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try-set-me-on-fire · 6 months ago

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Fuck It Friday It’s Saturday what if i try to just write a whole fic right here in a tumblr post

Okay Brick from the future here after i have indeed written a fic right here in a tumblr post, warning for some homophobia (described past high school experiences from Eddie). Based on this post. Have not reread it at all before hitting post so good luck hopefully it’s more or less cohesive

Was tagged in fuck it Friday by uh somebody probably but i can’t find it in my notes. Tagging — oh it’s like 11 o clock, so this can be for seven sentence Sunday? — @bigfootsmom @iinryer @shitouttabuck @chronicowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @queerdiazs @butchdiaz @homerforsure

The music is turned down low now, because it’s late, and even though the sprawling backyard of the ranch house is far, far away from any neighbors the event coordinators were still firm about a noise curfew and it would be a shame for such a lovely wedding to end with a visit from some of Athena’s coworkers. Most of the lights in the house are off or dimmed — beds and couches littered with the young and the old and the drunk — so the only lights out here are the strings of fairy lights and little jars with bulbs in the lid that remind Buck of sneaking out to the park with Maddie to catch lightning bugs back in Pennsylvania. The murky light and the quiet make everything feel soft as Buck stands on the porch, bare feet on creaky wood. He’s not sure where his shoes got off to, removed at some point when the dancing had started to pinch his heels. His throat burns a little from all the talking — and maybe that last vodka sour — and his eyes sort of itch from all the crying earlier. (Eddie had frowned at him, three of his fingers pressed into his elbow, as Buck had wept through the ceremony. A clear are you okay? And Buck had only nodded, because talking would have been rude, and despite everything that might make it seem otherwise, he really was.) He thinks Eddie might be the only person left here that he knows, the rest of the 118 departing in the last hour or two, though he’s not sure where he is, either. Maybe the same place as his shoes.

“Buck.”

Not with his shoes, then. Buck watches as Eddie stumbles towards him across the lawn from wherever he’d been. Dancing, maybe. He’s sweaty, his cheeks are cheerfully pink and he’s grinning with all his teeth showing. Buck steps down into the grass to meet him. “Hey, Eds.”

“Hello,” Eddie says, soft and pleased. He looks all over Buck’s face, over his now disheveled suit with the jacket hanging on the railing behind him and down at his missing shoes. Eddie frowns at that. “Your feet’ll get cold.”

Buck wiggles his toes in the dewy lawn. “I’ll be okay.” When he looks back up Eddie has an expression on his face that he can’t quite read but has been frequently present, lately. And then there’s a laugh across the yard, and both turn to look. Tommy. Loud, and full of that kind of breathless, disbelieving joy that- well, Buck hadn’t really heard from him before recently.

“I don’t-” Eddie stops, and Buck watches out of the corner of his eye as he shakes his head, looks up at Buck. “How are you just okay with this?”

Buck tilts his head almost sideways as he turns back to look at him. “It’s true love, man. How could I be upset with that?”

Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes, but Buck can tell he wants to. “I don’t even know- if that even exists. You gotta- you work on it. Or… I don’t know. He just saw this fucking guy across a crowded bar, and, what, fucking bam, Cupid’s arrow?”

“There’s a little more history than that,” Buck protests, even though, yeah, that is kind of what happened. They’d been at a club over in WeHo and Tommy had stopped frozen-dead in his tracks on the way from the dance floor to the bar, staring with some combination of awe-fear-grief-anger-longing all over his face at some guy, around Tommy’s age or maybe a little older, sandwiched between two big jock types all grinding on each other, one of them sucking an impressive hickey onto his shoulder next to the strap of his tastefully tight tank top. Tommy had stumbled closer like a man bewitched, and had gasped out “Sal?” In a way that had made Buck think, Ah. Time’s up. He’d lingered a respectful distance back as the two of them had an intense little conversation, though the club was loud enough he probably wouldn’t have heard much if he’d come closer. And he went home with Tommy that night and sat on his bed as he’d paced around his little bedroom and talked about years shitty jokes and stupid, over performed masculinity, and wanting, and “-the last I heard he was fucking married, I’ve met Sandra, he has two kids-”, and when Tommy got a phone call the next day — an invitation to lunch, to talk — he’d looked at Buck and said “I’m so sorry- I’m so sorry, but I-” and Buck had kissed his cheek and said “Go.” And, now, not even quite three months later, a wedding. The whole 118 had been invited, and had gone mostly in solidarity to Buck, and everybody had been making a lot of meaningful eye contact over their drinks as he’d elbowed them to quit it.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” Buck blinks back to the present, feet in the grass, Eddie warm and close next to him.

“Dance with me, Buckley,” Eddie sighs, dramatic, petulant, a smile shining through his put upon attitude. He’s been cutting it up all night, spinning Karen around and around, dancing with Sal’s mostly cordial ex-wife and sisters and aunts and cousins. He even took Tommy for a turn at one point, while Buck had busied himself with downing whatever was in the glass Ravi handed him so he wouldn’t have to look at either of their faces.

“I’ll step on your toes,” Buck warns, turning fully towards him and vaguely holding up his hands for Eddie to do whatever it is that needs to happen to make the dancing start.

Eddie snorts, moves one of Buck’s hands to his shoulder and holds the other, and taps his shiny dress shoe very gently into Buck’s big toe. “Do your worst.”

Buck, historically, by any metric you care to measure by, is a terrible dancer. Bobby, who himself only manages the old man party shuffle, has looked on his lack of rhythm in abject despair. Eddie, though, Eddie can dance, and he does it so well it makes his dancing partner’s look good, too. They move through the grass halfway competently, movements kind-of smooth. Buck only feels polished leather under his feet once or twice. “You’re real good at this.”

Eddie nods as he pulls Buck into a little spin. “Took lessons, back in high school.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” He’s staring at Buck’s shoulder. “Sophia had lessons I had to drive her to, one of the instructors mentioned classes for older kids.” He shrugs. “Seemed fun.”

“In high school?” Something about the question makes Eddie’s shoulders get a little tight, but he nods. “And you played baseball? Damn, I never knew how anybody could have multiple extra curriculars, I barely made every football practice as it is.”

Eddie shrugs again, eyes still fixed on rumpled cotton. “I liked it.” Step, step, step, spin. “Took Shannon a few times, but she didn’t really like the structure of it, just wanted to get to the dancing part.” A little smile. “You bet I gave her shit when she got a leg cramp line dancing one time. Shoulda stretched.”

Buck laughs. “Did you stretch before coming here?”

“Yeah.”

Buck laughs harder, throwing his head back. They’re far enough out of the city that there are stars in the sky, and he gets distracted looking up at them for a moment, finding any constellation he knows. When he looks back down Eddie’s staring at his shoulder again.

“I could dance because of the baseball,” he says, quiet. “Because… Shannon, and I played sports, and I… you know.” He looks up at Buck, eyes dark away from any bright light. “I could laugh it off. When people said it was gay. Because I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Buck says. He doesn’t know what else to say, about the reminders of what high school was like in the aughts, or about the past tense. He thinks maybe he should apologize, but Eddie keeps talking.

“Not in like a- I wasn’t tortured about it. I didn’t even think about it. It was- that’s not- it wasn’t even a possibility.” His palm sweats against Buck’s and his other hand burning against his side, and still they keep dancing, never losing the beat of the song. “One time… Aaron Dewitt called me a… you know. And everybody just started laughing, because, like. Man. That’s Eddie, he was just making out with his girlfriend under the bleachers, what the fuck are you on about.” He smiles, all wrong, and the way his voice gets lighter isn’t very light at all. “All those guys were begging me for moves before senior prom.”

“Eddie-”

“Buck!” Tommy stumbles in from the side, not even waiting for Eddie to retreat so his arm ends up awkwardly trapped between them as he plasters himself to Buck, hands on either his side of his face. He’s had a lot of champagne tonight, as Buck thinks is his right, and it’s made him unsteady on his feet in a way he knows most other drinks don’t. It’s the sugar, he’d said once. Goes right to my head. “Buck.”

“Hi,” Buck laughs a little, smelling the drink on his breath. “Hey, Tommy.”

“I love you,” Tommy says, sincere and eyes watering. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for- for everything. I didn’t- I never thought I’d get to have this.”

Buck thinks that he’s practically glowing, has been all night, getting even more supernova bright every time his now-husband touches his arm or side or back or anywhere and smiles a private little smile at him. “I’m really glad you do, Tommy. Love you, too.”

Tommy kisses his cheek, a little slobbery. “We’re gonna leave now, but I just wanted to say bye. I hope you had a good time. Sorry for- or- thank you-”

“I had a wonderful time,” Buck says, releasing Tommy from drunkenly trying to find an end to that sentence. They’ve had some version of this conversation several times already, Tommy always guilty and happy in dizzying little circles, and Buck hopes he can bury the guilt in the soft dirt they’re standing on and go on to live with just the happiness. “Have a great night.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, laughing and nodding. “Yeah. Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, Tommy.”

They watch him hurry back across the yard, falling into Sal’s arms with the easy confidence of someone who knows without a doubt that he’ll be caught. Eddie’s arm is still across Buck’s chest where it had been stuck.

“I know you’ve said you’re fine with it-”

“About a thousand times, yeah, to you and everybody else we know-”

“Come on, man.” Eddie shifts his arm a little, up, so he can grab and shake Buck’s shoulder. The angle they’re standing at has caught the light, and Eddie’s eyes are gold again. “It’s me. Are you okay with this?

Buck thinks about high school, and all the things he didn’t think about either right up until Tommy Kinard kissed him in the kitchen. He thinks about Hen’s sky high eyebrows when she heard the news, and her and Chimney’s stories about the bad old days and the kind of person Sal seemed to be. He thinks about change, and how much it can happen to a person and how quickly, and how you just have to trust, sometimes, that people have grown and learned. He thinks about Eddie, and things that are impossible, and dancing, and- he laughs, sudden and loud enough that Eddie startles, because, fuck. This is exactly how it happened in the club, too. Seeing someone you know like the back of your hand in a new light and- bam.

When the laughter calms in his throat, Buck looks down at Eddie. “Really, I swear I’m fine with it. I had a really nice time with Tommy. He was… kind, and safe, and patient. I really liked him- I really like him. I hope I keep getting, you know, Christmas cards or whatever. I’m really happy he got his romcom ending. I mean- I kind of wish it was with a guy who doesn’t seem so much like an asshole-” Buck grins as Eddie snorts, “-but, uh, Hen says judging your exes taste in men is, like, a gay right of passage or something, so.”

Eddie nods once, twice, and then his eyes get a little wide, the way they do when he’s being brave. “So then, what does it mean if I’m judging Tommy for you?”

“He’s your friend, too,” Buck protests past the way his heart is thudding in his chest, because Tommy deserves defending here, probably. He kicks softly at Eddie’s shin. “You came to the wedding, don’t-”

“You’re not my ex,” Eddie says. He steps backward, and again, and they’re dancing again. “So. Still a right of passage?”

Buck’s palms are sweating, now. “You’ve never liked my taste in women, either.”

Eddie makes an unconvincing noise of denial. “I… thought…”

“Yeah?” Buck raises an eyebrow, and Eddie’s face twitches with how hard he’s trying not to grin.

“That… Ali… was fine.”

Buck cackles, and Eddie pulls him in closer and laughs into his collarbone. “You were so judgy when she dumped me, are you kidding, your fucking stink face every time-”

“You’re not my ex,” Eddie says again, loud, getting them back on track, standing upright but not moving any further away. They’re pressed together chest to knee. “Buck.”

“Yeah?”

They spin in a slow circle. “I’m pretty good at dancing, and- probably not so good at baseball anymore, but- well I dunno, maybe. We could go to a batting cage sometime. Anyway.” Spin and spin. “I guess I… do think about it, now. I think about- and there were a lot of things I thought were impossible, and weren’t, really. And- and I’m not in high school, and…” They slow, and stop, and Buck thinks Eddie’s hands and eyes are, probably, the warmest things on the whole entire planet. “We could go home and I could wait till tomorrow to ask you to lunch to talk about things, but we’re both already here.”

Buck laughs, and wonders if anyone listening to him would hear a kind of breathless, disbelieving joy. “You wanna take me to lunch?”

“Mhm. I was thinking we could get sandwiches.”

Buck laughs, and laughs, almost falling over with it, but that’s fine. He knows Eddie will catch him.

