I'm biased towards neris or azris for the pairing, but whatever direction you felt like taking it in would also be perfect :)

SORRY THIS IS SO LATE I got distracted by monster fucking fics. ANYWAY Eris is prepping for a blood duel. Normally I agonize over shit for days (and rewrite it a million times) so this is a new posting record for me. Also I somehow didn't break my 500 word rule. Enjoy!!

This is technically on A03 too but it's short enough to read here.

The duel was to begin shortly after dawn. Eris waited in his chambers as several servants scurried around, strapping the outer layers of his armor onto him. Today, they were as silent as they were meticulous, anxious about the battle to come.

The week prior Eris had issued a challenge to Cassian: a blood duel for his mate. It was unconventional, and Beron wasn’t pleased, but the promise of a daughter-in-law gifted by the cauldron was enough to ease his father’s skepticism. Rhysand, of course, was infuriated, ending their fragile alliance. But it didn’t matter, not when Nesta Archeron would become his wife, his partner.

“Sir, the emissary from Night is here,” a servant said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Well, bring him in,” Eris replied. He waved the servants away, leaving him to finish preparing for the fight ahead. From the mirror’s reflection, Eris observed Lucien’s worried expression as he entered the room.

His youngest brother was dressed in a tailored navy vest buttoned over one of those flowy shirts he had worn ever since he lived in the spring court. Still, the outfit was distinctly from Night, with little stars embroidered on the shoulders mimicking a midnight sky.

“Asking me to reconsider?” Eris drawled.

“You know this won’t end well.” Lucien only said. He watched Eris’s face in the mirror. The older male betrayed no emotion.

“I thought after Tamlin you’d stop licking the boots of a high lord.”

Lucien scoffed. “That’s not what this is about.”

Eris turned around to meet his brother head on. Petty warnings would do nothing to deter him.

“So Rhysand is actually worried I’ll win against his general. Interesting.” Eris gave a wicked grin. “Unless you’re here to tell me Nesta is having second thoughts.”

Lucien shook his head, his brows furrowed as he reviewed the situation repeatedly in his mind. Lucien’s approach to diplomacy was thorough and relentless, always searching for a secret solution or loophole. “You could have chosen any other method. You’re not even her mate.”

“It seemed appropriate,” Eris said.

He would never admit that the blood duel was merely for Nesta’s benefit. Both to relieve her from the burden of choice (for Rhysand would blame for choosing anything other than Cassian), but also because whether or not she liked to admit it, Nesta seemed the type to like these gestures. And cruel as he may be, Eris had a soft spot for that. He understood wanting to be chosen. He’d choose her again and again. Blood duel or not.

Lucien shook his head as Eris brushed past him.

“I hope this is worth it to you,” he said.

“She is.”

#eris vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta x eris #neris drabble #acotar drabble #stt asks #stt writing #eris vanserra drabble #lucien vanserra #blood duel #acotar

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midnightstar-90 · 1 year

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Nothing Like The Present

(Not My Art. This belongs to @shuploc)

Miguel O'Hara x GN! Spider-Person! Reader

Taglist | Requests | Wattpad Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

Summary: Miguel and his Spider-girlfriend or boyfriend (However you get down) taking a nice little jog around the neighborhood. A woman jogs past with her baby in its stroller, and Miguel can't help but admire his significant other admiring the baby, making plans, in his head, for the future.

Warnings: FLUFF, Soft! Miguel, Small Mentions of Sex (Nothing too crazy) Slight angst

A/N: Wow! So, I wrote this as soon as I found the inspiration from @shuploc's Miguel O'Hara Fanart just so it wouldn't leave me. You should really check them out. Anyways, it's short, but I promise it's very fluffy, Soft! Miguel fic.

Words: 2.8K Words

Getting Miguel O'Hara to leave the Spider Society, for just a few hours, was a challenge. You admired his dedication to wanting to save literal universes, but with that came stress. And when Miguel was stressed, you were stressed.

You walked into Miguel's office, ready to give him the status report that he had requested. But as soon as you opened the door, you felt a small buzz from your spidey senses. Not even a second later, a book came flying at your head, in which you caught it by the spine of the book.

"It's just me, Miguel," You said, continuing your walk up to the man. This obviously wasn't your first go around with a quick-tempered and annoyingly stressed Miguel. In fact, most of the spider people would ask you to be the one to take things to the man, as he seemed to always be like this.