#buddie #buck x tommy #my writing #eddie diaz #evan buckley #tommy kinard #sal whatever his last name is

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sassenach77yle · 2 months ago

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||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 7 EPISODE 03 || DEATH BE NOT PROUD ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

There was a soft whoof! noise, then a louder whoomp! as the ether in the surgery ignited, and suddenly we were standing in a pool of fire. For a fraction of a second, I felt nothing, and then a burst of searing heat. Jamie seized my arm and hurled me toward the door; I staggered out, fell into the blackberry bushes, and rolled through them, thrashing and flailing at my smoking skirts. Panicked and still uncoordinated from the ether, I struggled with the strings of my apron, finally managing to rip loose the strings and wriggle out of it. My linen petticoats were singed, but not charred. I crouched panting in the dead weeds of the dooryard, unable to do anything for the moment but breathe. The smell of smoke was strong and pungent. Mrs. Bug was on the back porch on her knees, jerking off her cap, which was on fire.

Men erupted through the back door, beating at their clothes and hair. Rollo was in the yard, barking hysterically, and on the other side of the house, I could hear the screams of frightened horses. Someone had got Arch Bug out—he was stretched at full length in the dead grass, most of his hair and eyebrows gone, but evidently still alive. My legs were red and blistered, but I wasn’t badly burned—thank God for layers of linen and cotton, which burn slowly, I thought groggily. Had I been wearing something modern like rayon, I should have gone up like a torch. The thought made me look back toward the house. It was full dark by now, and all the windows on the lower floor were alight. Flame danced in the open door. The place looked like an immense jack-o’-lantern. “Ye’re Mistress Fraser, I suppose?” The squat, bearded person bent over me, speaking in a soft Scottish burr. “Yes,” I said, coming gradually to myself. “Who are you, and where’s Jamie?” “Here, Sassenach.” Jamie stumbled out of the dark and sat down heavily beside me. He waved a hand at the Scotsman. “May I present Mr. Alexander Cameron, known more generally as Scotchee?” “Your servant, ma’am,” he said politely. I was feeling gingerly at my hair. Clumps of it had been singed to crispy thread, but at least I still had some. I felt, rather than saw, Jamie look up at the house. I followed the direction of his glance, and saw a dark figure at the window upstairs, framed in the dim glow from the burning downstairs. He shouted something in the incomprehensible tongue, and began throwing things out of the window. “Who’s that?” I asked, feeling more than slightly surreal. “Oh.” Jamie rubbed at his face. “That would be Goose.”

“Of course it would,” I said, nodding. “He’ll be a cooked goose, if he stays in there.” This struck me as wildly hilarious, and I doubled up in laughter. Evidently, it wasn’t quite as witty as I’d thought; no one else seemed to think it funny. Jamie stood up and shouted something at the dark figure, who waved nonchalantly and turned back into the room. “There’s a ladder in the barn,” Jamie said calmly to Scotchee, and they moved off into the darkness. The house burned fairly slowly for a while; there weren’t a lot of easily flammable objects down below, bar the books and papers in Jamie’s study. A tall figure belted out of the back door, shirt pulled up over his nose with one hand, the tail of his shirt held up with the other to form a bag. Ian came to a stop beside me, dropped to his knees, gasping, and let down his shirttail, releasing a pile of small objects. “That’s all I could get, I’m afraid, Auntie.” He coughed a few times, waving his hand in front of his face. “D’ye ken what happened?” “It’s not important,” I said. The heat was becoming more intense, and I struggled to my knees. “Come on; we’ll need to get Arch further away.” The effects of the ether had mostly worn off, but I was still conscious of a strong sense of unreality. I hadn’t anything but cold well water with which to treat burns, but bathed Arch’s neck and hands, which had been badly blistered. Mrs. Bug’s hair had been singed, but she, like me, had been largely protected by her heavy skirts. Neither she nor Arch said a word. Amy McCallum came running up, face pale in the fiery glow; I told her to take the Bugs to Brianna’s cabin—hers now—and for God’s sake, keep the little boys safe away. She nodded and went, she and Mrs. Bug supporting Arch’s tall form between them.

No one made any effort to bring out the bodies of Donner and his companions. I could see when the fire took hold in the stairwell; there was a sudden strong glow in the upstairs windows, and shortly thereafter, I could see flames in the heart of the house. Snow began to fall, in thick, heavy, silent flakes. Within half an hour, the ground, trees, and bushes were dusted with white. The flames glowed red and gold, and the white snow reflected a soft reddish glow; the whole clearing seemed filled with the light of the fire. Somewhere around midnight, the roof fell in, with a crash of glowing timbers and a tremendous shower of sparks that fountained high into the night. The sight was so beautiful that everyone watching went “Oooooh!” in involuntary awe. Jamie’s arm tightened round me. We could not look away.

What’s the date today?” I asked suddenly.

He frowned for a moment, thinking, then said,“December twenty-first.”

“And we aren’t dead, either. Bloody newspapers,” I said. “They never get anything right.”

For some reason, he thought that was very funny indeed, and laughed until he had to sit down on the ground.

123 RETURN OF THE NATIVE~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

#outlander #the frasers #outlanderedit #outlander series #outlander starz #outlander fanart #jamie fraser #samheughan #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #dr claire randall #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #caitrionabalfe #outlander book #outlander books #outlander season 7 #outlander 7x03

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1spy · 3 months ago

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1988 | Guns N' Roses - "Patience"

I was riding my bike with a friend back in middle school, and he started singing this song that sounded really cool. The kids now would call it a meme song, where there's just one catchy bit that gets memorized and transmitted instantly to seemingly every kid you know. All I know is we were riding our bikes around and singing this song at the top of our lungs like kids did back then:

Take me down to the paradise city / Where the grass is green and girls are pretty / Oh won't you please take me home

It was so dumb and fun. And I had not, at the time, even seen the video for "Paradise City." In fact, the first video I remember seeing from Guns N' Roses was their mega-popular acoustic ballad "Patience."

It's not the most representative song in their catalog. GNR's debut album, Appetite for Destruction, had come out in 1987 and was full of heavy, uncompromisingly sleazy hard rock bangers that made other LA hair metal bands sound tame and fake in comparison. The album painted a portrait of a Hollywood underworld where sex and drugs are traded for access and opportunity, but where the American dream is most likely to end in an overdose. All of which seemed pretty far away from my life in suburban Spring, Texas.

But Patience was a perfect entry point for me, a kid whose favorite band was—at the time—the Eagles. The gentle acoustic ballad opens with Axl whistling, which may have been a savvy bid for pop relevance only one year after Bobby McFerrin's huge #1 hit "Don't Worry Be Happy" also included prominent whistling. Patience got all the way to number four.

I wasn't the only one connecting GNR to the Eagles. Hotel California and Appetite for Destruction have similar themes involving sex, excess, and corruption in a drug-soaked Hollywood. Axl had performed backing vocals on Don Henley's album, End of the Innocence. And Henley played drums and sang backup when Guns N' Roses played "Patience" on the 1989 American Music Awards.

It took two years for it to happen, but the singles for "Welcome to the Jungle," "Paradise City," "Sweet Child O' Mine" and "Patience" eventually made the band ubiquitous. And Axl was constantly in the news for being a terrible human: starting shows late, nearly starting riots at his own shows, saying racist, misogynistic, and homophobic shit, and otherwise being a huge asshole.

At the time none of that mattered to me. What mattered was the way I felt when I pressed play on the CD. It was exhilarating every every single time. It still is. Appetite for Destruction is the best selling debut album of all time because it has no skips. It's an incredible hard rock album front to back, full of songs that are musical, surprising, funny, sophisticated, angry, and—more than anything else—convincing. It was hard to listen to Appetite and then put on Warrant, Poison or Motley Crue. Nirvana killed all those bands, but GNR put them on notice.

"Patience" wasn't on Appetite. It was on a follow-up collection of two EPs called GN'R Lies. The GNR half was old live performances from 1986 ("Move to the City" was my fave). The "Lies" half was a set of four acoustic originals whose popularity may have inspired MTV Unplugged:

"Patience"- the second song I ever learned to play on guitar all the way through.

"Used to Love Her" - A jokey song about killing your girlfriend and burying her in the back yard.

"You're Crazy" - Better, bluesier, and somehow darker than the version on Appetite.

"One in a Million" - The song whose lyrics included racist, anti-immigrant, and homophobic slurs, but also functioned as an Axl Rose origin story.

Even when I was a kid listening, the lyrics to "One in a Million" bugged me because Axl's lyrics on the song weren't just hateful, they were the worst lyrics he had recorded. It was a missed opportunity, because it's probably the best song on this record. It was his best vocal performance, it had the best solo, and Axl whistles over the opening again with an even better melody. It sucks because he ruined the song with half-assed, bigoted lyrics.

None of this is to provide an apologia for GNR (or for me). They were my favorite band until my senior year of high school. They were the reason my first guitar was a Gibson Les Paul like Slash played. And I dove DEEP into both Use Your Illusion records when they came out (I could write three or four more posts about UYI I & II).

But once Izzy Stradlin' left the band, I knew they were never going to make another record as good as Appetite. The best songs off Use Your Illusion are the Izzy songs. The coolest guy in that band was Izzy. And the best post-Appetite record by anyone in the band is Izzy's solo record with the Ju Ju Hounds.

I went to see Guns N' Roses in 1992 with Soundgarden opening. And I'm glad I did. But Izzy wasn't there, and I felt his absence. Basically, it feels like I left GNR when Izzy did.

But if he ever rejoins the band, I might see them again.

Fave lyrics (for someone who loved walking the tough suburban streets of Cypresswood at night):

I've been walking the streets at night Just trying to get it right It's hard to see with so many around You know I don't like being stuck in the crowd And the streets don't change but maybe the names...

#guns n roses #GNR #patience #axl rose #GNR Lies #don henley #eagles #1SPY #Spotify

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manias-wordcount · 9 months ago

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its an old request, but i was reading your Edward elric content and all I could do is imagine streamer reader and Ed playing lethal company, like, imagine the chaos that would ensue. especially if the reader was very knowledgeable and had played it a lot and just did everything they could to get Ed killed because they're dating and messing with your s/o is just so much fun- especially if Ed was like "it has to be a coincidence, they would never do this to me"

sorry, I just had to share my thoughts after I read it

Playing Lethal Company Together HCs (Edward Elric)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁. 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞�� 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

He finds the premise fascinating

But he hates playing it (he doesn’t know that you’ve bugged the hell out of his copy of his game so shhh)

All the time you’ve tried to play with him, he’s getting killed in the worst and scariest ways possible, getting poor loot, fake exits, the whole nine yards

And he can’t stand the way you keep telling him to “get good” - especially after a longer play session

He’ll always wonder why you have so much more success than him while playing

Sure, he doesn’t know as much as you do but he’s definitely not bad at it, right? Right?

Because watching you play alone is a whole different story

Now, of course, he finally realizes what’s been going on when you show him the video you’re about to upload called “Trolling My Boyfriend in Lethal Company”

Naturally, he’s not amused about it but he does give you permission to upload it

…with the threat that you now need to be ready for anything he throws your way in the future, of course.

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stolasdearest · 1 year ago

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Can I request dating headcanons for Gale, Wyll, Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor, Halsin, and Astarion with gn s/o?

say less!! It's been awhile since I've written headcanons or prompts with multiple people but LETS TRY

Bg3 chars x gn!Tav

warnings: (maybe) Ooc Zevlor,Rolan (I think I have a pretty good grasp on Dammon) not proofread!! Mentions of traumatic backstories

Zevlor definitely has some self worth issues due to Fall of Elturel and what happened with the Grove he cares deeply for his fellow kin and that care flows into you aswell. He is absolutely infatuated with you and has absolutely no shame showing it or others.

I feel like he's very big on PDA for an odd reason he isn't afraid to tell anyone off and he has a backbone that's for sure, that doesn't mean he's not vulnerable he absolutely is and he feels safest with you as his beloved. He shows his love with physical affection and acts of service in my opinion— cooks you breakfast,lunch and dinner. Plans nice evenings, takes you nice places, whole nine yards— he's also surprisingly big on literature and he writes you poems and tells you the nicest most sweetest things ever. He's a very stubborn man though, so if you're also stubborn it can turn into bickering but never an argument, at the end of the day he just wants to see you smile.

EXTREMELY cocky, He's like a cat that'll keep eye contact with you when knocking a class off the counter. He does love big nonetheless! A heart of gold and an ego of steel but you love that about him

I think he'd enjoy quality time. Cooking or cleaning together, reading in silence or just holding each other in the morning juicing up for the day.