As you approached the man, you noticed the screens surrounding him. Some screens showed clips of Peter Parker Varients doing different things, while others showed other individuals who just happened to become a spider person. But the closer you got to the man, the more you saw what he was really staring at.

One screen that stuck out the most from the others was the screen of you laying limp in an alleyway puddle. You glanced at it with a sad look before leaning over to turn off the screen.

"Hey, I-"

Miguel quickly turned around to face you with a mean glare. The look didn't last long before his eyes met yours. His eyebrows unfurrowed, and his lips shifted from an angry sneer to a soft frown. you look up at the man with a sad smile.

"I think you need a break," you said, sincerely.

Miguel had been watching all the spider verses, looking for any anomalies that may alter the multiverse, but every time he did that, he would always come across some variant of me dying. And every time, I had to force him away from it. He would watch the clip for hours, studying it, hoping to find some sort of loophole. But Miguel knew that he couldn't alter a canon event. It's what made it a canon event.

Miguel looked down at you and sighed. He shook his head as he said, "Y/N, you know I can't. What if another anomaly-"

"Appears?" You cut him off with a knowing tone. Miguel's frown is replaced with a glare, almost as if he were annoyed, which he most likely was. It was the same exact situation every time. He would get too absorbed in trying to find anomalies, and when you told him to take a step back, he would give you an excuse as to why taking a step back wasn't a good idea. But you knew the man better than he knew himself, so you knew the signs of a cranky Miguel.

"Lyla is perfectly capable of watching over the spider verse for a couple of hours. Come on. It's not like I'm telling you to give up on the spider society, I'm just telling you to take a break and relax. You're overworking yourself, my love."

Your hands grip the man's forearms as you give the man a pleading look. He looks away, attempting to not give in to your alluring tactics. But as soon as he goes to see if you've stopped, he's instantly trapped, forcing himself not to give it. He felt like a fly in a spiderweb, begging to get out before losing everything to the hungry spider.

"Fine," he sighed, giving in to your powerful gaze. You laugh, clapping your hands, like a kid who just got what they wanted, before dragging the man out of the office and out of the Spider Society.

You and Miguel left for your apartment, after telling Jessica to look after the Spider Society and the Spider people within it. Jessica was the only one that both you and Miguel trusted with something so sacred to the large, intimidating man.

As you opened the apartment door, Miguel stood behind you with a pout. His posture stood slightly hunched with his head facing the ceiling. With a loud groan, Miguel said, "Why are we here. I'm not even tired."

You rolled your eyes at Miguel's childish behavior before responding with, "We're not here to nap. I was thinking we get all that stress out with a bit of exercise. Maybe a run. And then maybe we can get lunch before coming back here."

Miguel whined once more, following you into the small apartment. The two of you stood in the living room, in front of the door, looking at each other. Miguel clearly had the looks of someone who didn't want to be here, but you didn't care.

Instead, you left the man in the living room, to get to your room. You walked over to your dresser, pulling out the top left drawer, revealing some clothes that Miguel had left at yours, over time. Quickly shutting the drawer, you walk back to the living room. You found Miguel just standing there, staring into space, and without warning, you chucked the clothes at the man, causing him to stumble, and almost drop them.

As soon as Miguel went to open his mouth, you were quick to cut him off. "No questions. Just put those on," You barked closing your bedroom door.

Miguel looked down at the clothes in his hand, catching a whiff of something strangely familiar. A sly smirk appeared on his face as he began to calmly approach your door. He slowly opened the door. His eyes came in contact with your shirtless figure. Your body was well toned from being a part of the spider society. You weren't as bulky as Miguel, but you could tell that the muscles in your upper body were very strong.

You feel Miguel's presence behind you, and you quickly turn around with a loud "Hey!", covering your upper body (This can go both ways, can't it?). Miguel let out a soft laugh, "Nothing I haven't seen before, mi corazón." You scoff making the man laugh harder.

There was a slight pause between the two of you. Miguel's stare never left you, and neither did yours on him. He slowly approached you while lifting his sweatshirt up to his nose. He smelled it, closing his eyes as if he was smelling the most beautiful thing on earth. He let out a blissful sigh before opening his eyes once more. His eyes landed on your eyes, which shared a confused, weirded-out expression from watching the strange interaction in front of you.

The sly smirk was still on his face as he asked seductively, "Have you been wearing my clothes?" You look away from the man in front of you with blood rushing to your cheeks. Miguel saw the red tint, and smiled, knowing he got to you.

With his finger, he guided your head to face his once more. You wore a shy smile, as you hesitantly looked into his eyes. "Don't be embarrassed. I think you'd look adorable in my clothes." His voice was low, and suddenly you felt your knees start to buckle under you. Miguel's arms wrapped around your waist pulling you against his chest. His face was only centimeters away from yours, and it seemed like he was leaning closer to kiss you, but you were proven wrong when he pulled his face away from yours with a mischievous grin.

Miguel laughed, making you angrily glare at the man. You smacked his chest hard, mumbling a small, "You're such a tease," under your breath. "Just get ready," you order. Miguel does as you say, but not without giving you the occasional glance as you dressed away from him.

'I refuse to let anything happen to them,' Miguel thinks to himself, slipping on his running shorts. He watches you pull on a pair of your black jogger sweatpants, doing a slight bounce to help pull them around your waist. The joggers are baggy around your legs, but the waist area perfectly shows off your curves. Miguel just wanted to walk up behind you, so he could hold you and never let go. But he was quickly pulled out of his trans as you turned around, with everything already on.

You were now dressed in a heather grey thermal hoodie with neon mesh along the sleeve. You were looking down at your fitness band that you had gladly replaced your dimensional watch with. You looked up at Miguel, seeing that he was staring at you, and you gave him a smile. Miguel smiled back.

"It's a little breezy today. If you want to run shirtless, be my guess, but don't come crying when you catch a cold," You say smugly. Miguel scoffs, still carrying that smile that you loved to see before slipping on the hoodie that you gave him.

You grab his hand. "Come on. Let's go," You say, pulling the man out of your apartment.

Down the street from your apartment, there was a community park that everyone in your neighborhood loved to visit. It had something for everyone. Parks and water pads for the children, three different trails around the park, and even a small dog park that hosted both small and large dogs.

"This place is beautiful," Miguel spoke, almost speechless. His mouth opened, only slightly agape. He looked around at the park and marveled at the sight. "Life is much different when you extract yourself from those screens you surround yourself with."

Miguel looks down at you with a scoff. "You think you're so funny," he glares, making you laugh. Your smile beaming brighter than the sun. "Okay," he nods, looking away with a hurt frown.

Your smile flattens out into a straight line as you look at him with a heightened eyebrow. "Come on. Miguel O'Hara is hurt by a little joke?" You say in a teasing tone. Miguel doesn't move.

"Come on, baby. You know I was joking."

You hug Miguel, tightening your hold around his arms. You stay there for a few seconds, not getting any type of response from the larger man before pulling out of the hug. You look up at Miguel seeing the playful glint in his eyes as a smile slowly appears. "Race ya," Miguel shouted. Before you could even reply, Miguel darted off, leaving you confused.

By the time you realized what was happening, Miguel was already on one of the many trails surrounding the park. You let out a loud groan, calling his name as you run after him.

You eventually caught up with the man. Miguel turned to look at you as you ran beside him, slightly out of breath, and chuckled. “Glad you could make it,” he joked, matching his speed to yours.

You gave Miguel a fake laugh, flipping him off in the process. “I can't believe you left me,” you said, trying to focus on your breathing as you talked.

“You wanted me to get away from the spider society. Away from all those screens. It’s not my fault that you chose something I’m clearly better than you at,” he laughed.

You gave Miguel an “Oh, really?” look and said, “Okay, Mr. Big Man. Let’s race. First one to that pole, up there, wins. If you win, you can go back to your dark office and wait for an anomaly to appear, with no human interactions or interruptions. If I win, you have to stay here with me, all night,” you bet, extending the ‘L’ in “all”.

“Okay. You’re on,” Miguel agreed.

“On 3. 1… 2. 3,” You said quickly before running off, just as Miguel had done to you earlier. Miguel heard the sound of your laugh from where you left him. He laughed himself before chasing after you.