I also think he's also just absolutely obsessed with his Partner but in a more discreet way, Glances at you after he voices an opinion or telling a joke. Seeing what you'll do and think. Expanding on that he definitely takes what you think to heart at all times and always ask your opinion on anything— food,clothes, decoration how to style his hair so on and so forth

Also a HUGE cuddle bug. Cooking dinner? Hugs you from behind, Sitting on the sofa reading a book? Lays his head in your lap and looks at your gorgeous face, Walking in public? Hand on your lower back.

He's a little cutie patootie

OUR FAVORITE BLACKSMITH!!

He's actually so adorable and hes definitely into gift giving and physical touch.

He'll make you little trinkets and do-dads from scraps he has left over, You know those metal roses some people make for their partners?? He does that with you and they look absolutely amazing everytime (he buys you normal flowers aswell do not worry)

He's also no stranger to being the small spoon so just hold him sometimes, He's gone through some things with the Grove and the Shadow lands and he has nightmares on occasion when he will wake you up and you of course sit with him until he can rest easy again

He's no surprise to anyone very strong he's a black smith for crying out loud, he's 90% sure he can pick you effortlessly no matter how tall or big you are he will do it. No negotiating about that

He has the cutest puppy dog eyes I mean can you blame him? I'd use those gorgeous eyes to my advantage aswell— he knows you love it and him so whenever he wants something from you he gives you a look anyone could coo at you fall for it everytime

In the city (or in general) he basically drags you around by your hand, he's also 10 steps ahead of you mentally and sometimes physically..at this point get a leash for him

He's still very emotionally intelligent and talking with him about something that bothers you is met with understandment and reassurance while he works on the issue and he expects it vice versa aswell where you happily oblige

He's sweet but he's not a pushover under any circumstances

The most gentlemen-y of Gentlemen.

Outside of Baldurs gate he will do his best to spoil you with food, flowers and protection— you swear to him you can take care of yourself but he doesn't listen to you

After you enter Baldurs gate however he's going full ex-Noble mode, Fancy dinners, Bouquets and whatever you'd like he's ready to get it for you at the basic snap of your fingers.

Gift giving is his love language, ontop of quality time. You tell him you do not need all of the nice things he gives you but he insists some Noble roots run deep, he often confides in you over his Father and Mizora and the guilt of what he would've potentially done to Karlach still lies in his head despite Karlachs constant reassurance ontop of your own

His favorite thing is honestly to look at you especially your eyes, The glimmer in them after a fight? Or the reflection of the fire from the campfire in your eyes? Absolutely breathtaking in his eyes.

To him you are everything, You're one of the only people he has left and he isn't planning on losing you, has your back if you ever need it. Physical cover in a fight? He's right behind you, someone's giving you shit? He'll defend you with every ounce of his being

Also a man that insists on carrying you anytime you even show an ounce of exhaustion, He might also be one hill away from collapsing but he's your knight in shining armor and you know it

Sometimes he wonders if you love Tara more than him honestly—

Please give this man some REAL love, pamper him, smother him and reassure him. The roots on Mystras abuse runs DEEP but he doesn't know that but you do.

Despite his very obvious love for you and the care he holds deep in his heart but he cannot help but feel like he's holding you back with the literal ticking bomb he is, everyday he fears it might be his last along with yours unfortunately. He's aware you'd insist on staying with him if his time ever came but he simply can't bring himself to think of you being gone even after he's passed

If you're out alone he asks Tara to keep an eye on you if you're out long that is

He's not insecure but afraid, anxious despite the fact he's one of the men with the least baggage he's worried you think you can do better

his biggest love language I think is physical touch, He wants to feel you, to know you're real and you're his.

If you're useless in the kitchen he does not mind doing all of the cooking and baking as neither do you. He's a powerful and talented culinary wizard, He also just prefers to spend his nights and mornings in your arms just taking a breather and loving you

Our most beloved spawn :)

Obviously very touchy and handsy but hes also big on words of affirmation and gift giving

He once brought you a head rat as a joke saying it was a gift

He needs someone to match his energy, either by being matching chaotic or laughing at his not so violent antics (or also at his violent antics that's up to you honestly)

He's not all sunshine and rainbows however, the wounds of Cazador will always be part of him and he wants you to know that.

He talks big but he knows he's alot with everything he's gone through and what that made him at the end of everything

He also knows you won't be around forever unlike him and he dreads the day he's alone again

You are his sunshine and he doesn't know where he'd go or who he'd be if you didn't stick with him and he loves you endlessly for your patience and understanding with him.

Halsin the big bear

Have a fear of bears or dont like em in general?

Ultimate deal breaker, he needs someone to love him for all of him, bear form included

He's a big sweetheart but like Dammon also not gullible or Naive

Definitely big on Marriage with you because he genuinely thinks you are the one and he wishes to never spend a day without you ever again

He becomes less subtle with his advances and flirting the more you date him, and it makes him laugh everytime you give him a knowing look and laugh at him

No matter how not pick up-able you think you are Halsin will throw you over his shoulder

HUGE cuddler anytime you guys aren't actively moving around? BOOM hands on you everywhere. Another man who loves giving loving words

A nightmare? He will whisper sweet nothings into your ear and hold you closely to his chest listening to his steady heart beat

He's also a great cook which he uses to make you some very nice meals

I can also imagine you can ride him in his bear form especially if you're tiny, Cuddling him in his bear form is also not rare between you both

Overall very big nice bear husband

OMG KILL ME I ACCIDENTALLY PUBLISHED THIS BEFORE I WAS DONE THATS SO EMBARRASSING

again I apologize for ooc npcs 😭 hope you enjoyed nonetheless

#bg3 x reader #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #bg3 wyll #bg3 zevlor #bg3 dammon #bg3 halsin #bg3

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kittyball23 · 1 year ago

Text

Neverglading (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: John Dory meets an unexpected companion while trekking through the Neverglade Trail

A/N: Taking place before TBT; Makes references to my oneshot from Trolls 3.0 titled "Found" (ch 18) :)

__________________________________________

I guess there’s a reason they call it the NEVERglade Trail, John Dory thought, exhaustedly taking another step forward and forcing himself to look past the fatigue that plagued his body.

The marshland was not that deep underfoot, only coming up to his ankles, but it sure was thick. One could only go so long taking forcible steps before you got awfully tired out, and before the marsh started to feel like it was taking its grimy hands and holding you in place. But John Dory was not letting it deter him. He refused for it to. He had been the leader of BroZone, and there had been certain traits that a leader needed to have. A key one of those was determination, a strong drive to get done what one strived to get done, and, if it could helped, completing it in the best way possible (or, as John Dory liked to call it, in the most brodacious way possible!).

Come on, JD, he urged himself, you CAN do it! Hauling his knees up, he marched through the boggy trail, ignoring the burn in his muscles. FEEL the burn, he encouraged himself, using the same words he had on Spruce when the Troll had adamantly prepared for every show they’d performed with some workout exercises beforehand. And besides, he continued lecturing, why would I give up now? Just a few yards or so away, he could see the telltale green that indicated a smooth, solid patch of grass. The end of the trail! Knowing his victory was just a hop, skip, and jump away fueled the Troll, and he hauled himself forward some more. Yes! Almost there! Just gotta -

“Rrrwoaw !”

JD gasped at the sudden cry that pierced the air and, upon reflex, took a fighting stance. It was very unexpected, with the only sounds that had accompanied his trek thus far being the bubbling of the bog, a couple of bugs flitting by with a quick ZZZZT! , distant bird calls, and the sound of his own heaving grunts. The sound was foreign among the others, and did not give off the vibe of a creature who was in any way relaxed. And that made the green hair on the back of his neck rise in an unpleasant way. Was he being hunted? Was that the creature's cry of battle, ready to charge at the unsuspecting Troll and splatter what would become his remains across the land?

John Dory shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. Nobody deserved to go out like that!

“RRWOAW !”

He grimaced upon hearing the cry resound again, and not two seconds after that, again. That's when the Troll had to stop and think. For one, he was still standing there, the bottom hems of his white slacks a little muddied, but otherwise well off. If this creature had wanted to attack him, then surely it would have done so already. Or else, why make the ruckus? Any predator intelligent enough in the order of things in the food chain would know to keep quiet and not scare off their prey with any loud sounds. This creature, whatever it was, was not following that basic protocol. Which got JD thinking… perhaps it wasn't hunting. Perhaps it was…

“RRRRWOOOAW!!”

… distressed.

His head whirled around to his far left, in the direction the call had been coming from, somewhere off the bog's marked trail in the swampy woods. He sucked in a deep breath. There was a certain order to things. Just like in his band, for example. He was BroZone’s leader (a role that he believed his brothers could have shown him much more appreciation for taking). Spruce was the Heartthrob, Clay the Fun Boy, Floyd the Sensitive One, and Branch the Baby, all with their own reasons for being that way. And he was sure that there was a reason to why this trail was marked, why it didn't veer off to the left where the noises were coming from. What dangers were that way? They were dangers he didn't really have to find out about. But for the sake of the creature, he wanted to. There was a soft spot somewhere in JD for critters, even if Grandma had never let him have one of his own. He still loved playing with Pop Village's pets when time between band rehearsals and keeping his brothers in line permitted. Still, John Dory gazed longingly at the patch of green up ahead, where he could rest his aching feet and sore muscles.

He paused to reconsider. Maybe it was better to go there first, rest a second, regain some energy, have a snack or two, or…

“RRWOAW !”

… or not .

Before he could change his mind, John Dory stomped his way through the bog, away from his green and right to the source of the sound. The creature's cries were becoming far more frequent now, baying every couple seconds, perhaps even knowing that it had garnered someone's attention at last. John Dory dutifully followed, pushing aside throngs of bushy leaves and slinking through mossy undergrowth until, at last, he came to what he had been seeking. Just beyond a curtain of leaves he could see something thrashing, and the creature's cries were unbearably loud. JD gulped. He hadn't a clue what lay beyond that curtain. Whatever it was may not like him, trying to bite at him with its fangs or swipe at him with claws that may as well pass for daggers. Or, it could be injured, his sights to be met with a gruesome image of blood and gore from wherever it had been wounded.

Aw, no…

He didn't want to hurl, not when he'd just eaten some super delicious marshmallows not five minutes ago!

Regardless, it was no use turning back now. He bothered to trudge his way through the marsh, and he wasn't going to make it a pointless trip. Slowly, his hand went towards the leaves, and he braced himself as he dramatically thrust it aside with a great big swoosh!

"ACK!"

"RROO!"

Both he and the critter surprised each other with a shout. John Dory hid his face with his hands for a second while they both recovered, in case the creature reacted badly. But he didn't end up feeling any chomping on his fingers. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and put his hands down, coming face-to-face with a…

… Well, he didn't know what it was.

Wide, green eyes blinked back at him, pupils shrank some in fear. Its body was armadillo-like, with a shellish exterior that was pudgy-looking in texture. Four stubby green legs kicked around in midair, and just then did he notice that the creature was suspended, tied up among a whole mess of vines with no way to get out.

"Hey, girlie," John Dory whispered, finding his voice after a moment. "Oof… got yourself tied up pretty good, huh?" The critter whimpered, and he couldn’t help chuckling to himself a little at how cute it sounded. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait a sec… you are a girl, right? Not a boy?" At the mention of the word "boy" and the suggestion of being one, the critter growled, and JD got his answer. "A'ight, girl it is. Need some help getting out?"

The critter seemed to somewhat understand what he was saying, and she gave a short bark in reply, wagging her small, stumpy tail.

"Alright, okay, we're gonna solve this right now, yeah?" Shifting, John Dory slipped out of his acorn backpack and leaned it against a tree, hurriedly searching for something, anything that could assist. He couldn’t imagine how the poor girl felt.

Wait a second… yes I CAN.

It suddenly hit John Dory that he had undergone this terrible scenario. It wasn’t too long ago that he had been strewn up in front of nearly all of the Troll Village, trussed alongside his brothers in an embarrassing display during what was their first and last show of the Family Harmony tour. He had known the frustration, the humiliation… and he did not want this little critter to endure that any longer.

Not on MY watch!

“HA!” he shouted, finding the switchblade stashed at the very bottom of his bag. He’d rarely used the item, so it was still in pristine condition. And it would prove useful in this scenario. “I gotcha, girlie!” JD assured, approaching her.