In all honesty, Miguel was enjoying himself. He didn't want to go back to the Spider Society, not at this current moment. He wanted to stay here and have fun for just a little longer. Just seeing the smile on your face as you two ran freely through a park made Miguel feel something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Happiness.

The stress from the job of being Spiderman 2099 had left Miguel entirely as he sped up his movement, getting closer to you. You looked behind you, seeing Miguel catching up to you. A scream left your lips, causing the people around you to turn their heads toward you.

Your legs ran faster, hoping to get away from your boyfriend, but when you turned around, you realized that you were on the verge of running into a woman with a stroller. Your eyes went wide as you came to a screeching halt, almost tripping in the process.

The woman looked over at you confused. Your face was beaming red from all the running you had just experienced, and your heart was racing, leaving you with heavy breathing. The woman stopped walking, asking you if you were okay, to which you responded with, "No. No. I'm... good. I was just... racing my boyfriend. I was winning until... I accidentally almost bumped into you. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I was in the middle of the walkway. I should have known better, especially with this little one," the woman spoke, giving you a smile. You looked down at the baby in the stroller. It was a baby boy, and from the looks of it, he got most of his mother's features, which wasn't a bad thing. His mother was beautiful.

It made you wonder what it would be like if you and Miguel were to have a baby. Would they look like you or Miguel? Who's personality would they share? Would Miguel's obsession with the Spider Society, and keeping the universe safe, still be, or would he take more time to be a part of his family? Those and a hundred more questions ran through your head, all at once as you looked at the woman's baby.

Miguel saw the interaction between you and the woman. He saw you almost run into her, and he saw how you looked at the woman's baby. He's seen that look many times when Peter brought Mayday around, and that usually ended with you and him watching the Parker child.

Before, it made him sad that he couldn't give you what you wanted until his mission was complete. He couldn't risk losing you or the child that you both decided to have from something that he could have prevented. But being with you today made him realize that he was missing out on so much.

He realized that being spider people wasn't the only thing that made the two of you happy. There were plenty of things that Miguel was still learning, that made you happy. And now, he was fully prepared to give that to you. He was still going to fight hard to protect you, but spending time with you felt as if the today had awakened him to a bright future.

You and the woman finished up your conversation, sending each other quick goodbyes, before the woman started walking once more. She pushed the stroller to the side of the walkway, giving joggers or people moving quicker than her, space to go around her.

Miguel watched you as your head shifted from the woman to Miguel. You caught sight of the cheesy grin that he was wearing, replicating it, and moving closer to the man. Pulling yourself into the man, you let out a sigh and said, "Oh, I love babies."

Miguel laughed, adding a small "I know" as he held you in his arms.

"I hope one day we can start a family."

"Yeah? I could see a future with me, you, and a whole bunch of little spiders roaming around the place," Miguel spoke.

You looked up at the man, eyes beaming with happiness. "Really?" You asked him. He nodded, making your smile any bigger.

The two of you stayed in the hug for a few seconds before you removed your head from his chest, and his arms retracted from your waist. Giving your head a light scratch, your smile shifted to a frown. "I know you want to get back to the office. You a can go if you want. I'll probably head back to mine and take a shower and a nap before I go back."

Miguel's eyebrow lifted as he looked at you in confusion. "No," he shook his head. "I don't want to go back. I'll do anything you want to do, as long as I am with you," Miguel told the girl, as she looked up at him with admiring eyes.

"Okay," you beamed.

"Shall we head home, or would you like to finish our race?" You asked, earning a small "whatever you want."

"No. No. You definitely won that one, mi corazón."

Taglist:

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granulesofsand · 10 months

Note

I am a gatekeeper of the system who sent an ask in a bit ago expressing concern about signs of potential programming. I would like to add some additional information, because I must concede we may be in need of some recommendations. We do have a therapist, however she lacks training in RAMCOA, so I am beginning to wonder if we may need to seek someone who has that training to proceed safely.

Content warning for specific descriptions of potentially programmed behavior in the rest of this ask.

I was able to safely facilitate an attempt to make contact with the alter in question, by someone in the system who is mentally boundaried(?) enough to resist most passive influence and the like. The alter kept repeating two sentences in a monotone way: that she cannot "know" and cannot "remember."