The little creature recoiled a little at the sight of the sharp object, and squirmed when he brought it up the closest vine she was entangled in.

“Relax,” JD whispered, “probably best if you don’t move, ‘kay?”

The critter whimpered a little, but seemed to understand, and stilled. He could still sense her trembling, but he worked quickly, sawing the vine and being extremely careful not to let it touch her in the process. As soon as the first knot was free, the rest was a breeze. The vines fell apart with ease, and he managed to pull her free, holding her firmly in his arms before she tumbled to the ground. She was heavier than she looked, and he grunted a little as he attempted to maintain his balance in the already unstable bog.

“There we go… that wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked with a chuckle, trying for humor to lighten the mood.

Turns out it wasn't necessary. As soon as she was able to wiggle her arms and legs free, the critter trilled loudly, though this time, it was a trill of happiness, not sounding anything like the cry of desperation that she'd emitted before. In a flurry of gratitude, she leaned up and lapped at John Dory’s face in a series of doggy-like kisses.

“Okay, you’re welcome, you’re welcome!” he laughed. Once free of the critter’s tongue, he glanced around, not really wanting to go trudging through the boggy forest again. Luckily, he had another trick up his sleeve. He reached into his green hair and pulled out a grappling hook, shooting it out so it gripped the top of a tall tree above their heads.

“Hang on, tight, girl!”

The critter squeaked in surprise when John Dory swept them up into the air, using his stretchy Troll hair to swing them up and out on the tree limbs like monkey bars. Before he knew it, they were on that patch of grass and away from the swampy place.

The critter celebrated with a chirpy noise, snuggling up next to JD and wagging her tail.

In a fond gesture, JD bent down and patted her head. “Not a problemo, a’ight?” he cooed. “Now, I better scoot. Catch you later, small fry. I got another trail ta hike!”

John Dory began to head off, adjusting his backpack on his back a little better, when he suddenly became aware of the creature’s remaining presence, padding behind him. When he turned to look at her, she wagged her tail and panted.

"You're welcome, girly!" he chuckled, giving a thumbs up and hoping she'd get the message. But when he turned around to head off again, he could still hear her footsteps coming along behind him on the grass. That was when he realized what was going on, and after a couple seconds he called out to her. "Uh, you're kinda coming with me, aren'tcha?"

She barked affirmatively, and he bent down to her level, letting her rub affectionately against the hand that he held out to her. "What's a matter, girl, you don't got a family?" The mention of a family got the critter somber. She looked down, her green eyes giving off sadness in the way that rubbed off on JD.

"I don't either," JD admitted, "not anymore, at least..."

He paused for a second, silent, but then got happy at a new realization. "Say... WE got a family now!"

The critter liked the sound of that, and barked in agreement.

"So, if we're gonna be partners in rhyme, gotta kinda call you something other than 'girl' all the time." John Dory tapped his chin and thought. "Hmm... how are you digging 'Anna'?"

The way the pup almost seemed to scoff told him that she wasn't digging it.

"Err, alright... how about ‘Camila’?”

Another scoff.

"'Amy'?"

She grumbled.

"'Zoey'?"

She flopped to the ground.

JD sighed, then tentatively asked, "'Rhonda'?"

The pup sat up, like it had a nice ring to it, and she wagged her tail.

JD's eyes lit up. "'Rhonda'? Yeah? You like that?"

The pup barked and panted, running a few circles around him.

JD laughed and rubbed her head. "Rhonda it is. Now, let's get crackin'!" He whistled and waved a hand to get her to follow him, though that was not a problem. She trailed behind him obediently, occasionally coming to rub up against his legs and yip excitedly. It'd been only a few minutes meeting him, but she already loved his company!

And he loved hers. A friend was just what he needed, and a pet was what he'd always wanted. To get both at once felt great!

He bent down, scratching her behind the head and then bounding off with a pep in his step, having a feeling that hiking this new trail was going to be a whole lot more fun.

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #john dory #rhonda trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #brodacious fanfiction

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oinkinpigprince · 7 months ago

Note

can i please rq grim and pim w/ a super feminine s/o that's super into nature? like she will straight up pick a snake off the side of the road bc she thinks its cool

There’s a 3ft garden snake named Rodney who lives in my neighborhood. He’s rlly cool, I’m rlly scared of him.

Very feminine nature

Grim

He hates nature, what did you expect? Ngl I just think he’s scared of bugs and unironically allergic to grass, it makes his legs ITCHY AF so he doesn’t care for you’re fascination of nature

Grim thinks it’s REALLY cool how brave you are and how you can pick up wild animals and bring them into the house but he’s gonna be screaming like a little girl

If you hand him a bug he’ll shit himself and run away screaming. He’s terrified of them, if you were evil you’d chase him around the yard while holding a beetle. Sadly though, you love him

Grim thinks you’re like Mother Nature. Which he loves and also just doesn’t get. He wants to understand why you give a shit about nature, nothing but gore and disease come from it so why bother?

He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, even if he never says it. Grim likes to act tough but you can always catch him admiring your makeup or your beautiful

You have to drag him out into nature with your pretty sun dress and go on walks with him while you gush and rave about how much beauty there is. But you’re the only thing that’s beautiful here

He kinda said that last part accidentally, which makes him flustered. It’s cute when he gets all sweet and gushy like this. He can be cute sometimes

Pim

He ABSOLUTELY adores you!! He thinks you’re like a god(ess) or a fairy! He day dreams about you two being fairies together and living in a little mushroom :))

Thinks all of the effort you put in the look pretty is really amazing! Likes to watch you put on makeup sometimes, he doesn’t know how you can get your eyelids to sit so still

He just thinks you’re really pretty and loves how gentle and sweet you are. Especially to animals!

Pim loves nature. He’s a Snow White as well, so you two can enjoy befriending animals together! And admiring pretty forests and scenery

Although he may not appreciate being handed a snake, as much as he admires them. He likes to admire them from a distance and thinks you should too

Gets kinda panicky when you pick up potentially dangerous animals, he knows you’re fine but a part of him fears you getting hurt.

Loves going on picnics with you out into the woods. Sitting in a nice area and counting how many bugs you’ll see. It’s a nice way to spend your afternoon!

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ratsoh-writes · 10 months ago

Note

This idea just popped it into my head.

S/O is passed out on the couch when skele's pet decide to lay down on them and gets comfortable and refuses to get off.

What's the skele reaction?

lol this is so cute I’ll make an exception for asking outside of my inbox opening~

Red: this isn’t uncommon considering his pet cat, baby bones, is a total cuddle bug. When red sees his SO asleep with his cat on the couch, he practically melts inside. He’ll give them both a sappy smile then leave so he doesn’t wake them up.

Edge: well crap, doomfanger hates almost every one, so edge might as well marry SO. He’ll never find another date with his cats approval. Edge is quite flustered and needs to go outside so he can screech out all his cute-aggression.

Oak: his pet chicken, baconator, is a very friendly lady. She follows every one in the back yard and likes to jump on people’s shoulders. However she isn’t toilet trained. So oak pulls a sneaky mission impossible and quietly picks up his chicken, giving her a treat to keep her silent. That way SO doesn’t wake to their shirt ruined.

Rancher: his most prized cow, the tank, sometimes forgets that only rancher is strong enough to pick her up like the cute lap dog she is, so every one knows not to sleep in the fields or else the tank will strike. Poor SO weakly calls to rancher for help when they wake up with the dairy cow laying on her side on their lap. Rancher hurriedly scoops tank up into his arms so SO can crawl away to safety.

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #underfell #horrrotale #farmtale

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gumnut-logic · 1 year ago

Text

A Date with Monique

Okay, I'm blaming this squarely on @onereyofstarlight, @katblu42 and @gaviiadastra .

Have a little roadside assistance. Younger Earth and Sky and a lot of frustration for at least one of them :D

Hope it makes some kind of sense as I wrote most of it, ironically, on the side of a road :D It is possibly ridiculous.

-o-o-o-

“Aren’t you rich or something?”

Scott looked up at his date and mentally lowered the number on her scorecard for the night. “Yeah, so?”

She waved a hand in a random direction. “Can’t you call in a helicopter or something? I’m getting burrs in my stockings.”

That had him peering down the length of her long legs to the heels at their end. The legs were very nice indeed, even in the twilight darkness. But she was right. The grasses on the roadside verge had decided that she could transport their seeds quite well.

He wasn’t going to mention the bug on her shoe.

“No, we don’t do that.”

“Why not?” There was a whine to her voice that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps their unfortunate circumstances were a catalyst to revelations of her true nature.

“Help is on the way. He won’t be long.”

She slapped at her arm. “Ew, mosquito!”

Scott was leaning against his motorcycle. His motorcycle that was no longer motoring due to a busted spark plug. He had no spare, so that had necessitated a phone call.

That phone call was going to cost him because Virgil had been ranting at Scott for several weeks now that his bike needed a service.

He’d been busy.

Okay, he had forgotten.

And tonight was pleasantly unexpected. Well, it was pleasant until the bike stopped doing what he needed it to do.

“Who won’t be long? Did you call your father? I’d like to meet the famous Jeff Tracy.”

Oh, I bet you would. Her scorecard was dropping by the minute. Mentioning Jeff Tracy and his billions wasn’t the best way to get into favour with his eldest son. There were many opportunists out there…to use kind terms…apparently Grandma had at least a twenty-mile radius of influence when it came to language, even unspoken.

“Dad isn’t home.”

“Oh.” That deflated her.

Wonder what she will think of Virgil’s truck.

As if magicked into existence by the thought, a familiar rumble ramped up beyond the crest down the road. Moments later his brother’s old truck ambled over the top, its yellow headlamps lighting up the country road his bike had decided to die on.

“Here he is.”

“Thank god.”

Scott arched an eyebrow and wondered if his date would think the same once she was onboard.

Virgil’s truck was a workhorse. He kept her fully functional, but she did the hard yards for Virgil’s engineering and repair projects. The truck used to be Grandpa’s and, considering its age, was probably his grandfather’s before him.

Virgil adored her. But she was old and she showed it.

The truck creaked to a stop just in front of Scott’s bike, Virgil throwing open the driver’s side door and climbing out.

It was getting dark, but Scott didn’t need to see his brother’s face to know what expression was on it.

He cut him off before he could say a thing. “I know you told me, Virg.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His brother snorted. “Live and learn.” He held up a spark plug. “This should do the trick.

Of course, being Virgil, he had brought his tool kit and sufficient lighting. A soft elbow to Scott’s arm and he was crouching down, pulling the guts out of Scott’s bike.

“Are you able to take me home in your truck?”

Both brothers looked up at his date.

Virgil answered first. “I guess I can, if you really want to.”

“It’s part of the service, isn’t it? Roadside assistance?”

“Um…”

“He’s my brother, Monique.”

“Your brother? Which one?” Yeah, there you go. She was showing much more interest in Virgil now.

Virgil, being Virgil, either that or just simply getting revenge on Scott for interrupting his piano practise, unfolded his legs and stood up, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m Virgil Tracy.”

Scott bit the inside of his cheek as Monique took his brother’s hand and clasped it in both of hers. “Thank you so much for coming to our rescue.”

“Not the first time, ma’am, unlikely to be the last.”

Okay, his brother was dead for that line, no matter how true.

As Virgil extricated his hand from her clasp, Scott wondered if Monique would appreciate the grease his brother had probably shared with her.

Virgil was notorious for sporting a variety of grotty substances. And besides, his hands had been in the guts of his bike, for goodness’ sake.

Monique was making a point of leaning over said bike, despite her white dress, looking down at Virgil, and displaying her ample feminine attributes.

An hour ago, Scott had been admiring said attributes over dinner, all blonde curls, red lips, and alluring figure, but now he was no longer interested.

As for Virgil, his brother was clueless as usual, likely finding more interest in bike bits than the bits almost hanging in his face…oh, c’mon, now she was getting ridiculous.

Scott stepped around to her side. “Thank you for a lovely meal tonight, Monique. Apologies for the breakdown.”

She waved a hand in Scott’s direction. “It happens.” She didn’t even bother to look at him. “Virgil, dear, have you fixed the problem?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

Virgil was frowning at the bike’s engine, predictably oblivious. “Scott, when was the last time you had her serviced?”

Scott blinked away the non-sequitur. “Last May.”

“Where?”

“On base.”

Virgil grunted. “I’ll do it next time.” He stood up and chucked a tool into his kit. “You’re both riding with me tonight.”