The alter making contact with her first tried a safety-based approach, letting the alter know that we are safe and that it is safe for her to know things now. The alter heard her, but kept repeating herself. The alter making contact tried to distract her to see if she could get the alter to "snap out of it," but this was ignored. She tried directly contradicting the statements, which made the alter start to get agitated.

After allowing the alter to calm back down, the alter making contact decided to try redirecting this alter by telling her that the thing she was supposed to not know about was something else (an area of mathematics that our system has no interest in, has never learned, and will never have any reason to learn). As soon as she was convinced of this, the entire system felt something the host described as a layer of dissociation lifting.

I try to maintain an illusion of being an all-knowing, all-controlling authority to the rest of the system to discourage them from poking into things they are not ready to know. But I was genuinely surprised that this worked, and now I am questioning if it was safe to redirect her when in reality, I do not know precisely what this alter was meant to obscure from the rest of the system. I have "quarantined" her for now, while I figure out the safest way forward.

I would also like to add, in case it is relevant, that it is my understanding that we had already developed DID from non-organized CSA before the trafficking began, so I wonder if our system is atypical of both non-RAMCOA *and* RAMCOA systems... if our suspicions about this alter are correct in that she reflects some form of MC was attempted on us.

More so than anything else, I am wondering if you have any resources about the safest way for us to proceed. I do not know for sure if this alter was programmed, but at a minimum, I believe her robotic statements and the fact that the only way to successfully address them was redirection raise enough of a red flag to warrant caution.

Thank you for being a resource on this.

A More Helpful Response

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, programs, deprogramming, memory work, isolation, CSA

I apologize, I meant to send this response within an hour of the first, but my devices had other ideas.

The ordering is a mess. We have three main pieces of advice; one for memory work, one for kindness, and one for this alter in particular.Breaks always encouraged, you can skip parts that aren’t working at the moment, and you can take as much or as little of it as you want.

Programmed Alter

Yes, this is more clearly different. It is still possible that it is conditioning or a natural response, though it will not hurt to treat it as RAMCOA so long as you respect the need for time and trust required before memory work.

Loopholes are best for dire situations, yet can also serve to break down some of the initial noncooperation programs. It’s very good that you’ve gotten this alter to redirect her silence programs, and that creativity is the same force perps use now on your side.

Memory alteration programs are tough and often layered with several incidents of trauma. Allowing her to remember will be a great help to your system, but there may be memories viewers (or the holding alter herself) aren’t prepared to witness.

Lifting the Veil

One method of easing the weight is through changing the format of the memories. It’s convenient to have an innerworld, but this can be done with visualization or drawing as well.

We use a small movie theater setup. The projector sits at the entrance, opposite the screen, and opens like a box. I believe it was Alison Miller who recommended using the exit and return to daily life to define a clip.

Find the piece where the body gets into a car or notices behavioral shifts in perps. Fill in the gaps until you have a full sequence and an arrival home or the perps leave you, whatever these landmarks look like in your history.

Programmers often divvy up memories and programming lines to insure no singular alter holds too much information that could render programs defunct. We use the box so everyone can place their pieces inside. They can put in their copy and no longer remember their piece, they can duplicate it and keep one, anything that works for your system and systemmates. The doors are always open to the theater, so anyone can come or go without consequence.

You may find it safer to make it so only the alter who placed the memories can remove them, and this can be done by the same hypnotic process DID depends on; if you believe it and require it, it will be done. A therapist can help with this without much knowledge about RAMCOA or systems.

You don’t need to view the memories immediately. We only permit the contributors to view the final version, the only exception an archivist who can file away the clip for future use. You might have to stop and search for missing pieces as you watch. All the sights, sounds, and sensations should be accounted for.

Once you have enough of a movie to view it, play around with details to make it more tolerable. Observe scenes from the distance, in black and white, or as a stop-motion. No one has to watch it all in one sitting, and breaks are encouraged.

What This Does

The system members who do not hold pieces do not need to view the film. Goals with this exercise can be:

associating memories— to disempower programs, stop flashbacks, bring closure

increasing integration— to prevent time loss, skill variation, or dissociation (without fusion) by lowering barriers

fusing alters— to find wholeness, undo what programmers or abusers have done, allow trauma holding alters to rest

If your goal is integration, eventually more alters will have to view the movies. If it’s fusion, the alters who need to know will be those who are participating in the merge.