“It’s not just the spark plug?”

“It’s not just the spark plug. I’ll overhaul her tomorrow. Tonight, it’s you me and Monique.”

Did she really have to suddenly look so eager?

Scott sighed and waved a hand. “Monique, meet Virgil Tracy and his truck…named Monique. Looks like she’s our ride tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Your name is Monique?” Virgil really could do the innocent and clueless so well sometimes.

Scott grabbed him by a shoulder and wrapped his arm around his brother. “Yes, little bro, I had a date with Monique tonight.”

That set Virgil grinning.

Oh yes, Scott was going to pay for this one. Possibly forever.

Monique, the one with two legs rather than four wheels, darted around Scott’s bike and looped her arm in one of Virgil’s. “Thank you again for saving us. Can you drive me home tonight?”

Unbelievable.

“Not a problem, Monique.”

Now he wasn’t sure which to strangle first.

“I’ll just load Scott’s bike into the back and we can get you home safe.” And yes, his little brother grabbed Scott’s motorcycle, rolled it over, and lifted it - by himself, with zero effort - into the back of his truck.

For a moment there he seriously thought Monique was going to swoon.

The thing was, Scott could call his brother an ass, but it was likely that Virgil had zero clue about the effect of his actions. He was known to lug stuff around the farm all the time, and this was probably just another case of getting the job done.

Virgil wandered back to them, wiping his dirty hands on an equally dirty rag. He looked up at Scott and frowned. “What?”

“Get in the car.”

“Truck.”

“Whatever.”

Of course, Monique made sure she was in the middle and virtually threw herself at his brother as they drove between the dark fields back to her apartment in town.

Scott might as well not have been there.

Probably just as well. Her motives were now clearly obvious and he had no interest in pursuing her further.

His main concern now was ungluing her from his lug of a brother. As they pulled up out the front of her block, Virgil was talking about the family history of his truck and how it had been handed down from Tracy to Tracy.

Monique was suspiciously interested. Earlier in the night she had claimed to hate listening to men talk about their cars. Scott had been glad he had his bike.

Apparently, it depended on which Tracy brother she was talking to.

What had he seen in her anyway?

“So, um, can I see you tomorrow?” She was practically pawing Virgil’s shirt.

“Um…”

Hmm, maybe his brother wasn’t as clueless as he appeared.

Scott interrupted. “I’m sorry, Monique, Virgil has to fly out for treatment tomorrow.”

“What?!”

Hmm, their voices did make an interesting harmony.

“Treatment?” Really? Now she was going to pull the ‘poor boy, I’ll look after you’ thing? So many doe eyes up at his brother.

“Okay, that’s it.” Scott shoved his door open and climbed out, attempting to urge her out after him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of the breakdown, Monique, but I need to get Virgil home.”

“What?” Well, he was going to pay for this forever, might as well make it worth it. Virgil was frowning up at him almost enough to break an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay.” She even managed to look put out. “I hope to see you soon, Virgil.”

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil’s hands actually squirmed on the steering wheel.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She fussed around in her purse. “I don’t have a pen, so I guess this will have to do.”

And the woman wrote her phone number in lipstick on Virgil’s forearm.

His brother seemed to be frozen.

To top it off, she then re-did her lips with a smile.

Scott hoped she was enjoying the engine grease that…no doubt…was the lipstick’s new flavour.

Finally, little miss Marilyn Monroe slipped out of the car and strode past Scott with a bounce in her step. She waved at Virgil over one shoulder with a smile before disappearing down the path to her apartment.

Both Tracy brothers just stared for a moment.

Scott was wondering what her reaction would be when she finally looked in the mirror. Even in the shadows of the street lamps he could see that her white dress was now streaked in anything but.

Might be a good time to make an exit.

He slid back into the truck beside Virgil who was staring at his lipstick vandalised arm.

“She’s interesting.”

“Not your type.” Not in a million years was she getting anywhere near his brother.

“So she’s yours then?” And yes, his brother was grinning fit to split something.

He glared at Virgil. “Just drive.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #nuttyfic #a certain amount of the ridiculous :D

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sassenach77yle · 7 months ago

Text

What’s the date today?” I asked suddenly.

He frowned for a moment, thinking, then said,“December twenty-first.”

“And we aren’t dead, either. Bloody newspapers,” I said. “They never get anything right.”

For some reason, he thought that was very funny indeed, and laughed until he had to sit down on the ground.

123 RETURN OF THE NATIVE~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #outlander starz #outlander series #jamie fraser #outlander fanart #samheughan #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #dr claire randall #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #outlander books #outlander season 7 #outlander 7x03

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handspunyarns · 1 year ago

Text

You Were Marked: Day Fourteen (Din).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6.8K

chapter summary: Grogu teaches Din a game, Din requires privacy, and the Armorer has words with Din.

warnings:  angst, sexual situations, male masturbation and fantasizing, mention of suicide ideation, stomach illness, Mando'a and English cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din appropriated his jetpack back from Boba so he and Grogu would not have to ride the rattletrap speeder back to Peli’s. Boba was satisfied that Din had recovered enough from his concussion that he was no longer a menace to the skies. He touched down in Peli’s yard without stumbling — for once – and walked alongside his old ship, the Crest, trailing a hand along the fuselage. A pit droid crossed his path and he fought the urge to kick it sideways. The pit droid, already knowledgeable of the opinion of the irascible Mandalorian, skittered away quickly.

“Well, if it isn’t Mando and my favorite little tadpole!” Peli was walking towards him, shielding her eyes from the rising twin suns. Grogu cooed at the bushy-headed woman. “Going somewhere?” she asked.

“Heading to Nevarro for a couple days.”

“Your lady friend doing better?” Din did not answer, but set the side ramp of the Crest to open. “Well, does she have a name at least?”

Before Din could answer, Grogu piped up, shouting, “Mahr! Mahr! Mahr!”

Peli grinned. “So Mahr is the lady friend, huh?”

“Patu Mahr!” Grogu squealed.

Din blushed under his helmet. “She’s not my … lady fr ...”

“Mahr Patu!”

“Dank ferrik, Grogu …”

Peli laughed. “Well, Little Bug has an opinion on that, it seems. Go on, get outta here; the sooner you leave, the sooner you get back to your Mahr.”

“It’s … ah … Marathel. Her name is Marathel,” Din stammered before he rushed up the ramp with Grogu.

Peli stepped back out of range and watched the ship take off and head out into the atmosphere. She chuckled, and said to herself, “Not my lady friend, my fat ass.”

Din got the Crest off Tatooine without out a hitch; his muscle memory and smooth handling was back under control. As he was setting coordinates for Nevarro, he looked over his shoulder at Grogu, sitting in the aft chair with a smug look on his little wrinkled face. Din sighed. “Seriously? Patu Mahr?” Grogu squealed with glee. Din shook his head and turned back to the console. Not that the idea of Patu Mahr was a bad one, but … how could that even work? He — and now Grogu by extension — flew all over the damn galaxy, and Marathel could only thrive outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air. Even having a closed door frightened her. Locking her up in a metal box in the vacuum of space? Impossible.

She’s not even well yet, you osi’kovid. And you’re also assuming she will have anything to do with you, considering what’s been done to her.

He had to admire her, though; she’d managed to survive, even with all the odds stacked against her. The medical practices the rest of the galaxy used had little to no effect on her, yet she still lived. Although … he’d heard her tell Fennec that she didn’t want to.

Would you want to, after what she endured?

But she went in willingly, knowing fully what she faced.

And you know what that means … She was prepared to die before she walked through that gate. She’s wanted to die possibly for longer than you’ve known her.

Now that made Din pause. He knew he walked a fine line between life and death most days and had mentally prepared for his end since before he took the helmet. He’d stood beside his brothers and sisters, pledging to die alongside them with honor when that moment came. The very notion of being so far down in mental misery that death was preferable to living was beyond his comprehension. He thought back to what she’d told Grogu — he could hear perfectly what she’d told him; his helmet was excessively useful when it worked.

She told Grogu to grow up to be kind. And to take care of me, for I needed Grogu more than he needed me.

Din watched the striations of the stars in hyperspace. He thought back to when she and Grogu were digging out clams. Day Six. It had started out terribly with the nightmares and simply got worse.

‘I will be nowhere.’

Din realized with a start that she didn’t mean the planet Unmanarall, the Oldtalk word for Nowhere. She meant gone from this existence.

She told Fennec that she would rather live as a Belwhyn for one day and die, than live as a Whyn.

Haar’chak, what do those words mean?

Din sighed. He could hear Grogu climbing down from the aft chair with a little grunt. Out of the corner of his visor he saw two little hands reaching up towards the console. Without looking, Din dropped the throttle knob into Grogu’s waiting hands, and followed it up with one of the better ration bars. Grogu pouted — he was already missing Marathel’s cooking just as much as Din — but he took the bar anyway, and hefted himself back into the aft chair, munching away as he looked out the view screen. Din put his feet up on the console, relaxed, happy to be back in space. Din’s sleep schedule — such as it was — was still off, and since he was still recovering from his concussions, he nodded off quite quickly. Almost immediately, he began to dream. And of course, he dreamed of Marathel.

It was just a gentle dream of her, sitting still, outside somewhere, the sun illuminating her from behind, and her hair was caught in the wind, billowing across her face, obscuring her features. Her eyes would slowly shift up to look at him, but right before their eyes would lock on each other, her position would change, as if her image was on a stuttering holo-disk message, and her eyes would be far away again. Her face looked serene early in his dream, but looked more and more distressed as the dream went on. The last image he caught of her, she was hunched over as she sat, her arms crossed over her chest, her hands clutching her shoulders, her knees tightly held together. Her head raised up to look at him, and he could see tears on her cheeks, but the image stuttered again, and Din suddenly woke up. He caught his breath, hoping that the dream was not a portent of doom, that Marathel was all right, then deciding that Fennec or Cobb would contact him if something was wrong.

Checking the console, Din saw that he had been asleep for a good couple hours. He wondered if Grogu had been awake and alone that whole time. The idea concerned Din; he’d rather be awake when the boy was to at least be interacting with him. Din wondered idly if a nanny wouldn’t be a good idea, and then wondered why he should engage a nanny when he had Marathel. He then reminded himself he in no way had Marathel; her recovery was still in the early days yet. And then beyond her recovery …

One kriffing thing at a kriffing time, remember?

Din got up from his chair, stretching. He turned to see if Grogu was still in the cockpit; he wasn’t. Din could hear squeaks down in the main part of the ship, so he climbed down the ladder and saw Grogu running in circles. Grogu looked up and squealed at Din’s presence. Grogu ran up to Din, jumped up and down, and then took off, running away. Din stood still and watched him go. Grogu stopped and looked at Din expectantly. Din tilted his helmet. Grogu looked down with a harumph, and then ran back to Din, jumped again, and took off again. Din watched, confused. “What is it you want me to do, kid?” Grogu stopped running, and looked back at Din, frowning. “I don’t get it,” said Din. Grogu grunted and stomped all the way back to Din. Glaring at Din’s helmet, Grogu jumped up and down. “Okay,” said Din. Grogu turned away but looked over his shoulder. “Uh-huh,” said Din. Grogu lifted his leg, as if he were going to start running again. “Did you want me to chase you?”

Grogu threw up his little hands. “Mee-YAH!” he shouted, and he began to run. Okay, then, thought Din, and he gave chase. The two ran back and forth, up and down the corridor, Din laughing in spite of himself, and then Grogu suddenly sat down. Din slid to a stop, looking down at Grogu. Grogu looked back up at him. The two males stared at each other for some time. Finally, Din sat down as well, and Grogu sighed with the beginnings of an eye roll. Din pulled his chin back, surprised. Grogu’s facial vocabulary had been expanding quite a lot over the past couple of weeks, and he felt that Marathel had a lot to do with it. It wasn’t as if Grogu could learn expressions from him; not with the helmet obscuring his face. Din shrugged. “So now what, kid?” Grogu pointed at him. Din pointed at himself. “Me? I don’t get you.” Grogu kept pointing at Din. “Are we playing that running game of yours and Marathel’s? I don’t understand the rules, kid! We were just running, and now you’re sitting down, pointing at me, like I’m supposed to know what comes next!” Grogu tilted his head at Din, much like Din often did towards the boy. Then Grogu pointed at Din again. “I still don’t understand, boy. You had us running, and now you’re pointing at me …” It finally dawned on Din. “You’re telling me … it’s my turn? I have to say what we’re doing next?” Grogu squeaked at Din. “That’s it? You do something for a while, and then the next person comes up with the next thing to do?” Grogu squeaked again. “But that’s … that’s ridiculous! What kind of game do you play where you make up the rules as you go along?” Grogu looked expectantly at Din, who realized that it was exactly the kind of game Marathel would teach the boy to play. Imagination was more important than rules to a child.

“So … my turn, huh? All right, then … uh …” Din stood up. “Time to jump backwards, then.” Din jumped back about a foot, feet together, swinging his arms. Grogu looked at Din, frowning. “Are you playing or not, kid? Otherwise, I’m looking stupid, jumping backwards like this.” Din jumped back twice more before Grogu hopped up and copied Din’s jump. Din jumped again, and Grogu followed suit. “Okay, then, let’s do this,” Din said with a grin, jumping backwards until he reached the wall, Grogu jumping alongside. Around and around they went, until Grogu decided that spinning in circles was a better move. After a while, after they both got incredibly dizzy, Din tried skipping, feeling even more ridiculous, skipping in full armor and weapons. Grogu thought it was great fun, though, and the skipping went on for quite some time, making Din mutter, “C’mon kid, give me a break here.” Grogu finally stopped skipping, opting to do a most silly walk wherein he stood with one leg out behind him, and then slowly rotated the upraised leg to the front, then stepped down on the upraised foot, repeating the process on the other leg. “You’re kidding me,” said Din, but he complied for a short while, half-wishing he’d gotten this whole escapade on holo, just to show Marathel and make her laugh. Finally, Din decided to pull Marathel’s signature move, pretending that he had no bones, dropping to the floor like a rock. Grogu chattered and pulled at Din’s arm in vain, while Din said, “No good, kid, gravity has doubled today,” before grabbing Grogu and tickling him mercilessly. Grogu squealed and shrieked before climbing on top of Din, jumping on his chest. “Ugh! You win, kid, you have me pinned!” Grogu giggled and flopped on his belly, grabbing at Din’s helmet. Din laughed and rubbed the child’s back. “That was fun. Maybe we can play with Mahr when we get back.” Grogu cooed in affirmation, then yawned. Din continued to rub the boy’s back and thought about that tune Marathel hummed to Grogu. Din remembered the melody well, but he despised the words, probably as much as Marathel did. He vaguely remembered a Mando’a lullaby, now that he thought about it. How did it go? Din finally caught the tune in his head, and he quietly sang:

“Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni ja'haili'gar Akay vaar'tur

Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni laarari'gar Akay vaar'tur

Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni cabuor gar Akay vaar'tur…”

Surprised that he remembered the lullaby, Din lifted his head to see that it actually worked: Grogu was out like a light, despite his lack of singing ability. He’d have to tell Marathel. Din carefully stood and carried Grogu to his little hammock in Din’s sleeping quarters. Grogu snuggled down immediately, with only one ear outside the soft blanket. Din tucked the soft frog stuffie under the edge of the blanket just in case. On impulse, Din lifted his helmet enough to kiss Grogu’s fuzzy head, which brought a smile to his face. There was something to be said for this physical affection stuff, he thought.

Din noticed that he had forgotten to get a new bed roll, and he groaned. This meant he’d have to sleep in his captain’s chair. It was comfortable enough, but it would inevitably put a crick in his back. First thing on Nevarro, buying a new damn bedroll. A good one this time, too. He turned off the light in the small room and dimmed the lights in the corridor. Din climbed up into the cockpit and lowered the lights there as well. He put his feet back on the console, interlaced his fingers, and sighed.

His thoughts went almost immediately to Marathel. After almost a fortnight of intense closeness to her, he felt the loss of her presence. He hoped she was doing well. He thought about sending a holotext but he’d only been gone for a few hours, and he didn’t want to seem lonely and desperate. He could cover it up by saying Grogu needed her, but the kid was sleeping, and anyway, Grogu was excited by the journey back to Nevarro and did not seem to be pining for his Mahr at all. When we get to Nevarro, maybe then we can let her know we’re safe.

Din wished he knew what to do about her. Technically, she had been correct: she knew nothing about how the galaxy worked. Her limited experience must make everything terrifying to her. The one place she seemed at home was in the kitchen. Din was not strict on gender roles in any way, but he believed in playing to one’s strengths … and that bread making skill of hers was one hell of an asset. Her skill in textiles was another. All those women and girls on that planet of hers …they were uneducated but seemed smart as whips and were fiercely protective of each other, just as he would expect from any warrior. And that Lorica, spitting on his boot like that. If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he supposed she would have spit right in his eye, and it would have stung.

Could anything be done for those women?

He didn’t know. The planet was so far off the radar of the Empire and the Republic alike; there was absolutely no sign of either faction there at all. It was as if the Hold had dropped out of the sky, fully formed with the Round Building looming over the courtyard. But there was no forge, so where did the weapons come from? They all looked ceremonial in nature apart from the beskar hammer. Where in shab did that come from? The Aurodium coins? It made no sense.

Din did have one idea, though, and he coded it into a holo-text to Greef Karga. He would be seeing him tomorrow, and hopefully he would have an answer for him by then. Hopefully.

Din briefly wished he were heading back to Unmanarall to face that Captain, the Bishop, to get some answers and give a serious beat-down to all the men who’d laid a hand on his Marathel.

He wished Marathel to be with him while he meted out his justice in her name and tell him precisely how she wanted each one to die.

He wished he had been able to bring himself out of his hut’tuun frozen state and just pulled her out of that hellhole.

He wished he had kissed her when he had the chance, not just when she was unconscious and on the brink of death.

He wished he had fully undressed her — her warm, soft, soft body — when she allowed him to touch her, and allowed her to touch him back, to feel her hands on his body and surrender himself to the touch of another person … something he continually denied himself.

He wished he had removed his helmet for her, made love with her, fully undressed rather than just removing enough clothing necessary for the sex act, reveling in her skin with his own, oh, her beautiful skin, to kiss all that fabulous skin, to nuzzle against it, to get her scent and exchange it with his own by moving his cheek and lips over her voluptuous body as she had his, to lift her soft, heavy breasts with the palms of his bare hands, to feel the different skin textures from her pebbly areolas to the hard nubs of her nipples with his thumbs, to suckle at those nipples and savor them with his tongue, to kiss her rounded belly and curve his hands over the swells of her hips and her buttocks, to move his mouth down her abdomen to between her supple thighs, to let his tongue open her delicate nether lips and dance on the bud of her clitoris with his nose sweeping through the soft thatch of silver curls, grasping the sweet globes of her magnificent ass in his hands, breathing in the sweet scent of her cream that he had once been privileged to smell off her fingertips, her hands, her hands, such strong gentle fingers touching his hair as he lingered at the apex of her legs, and him kissing the tip of each finger before returning to the chalice of her sex, sipping at her opening before lathering his tongue over her entire inner area, so warm and soft and wet, her taste so sweet and just slightly musky, and then he realized he was palming his erection through his pants, exposed out here in the cockpit when Grogu could wake up and find him in here like this. He’d never had to concern himself with privacy before the kid arrived, and it galled him to some degree he had to think about it, but he had to do something right damn now.

Din hopped down the ladder and headed straight for the shower cubicle, locking himself inside. He flipped on the water option, wasteful, yes, but sonic was not the way to go right now. Liquid oxygen would be preferable. Stripping himself as quickly as possible, he stepped under the cool spray and took himself in hand, stroking as slowly and gently as he could manage. Even with the water, the friction was still too uncomfortable, but he didn’t think he had any kind of lubricant in the shower, just in the bin closest to his bed roll, and wait, was that bin locked against a curious toddler? And dank ferrik, man, why was he thinking about that now? He tore open the storage bin inside the shower, knocking bottles aside and on the floor, discarding the soap and shampoo, he’d tried that once, just once, and never again, thank you very much, but at the very back was a small bottle of lubricant he’d forgotten about, and relieved, he filled his palm with the pleasant-smelling lubricant, and finally set himself back to stroking, picturing the naked Marathel lying beneath him on the wooden floor of her hut, those creamy breasts of hers heaving, then her on top of him, his cock in her mouth, breathing on him, only breathing, wishing she had used her tongue, her lips on him, wishing he had let her pleasure him as they’d pleasured her together, those full lips of hers, how soft, haar’chak, that pussy of hers, so hot, always so damn wet, she’d always been ready for him, a perfect fit for his cock, so tight and yet yielding at the same damn time, clenching down on him when he was inside her, and she always came so hard, so hard he wondered if the other women he’d been with had been faking it the whole damn time, he was not a practiced lover by any means, just functional at the sex act, he didn’t even know how to kiss properly, Cobb had to teach him how, but he knew if he could just get back to Marathel, if Marathel would come back to him, perhaps they could both learn together, and it would be so damn good, so much better than fisting himself in this fucking shower, and his strokes got faster and harder as he pressed his forehead against the wall, and he was just about there, and he thought of her face and how it looked when she came, her cries of pleasure, the odd tear leaking from her eyes, her long strong legs flexing their muscles and going rigid, the quiver of her body, particularly her pussy clenching even harder on him, and he finally came himself, grunting loudly and spattering the shower wall with ejaculate, twice, three times, and a weak fourth time before finally feeling spent, and he rested against the shower wall, breathing hard, wondering to himself when was the last time he’d masturbated to a fantasy rather than just getting the job done, as it were, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Din puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. He washed his hair and finished cleaning himself, since he was in there anyway, giving the shower itself a bit of a clean at the same time. After turning off the water, Din realized a couple of things: there were no towels in here, and in his haste to get undressed he had left all his clothes on the floor, and they were now all wet.

Haar’chak.

Din pulled on his flight pants, which were uncomfortably wet and cold on his bare skin and placed the helmet on his head. Catching his reflection in the durasteel mirror, he thought, yup, I’m a dumbass and then dripped his way back to his quarters, leaning inside to grab towels from the bin closest to the door. Grogu was quietly snoring. He also found a fresh set of thermals and padded back to the shower cubicle, kicking the wet clothing and armor out into the corridor before shutting himself inside again.

Din roughly rubbed his hair with the towel, leaving it unruly and sticking up in all directions as he considered his face in the mirror. He didn’t know handsome from a hole in the ground, and he had his father’s hooked nose and the lines between his brows, but his mother seemed to think his father handsome, so he guessed if he resembled his father that would be good enough. His mother, of course, was beautiful, as dark as Marathel was fair, and his father was forever touching her cheek, holding her hand, rubbing her back. Once he had woken up in the night, hearing his parents’ laughter in the kitchen, and he snuck out to see for himself, and peered through the cracked-open door. His father was on his knees on the floor, and he was washing her feet. Her feet always hurt, and she stood practically all day, and here was his father, gently soaping and massaging his wife’s sore feet as they laughed and talked about their day. Young Din went back to bed, thinking that if you were willing to wash someone’s feet, it had to be love.

Din smiled at the memory. Feet, indeed. He combed his hair, dressed in his fresh thermals, replaced his helmet, and hung up his wet flight suit to dry. He set out his armor in the corridor so that he could clean and polish it after getting a couple hours’ sleep. He checked on Grogu, grabbed a pair of Marathel’s socks, and went back into the cockpit for a long nap, thinking about Marathel’s feet, and wondering if she’d let him wash them for her.

It was early evening on Nevarro when he landed on the edge of his covert. Din had cleaned and polished his armor, even the damaged helmet, and had fully dressed himself in armor and weaponry, including the Darksaber, and hooking the marchwyl on his belt. He hated the Darksaber, and the marchwyl even more than that, but he figured he could at least get rid of one of them on this trip … that is, if the Armorer would deign to see him, an apostate.

Din stepped forward with Grogu on his arm. The youngsters came running forward, happy to see their little green friend again. Din set Grogu on the sand, and he immediately ran off to join the others. Some adults nodded at Din in greeting while others looked at him with a only a motionless gaze. Din stepped up to the opening into the catacombs and was met by the imposing figure of Paz Visla. “Paz.”

“Apostate.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. “I wish to speak to Armorer.”

“No.”

“My helmet is badly damaged, and I bring bounties for the good of the covert.”

“Have you bathed in the sacred waters of Mandalore?”

Din bit his lip before he said something he regretted. “I have not.”

“Perhaps you should do that first,” sneered Paz.

“I believe a compromised helmet would be a barrier to Din Djarin redeeming himself,” called the Armorer from deep inside the entrance tunnel. “Show me your helmet, Din Djarin.” Din obediently turned to show the Armorer the deep divot. “What caused this?”