Discovering the mechanisms behind programming can take away the influence of the tied programs. Healing the trauma removes the hooks programs sink in to be effective. It’s not something to do fast, but rather alike to meeting strangers and trying to heal their trauma. It can be done, and you can find safety within your system.

If this alter is not programmed, associating the memories can still break conditioning and loosen holds. They may be the only programmed alter in the system, but there’s no way to know for certain.

Finding Programmed Alters

Body memories are particularly common in programmed survivors, so asking the void if anyone is responsible for aches and pains can locate unknown alters. If they say it is their job, ask why. If you reach a standstill or they refer to a boss, ask who has them do it.

Programmed alters can be very mean, cruel, or unresponsive. They are still members of the system, likely not initially different from any other new alter. There is trauma there, and that trauma has been interpreted for them to control them. Kindness, constant and noninvasive, is a powerful thing.

In the start, before memories or movies, define what your systemmates are to you. Find meaning in the differences between internal and external people, assemble them into a concept of what your system is for you. Then hold that true to programmed alters.

Treat them as they need to make them feel safe. Don’t fall into the shame they’ve been burdened with, they are not bad. You may find this alter or others have done things that violate your moral code inconceivably, and you must understand that they had to survive. Even if they act like they enjoy it, even if they shove every reason to hate them toward you. They are not bad. Even if they believe they are, they are not bad.

Fitting In

Your whole system may be co-opted by abusers, or just the one or a small subsection. Neither is odd, and you can label your system by your preferences. There will always be people who disagree, but a community exists because we are similar even when we are different.

You can work this out with time, but the main goal of deprogramming is freedom. You should worry less about the things you cannot change and more about current events.

Moving Forward

Look for evidence of contact with a group, including family members or old friends. Make sure no alter is reaching out and telling perps you are becoming aware. Know where you should be and record how time was spent to see if there are discrepancies.

You are allowed to believe your memories, and it is more helpful to act towards healing than shy away from them. Not every memory needs to be perfectly sensible. They are through the eyes of a child, or from a time of extreme distress. You can look for plausible explanations for implausible scenarios, but be careful to sit with memories to support the alters holding them.

Implausible might mean demons flying around the room, eyes in someone’s hair, vampire fangs on perps. These can and have been faked, and need not change beliefs on reality. I do not mean people in cloaks or maiming or blood. Those things are plausible, though you may have to adjust your worldview to accommodate them.

Perps are cruel and creative, but they are not all-powerful or benders of the impossible. You might not encounter these deceptions, and that is valid and preferable. But you still might, and you can be prepared if they do arise.

Resources

Here is a link to the Legion System’s English version Drive. There are books for survivors that I recommend, but only if you can consume material about others’ experiences without doubting your own.

Becoming Yourself, which is pushy for fusion and uncomfortable because of the tone, includes survivor stories in some detail. Safe Passage to Healing talks to systems like singlets and pushes at least constant co-consciousness, and has more explicit descriptions by survivors. Both are helpful, but neither are perfect. Take what you need, leave what you don’t.

Next Steps

You are on the path to recovering from this. I would recommend you don’t isolate alters unless they are a danger at the time. Inform this alter about rules for the system and for communicating safely with others.

She may need a space she can relax in, even if only slightly. Ask what she needs and find a place for her. If they aren’t triggering, include soft blankets and plush toys. Ask how old she is, what she thinks about your current living situation and what rules she’s still following. Feed her if she is hungry, keep her warm and comfortable. If she has to be isolated, consider giving her an option between her room and another safe place.

She might not talk anytime soon, but her barriers might be coming down hard. Some paints, inside or out, that she can use might be easier than speaking aloud.

Any therapist can be a RAMCOA therapist if they are understanding and willing to learn. You will be guinea pigs, but it is better than going it alone. A therapist who will not hear you is not a safe therapist.

I can dig up some conference dates and maybe connect them with other therapists in similar situations, if those would make you feel more secure. There are books for clinicians in that Drive, though still not perfect, and we can write up a doc with context we have our therapist as some are not for survivors. It’s your choice, and your therapy is yours.

We’ve got a preoccupation for the next week, but a cell phone should suffice for simpler communications. We will try to remain reachable, and will answer eventually as long we have internet.

#did osdd #osddid #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #polyfragmented system #adaptive system #hc did #ramcoa programming

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