“This beskar hammer,” replied Din, turning back to face the Armorer, and removing the hammer from his belt. “It is called the marchwyl. I bring it, as well as a valuable bounty, from the planet Unmanarall.”

“You have a habit of finding beskar weapons where there should be none. I take it your helmet no longer has any capabilities?”

“It does not.”

“Well, then, follow close behind me. Let’s discuss this more.” Din, as always, resisted to urge to roll his eyes as he walked by Paz as they entered the catacombs. “I thought you were on your way to Mandalore.”

“I had this opportunity come up. I couldn’t pass up what they offered.”

“And what was that?”

“Old Republic Ossum Aurodium coins.”

“Who is this person who commands such an exorbitant price?”

“A woman.” Din did not want to expand on that at the moment. He could just see the Armorer slowly look over her shoulder and then turn back.

“I see.” When they reached the forge, Din presented the beskar hammer to her. “What did you call this again?”

“The marchwyl.”

“Where did you come by it?”

“A planet called Unmanarall, out on the very far edge of the galaxy.”

The Armorer wasn’t sure if she was bemused or annoyed by Din’s truncated answers, but she carried on her questions as she lit the forge. “How did you come by it?”

“The woman, she … she sacrificed herself for me to get the coins. Her kinswomen brought me the hammer.”

“You carry much guilt about these women.”

Din took a breath. “I do.”

The Armorer assessed the weapon in her hands. “Whose blood is this?” she asked.

Din knew that the Armorer knew the answer to her question but was forcing the answer from him. Finally, he said, just loud enough to be heard over the forge, “Hers.”

“Did she suffer?”

“Yes.”

“Was her suffering a dishonorable thing?”

“Yes.” He could not have been more emphatic.

“Did you fight on her behalf?”

Din swallowed twice before he was able to answer. “No.”

The Armorer’s voice never changed its cadence, was not judgmental, as she asked, “Why not?”

And Din felt his soul shrivel; how could he reveal this most childish of reasons for not protecting someone so vulnerable? Yet he had to in order to remain on a path to absolution. “She told me not to.”

The Armorer gazed at him, silently, for an uncomfortably interminable time before she said, “Show me your helmet.” Din turned. He felt her hands examine the damaged area. “And this hammer caused this much damage?”

“Yes.”

“You were injured?”

“Yes.”

She stood silently behind him for a while, and then turned to the forge. “Go to the lower level and enter a meditation chamber. Leave your helmet in the doorway and wait. Think.”

“You will use the marchwyl …?”

“If what has caused damage becomes part of the repair, does it redeem itself?”

Din couldn’t answer that. “Grogu?”

“With Paz’s family.” Din nodded. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Din turned and made his way down to a sub-level. It was cool down there due to natural wind tunnels in the cave system. He chose a dark doorway, entered, and removed his helmet, leaving it in the doorway as told. The chamber was long and narrow, and there was no door. Anyone who entered was in darkness, and no one went out into the lighted corridor without a helmet. Din made his way to the far end, trailing his fingers along both walls, for the chamber was so narrow it was less wide than the span of his arms. At the far end was a narrow cot, and no creature comforts. Perfect for meditation without distraction. He sat down where the floor met the far wall and gazed towards the open doorway. Someone came and took his helmet away, while Din thought about how he would now be carrying Marathel’s blood on his helmet for the rest of his life.

Din had no knowledge of how long he sat in darkness. He did have the opportunity to think about many things several times over. Some of his answers depended on a certain woman. Some depended on the existence of the sacred waters of Mandalore. He lifted his eyes when he heard echoing footsteps. A silhouette placed a helmet in the open doorway. Din waited until the footsteps were gone. Coming forward, he saw the dark visor, in a field of gleaming beskar, look back at him. He tried to consider the point of view of a frightened woman upon seeing this helmet for the first time. Of having to interact with only this beskar face, a suit of armor, gloved hands, when she only knew men by the pain and degradation they caused her. And then to have this blank face deny her and tell her that any affection he held for her was less than his devotion to his Creed — something she couldn’t possibly begin to understand — and then still demand her affection towards him.

He placed the helmet on his head and turned it on with the controls on his vambrace. All the screens flared to life, going through all the options and calibrating before returning to Din’s standard options. He felt the back of the helmet, feeling only seamless metal, with no tactile evidence of a repair. He stepped out of the cell and made his way back to the forge.

“Is the helmet back to proper working condition?” the Armorer asked without turning from her forge.

“Yes. It is.”

“Let us discuss the bounty you received for this woman.” Din silently handed the Armorer the cloth bag, and she spread some of the coins out on the table. “For what reason was the bounty placed?”

“The woman was the … intended of one of the Elders of her people. She had been living for some time without fulfilling that expectation.”

“So, you completed this mission?”

“Yes.”

“So, the woman is with her intended.”

Din shifted slightly. “No.”

The Armorer looked up in surprise. “No?”

“She … she is on Tatooine, receiving medical care.”

“So, you … completed the mission on one hand, and not on the other?”

“She suffered …”

“Does she have a name?” asked the Armorer, and Din could swear she stood three inches taller.

“Her name is Marathel.” The Armorer stood motionless, waiting for Din to continue. “Marathel suffered greatly for me to collect those coins. She condemned herself to death for my benefit, for the benefit of this covert.” Din took a breath. “I failed to help her. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim. Ni cuy’ hut’uun.”

The Armorer stood still, letting Din’s confession of his inaction and his cowardice hang in the sweltering air of the forge. “Was Marathel deserving of this death?”

“No one is deserving of what she endured.”

“Marathel compelled you to not take up your weapons?”

“She compelled me to remove my weapons altogether, and to be still.” Din dropped his head. “Marathel was a victim of exceptional cruelty and nearly died due to my cowardice.”

“And what is it you seek here?”

“Absolution. And the knowledge that Marathel did not suffer in vain.”

The Armorer looked down at the coins, which reflected the fire’s glow. “This bounty is not yours. The covert will not accept it.”

Din was struck silent for several seconds. “What?”

The Armorer put all the coins back in the bag and tied it shut. “This bounty was not yours to receive. It is stained with the blood and suffering of the innocent Marathel. The bounty is hers.” She placed the bag in front of Din. “These must go to their rightful owner. This is the way.”

Din automatically began, “This is the …” He looked down at the bag. “Then it was pointless after all.” He looked back at the Armorer. “How am I to tell her? How can I look her in the eyes and tell her that her sacrifice meant nothing? She will … this will destroy what is left of her!”

The Armorer gazed coolly at Din. “You have salvaged your honor by returning the stolen beskar to us. To keep the coins would be dishonorable. Go now, Apostate Din Djarin. Find your path and follow it to find your absolution. This is the way.”

For the first time since he entered this covert as a child, Din refused to respond to the call of his people. He took the bag of coins, shoved it behind his cuirass, and left the forge without a word.

The Armorer sat and considered what Din said of himself: Ni cuy’ osi’yaim — I am a despicable person. Ni cuy’ hut’uun — I am a coward. He was always his own worst detractor, she thought. Every failure, every misstep, was taken so deeply into Din’s heart that he wore shame like he wore his cape. If there is anyone who is deserving of She Cin Vhetin — a clean slate, a new beginning — it is Din Djarin. As she went back to her forge, the Armorer then considered this Marathel, an aruetii — an outsider, who was willing to lay down her life for a Mandalorian. The Armorer, certain of her decision to not accept the bounty, wished her well.

Din stalked out of the deep catacombs and into one of the larger common areas. Scanning over the group, he did not see Grogu or Paz among them. Din remembered where Paz quartered so he headed in that direction. Before he knocked on the door, Din swore he heard laughter behind it. Laughing? Din knocked and the laughter ceased immediately. After a moment, the door slid open, and the imposing figure of Paz filled it. The two men looked at each other briefly before Paz stepped back to allow Din to enter. Ragnar, Paz’s young son, was seated on a large cushion, and he was concentrating on throwing a sour berry in Grogu’s direction. Ragnar tossed the berry high above Grogu’s head, but Grogu stopped the berry mid-air, allowing it to then drop directly into his open mouth. Grogu grinned at Din with berry-stained teeth and mouth, juice drips down his shirt. Din put his hands on his hips and sighed inwardly; now he had to potentially deal with the kid having a major case of the trots, depending on how many berries he’d eaten.

“Your helmet is now repaired?”

Din nodded. “Thank you for watching Grogu.” Paz grunted, and Ragnar threw another berry. “Ragnar has grown into a fine lad.”

“Your green child is spoiled.”

“He is good at bending people to his will. Come, Grogu.” Grogu hopped up and ran to Din’s feet. Din lifted the boy and set him on his arm, wiping his mouth with the edge of his cape.

Paz grunted again, then said in possibly the kindest tone Din had ever heard from the larger man, “I hope you are able to redeem yourself on Mandalore. I hope the waters are still there.” Din looked at Paz in surprise. Paz reached out to his son. “Come, Ragnar, it is time to sleep.”

“Jate ca, Paz, gedet'ye,” said Din.

“Naas wadaas.”

Din left the catacombs, and returned to the ship, not because he didn’t have a place to sleep at the covert — he did; there was always room for another in the covert — but he thought it would be better in case Grogu did end up with the trots from eating all those berries … and unfortunately he was right. He got to spend a good part of the night sitting on a crate, holding Grogu over the vac tube. Thanks, Paz. Grogu had a stomach of beskar for spicy food and amphibians, but too much fresh fruit ran right through the kid with disastrous results. Marathel would probably have a pithy Oldtalk phrase about this situation — like shit through a gochgoch or something equally as ridiculous — and make a mug of her stomach tea. Din missed sitting on her steps, missed her mugs of tea. He missed her. He had no idea how he was going to tell her that the covert wouldn’t accept the Aurodium … or if he should tell her.

“You empty yet, kid?” Grogu’s stomach grumbled in response. “That sounds a lot like your hungry noise, but I’m not trusting your stomach while your back end is acting like that.” Din heard a beep noise from the cockpit that sounded like an incoming message. He grabbed the old towel at his feet and wrapped the naked boy’s bottom with it, hoping for a respite from the diarrhea. It’s always something, thought Din. He climbed up the ladder one-handed and punched the button for the message.

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay

Din smiled, happy to know she was worried about them. He tapped out a message.

DD: Grogu has an upset stomach BF: Marathel asked what happened to his stomach of beskar DD: compromised by fruit BF: Marathel wishes you the best of luck

Din frowned, wondering why Boba was transcribing Marathel’s message instead of her doing it herself.

DD: Thank you Marathel

There was a long pause, so long that Din believed that the conversation was over. He took Grogu — now apparently over his Tatooine two-step — back down out of the cockpit to get him bathed. Din had just distracted Grogu with a cracker so he could dress the boy when he heard the beep from the cockpit again. He got Grogu settled back into his little hammock and whispered Mando’a into the boy’s ear. After setting the lights on the lower level, Din climbed into the cockpit and checked the message.

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working

Din took a breath. She’ll live.

Next Chapter ->

Translation for Din’s lullaby:

Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will watch over you Until morning Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will sing to you Until morning Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will protect you Until morning

Lullaby written by @themischiefoftad on Tumblr

#the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian angst #din djarin series #starwarsficnetwork #din djarin angst #mando angst #din x fem oc #mando x fem oc #mando x oc #din djarin x fem oc #star wars fanfiction #mandalorian smut

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asqadia-banthen · 14 days ago

Note

'Ello! Love the blig intro :o

Very curious about the clovers though... how many do you have? What got you interested in collecting them? How many leaves can they have? Where do you keep them? I'd love to hear all about it :3

aaaa hello hello!!! :D thanks!!

and finally someone asks abt it 😭

well, we have a TON, probably around 300 at this point

one day i went out in my grandparents yard, looking for bugs, and i found a 4 leaf clover! i found more and more and just started to look for them ever since!!

ive seen photos of them with as many as 21!!! the most we have found on one was 7 leaves, which we will give to our father (he wants it because of a Futurama reference)

we keep them in this BIG ol’ animal encyclopedia book, one of our favorite books of all time its kinda falling apart but it has animals from every group, its amazing! we have many pages of clovers in there in between the pages we fold a piece of wax paper and press them between it, this takes out the moisture and preserves the shape of the clover :3 sometimes we need to adjust the leaves to make sure they are all visible, but we have almost ripped off leaves by doing that :[

but something cool about 4+ leaf clovers is that if you find one, in that same patch there is most likely another, as the patch is one plant and the mutation is shared with all of them, so i have had certain patches where i have found many many clovers they grow back eventually and im able to get a TON of them from one lil spot

but sadly there is snow everywhere so the 2 patches i had this year have died off and been hidden :((( but they gave a good harvest!

everyone in our family says that we are lucky for being able to find that many clovers, but i think the luck from each one has kinda worn off 🥲

ive given some to my grandmother and some of my cousins before and they think its pretty cool

and sometimes i just find a random 4 leaf clovers in the most random spots, like the bathroom floor 😭 found so many that its like glitter, if you drop it you will always find some around the house :3

srry if this was a lot to read 😭 just so excited to have someone to talk to abt the clovers :DD

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 year ago

Text

Day 6: Decapitation

(Disclaimer: none of the characters in this story belong to me. Janus, Remus, and any other mentioned Sides are the property of Thomas Sanders)

(Trigger Warnings: blades, slight physical violence, body horror, blood, acidic chemicals, skin-melting, snakes, slight mentions of food/drink, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

As fluid as the Mind Palace typically was, two things always remained constant.

1. Tampering with Logan’s jars of Crofters in any way, shape, or form would result in truly devastating consequences.

2. Out of all the Sides, Janus was the best at corralling Remus. (Well, Logan was somewhat a close second, considering the information above. The Jam And/or Jelly Incident of 2019 had been the very first case of Remus actually learning his lesson.)

This was one of many things that Janus got to be smug about. . .as well as one of few things that he could be genuine about. Sure, Remus grated his nerves like no other at least sixty-nine percent of the time, but he’d had more than enough time to make the friendship between them strong and worthwhile and real. Hell, by now Janus would potentially wager that he knew Remus better than Remus knew himself.

Potentially.

It was now Autumn both inside and outside of Thomas’ brain, which meant Spooky SeasonTM was officially upon the Sides.

Now, while all the Sides appreciated Spooky SeasonTM, none of them could appreciate it quite like Remus. Mainly because this particular month gave him an actual excuse to take his horrific shenanigans and, on a scale from one to ten, crank them all the way up to OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT THING WHY DOES IT HAVE EYES WHERE THE MOUTH SHOULD BE AND MOUTHS WHERE THE EYES SHOULD BE—?!

Janus had been working in his garden (the secondary space off of his bedroom), making sure the pumpkins he’d been growing were good and ripe. There were twelve large gourds in this year’s harvest: enough for each Side to carve two of their own jack-o-lanterns. He’d also raised a few smaller-scale pumpkins that would meet their fates as a pie, a loaf of bread, and a batch of cookies.

He still had his ulterior motives, mind you. He figured this gesture would keep everyone busy for a while so he could focus on some dreadfully cunning schemes. . .plus enjoy some wine and binge his Addams Family collection without disturbance.

(As clever and devious as Janus was, this idea that a holiday tradition somehow wouldn’t end in chaos proved that while he did hold many of the brain cells in this operation, his grip on aforementioned brain cells occasionally wasn’t the firmest.)

Janus had just cut the last of his vegetable-masquerading fruit from its vine with a pair of pruning shears. He’d been in the middle of hefting it up, about to turn and place in his yard cart with the others when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps stampeding closer and closer and—

Even before he’d discovered a flash of green and black in his peripheral vision, he’d braced himself. He tried to pull off a graceful sidestep that would’ve made Bugs Bunny proud.

But it was still too late.

He felt foreign weight slam into his side.

He saw a metallic blur glinting, swinging right for his throat.

He heard a whooshing Snicker-Snack! which was accompanied by a sickening cRrrck-pop!

And then he was airborn with what seemed to be a lot more vertigo than usual for simply losing balance. An instinctual squawk barged its way through his lips as his face met the ground, trademark bowler hat flying off due to the impact.

“Heads up, Janny!” A familiar voice squealed, maniacal laughter somehow not drowning out Janus’ sigh.

“Right, because it just doesn’t make any sense to call out a warning before you take action.”

“Exactly!” Remus agreed, his mustachioed figure entering Janus’ field of vision, hefting a bloody axe over one shoulder.

The blood in question was a deep shade of gold, glowing and letting off a bit of steam. It wasn’t real blood, of course, as Janus wasn’t a corporeal person. That was why he didn’t feel any true pain from whatever Remus had just done to him. He and the other Sides could still feel pain, but it was just. . .a very different type from the human pains that Thomas could feel.

“What’s your game today?” Janus asked, using the supremely uninterested tone of voice he always used when trying to play off a slight. “Have you already gotten bored with trying to catch Logan off guard?” He knew it was pointless to ask why Remus had singled him out. Since the first day of October, The Duke had been selecting the other Sides at random to be the victims of his Halloween escapades. He’d already pulled a staggering amount of pranks on the Lights, so perhaps he’d decided to take a break and target his fellow Darks for a bit.

“Oh, no-no-no,” Remus replied with a shake of his head. “Logan’s on my schedule three days from now.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care for schedules?”

Remus raised an eyebrow right back. “Uh, since I learned about the Goretober tradition online? Duh!”

“. . .Ah, that’s right. That was the first thing you saw once you found a way to Tumblr.” Janus nearly cringed at the memories, but he wouldn’t let his mask of casual nefariousness slip. Especially since it was threatening to slip away as he tried to right himself and. . .failed.

It took everything he had to not let his mouth drop open in shock at the realization that he couldn’t completely feel his arms.

Or his legs.

Or his everything else.

In fact, it seemed the only things he could truly feel were all above the neck.

Janus glanced back at Remus, annoyed to discover that the latter had most certainly seen the brief shock that had just manifested in his eyes.

“Remusssss,” Janus hissed, narrowing his eyes to a dangerous extent. “What the hell have you done?”

Remus tilted his head with a smirk. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“If it was obvious, then I wouldn’t have asked.”

“. . .Meh, fair point.” Remus shrugged, then tossed his axe onto the ground before cupping his chin in thought. “Well, I suppose I could just tell you. . .but we all know I’m all about visual stuff, so. . !”

“What are you—HEY!” Janus bared his teeth, snarling as Remus reached for his face. He immediately tried to twist away, but he just couldn’t feel any movement. “No! NO! REMUS, GET YOUR GRIMEY HANDS OFF ME BEFORE I—!”

Janus cut himself off as Remus hefted him up, all but cradling his lower jaw. He was still greatly concerned about A. all the things Remus could’ve potentially touched before this, and B. what he’d have to wash his face with to make sure both his skin and scales were properly cleaned.

But that concern took a brief backseat to shock as Janus realized. . .his torso wasn’t brushing against Remus’. It should’ve been, considering how he was being held, but it just wasn’t. He glanced downward, but all he could see were Remus’ arms.

“Before you what, exactly?” Remus inquired, grinning and batting his eyelashes with snide glee.

Janus felt his brow furrow. He made to experimentally raise one arm.

He felt the movement from his shoulder and near his side.

But the limb in question never came into view.

He then let his arm drop, and felt it lightly collapse against the ground.

Remus must’ve seen his cohort putting all the pieces together, because he chuckled and maneuvered his hands in order for Janus to see. . .well, Janus. It wasn’t unlike all the times Janus had hovered before the vanity mirror in his room to fix himself up for his outings. The only difference was the veil of golden smoke billowing into the air from his freshly-opened neck. More of the glowing, metaphysical blood tried to ooze out, but now that Janus had finally seen the damage for himself, he was able to will said blood back where it belonged before it could stain his cloak.

“Well,” Janus pronounced rather casually for a man who was looking at his own decapitated body. “I’ve seen you do much worse.”

Remus hummed proudly. “The Dragon Witch was too busy hunting to come do a performance-battle with me. I was really disappointed at first, but then I remembered you talking about the pumpkins, so. . .yeah!”

Janus hummed in thought, watching as his body picked itself up and dusted the dirt away from his outfit. It then stooped down to collect Janus’ hat, which it silently twirled about its index finger as it came to stand before Remus. Janus’ free hand then outstretched in an expectant manner. “Do you mind. . ?”

“Oh, sure.” Remus handed Janus’ head back to his body with a flourish.

“Thank you.” Janus nodded(?) once his hat was returned to its proper place. His arm ever-so-slightly raised him up, letting him make eye-contact with the other Side. “Say, Remus. Did you know a snake's head can still bite long after it’s been severed and the main body has died?”

“Indeed I did! Same thing goes for wild boars, too! Why do you aaAUGH!” Remus failed to duck-and-cover fast enough as Janus opened his mouth wide, allowing two streams of venom to spray from his extended fangs. Aforementioned venom spattered against Remus’ face, hissing and bubbling as it immediately began eating into his skin.

Janus closed his mouth, a devilish smirk quickly etching its way across his features as he watched Remus fall to the ground, writhing and screaming. “How the hell were you not expecting that? You were the one who suggested I make my venom acidic.”

“Oh, I expected it alright,” Remus protested, voice keening even more than usual as he choked on air. “Figured it’d make us even, y’know?”

Janus snorted. “How polite of you.” He carefully moved his head backward, then lowered it onto his neck. This stopped the majority of the yellow smoke from pouring, though a few columns still managed to slip out between the new wound. Janus held his noggin in place, patiently waiting for his skin and bones to knit themselves back together like they always did whenever he was injured.

It took a good ten seconds or so for him to realize that the typical healing process was taking much longer than usual.

Janus felt his face fall—then he felt it twist into a scowl yet again as he heard Remus’ cries of pain transition into his usual giggles.

“W-What’s going on?” Janus blurted. “Why isn’t—?!”

“Relax, my dear Danger Noodle. It’s not permanent,” Remus interjected. He shakily got to his feet to face Janus once more. By now, Janus’ venom had stopped bubbling, but the flesh of his face was still very much a melting, oozing, hideous mess. His left eye was now completely out of proportion; its socket was sagging down to nearly touch the corner of his mouth. Meanwhile, his right jawbone had been partially revealed, bloody and glistening in the light. “You’ll get to heal that little cut by the stroke of one forty-five a.m.”

Janus’ mouth sporadically opened and closed with no words coming out; a concoction of shock, rage, and confusion clambered about his face as he stared at Remus.

Remus simply waved the glower off, folding his arms across his chest. “Ah, c’mon. Having to manually carry your head around until the wee hours can’t be that hard. In fact, you should really be thanking me.”

“THANKING YOU?!” Janus seethed as he began pacing in a small, angry circle. He would’ve thrown his hands up in anger, but he didn’t particularly want to taste his garden’s soil again.

“Yes! As I am to you!” Remus sliding up to Janus, reaching out to shake hands with his free arm. “Because now we’ve both got some kick-ass costumes for today! Don’t get me wrong, it’s really damn impressive what some artists can do with special effects makeup, but look at us! We’ve got the real deal, motherfuUUUUAAAH DAMN IT!”

Remus collapsed onto his knees as the second spritz of Janus’ venom disintegrated even more of his flesh.

Janus’ forked tongue flicked between his gritted fangs like a macabre party favor. His free hand reached under the brim of his hat to massage his temple as he mentally began counting to ten.

“A-ah. . .hey, look at that! Y-you made my costume even more authentic,” Remus wheezed, offering a thumbs up as his right eye started to dribble. “Go team!”

___

About an hour passed, and Janus found himself in the Mind Palace’s dining room. He sat at the end of the table, carefully outlining a design on the pumpkin of his choice with a black marker.

(Or, his body was doing all that, to be more precise. His head was merely watching, resting on a small silk pillow he’d brought from his bedroom.)

The other fruits of his harvest were all gathered opposite of his seat, patiently waiting for Janus’ peers to hollow them out and give them faces.

Speaking of which. . .

“We’re baaaaack!” Roman’s voice called out, musical as ever and accentuated by several footsteps entering the kitchen from the back door.

“I hope we’re not late,” Patton’s bubbly tone followed, sounding a bit more strained than usual. The sound of way too many shopping bags being plunked onto countertops throughout the kitchen explained that pretty well.

“Drat,” Janus greeted in a somewhat raised voice, not taking his eyes off of his jack-o-lantern-in-progress. “I really thought you’d gone to get some more milk this time.”

“I did!” Patton reassured. He was still in the kitchen, so there was no way to be certain if he truly understood that little jab. “We’ll be whipping up a fresh batch of cookies soon, after all! I may be a laid-back dad. . .” Patton’s giggles suddenly halted, and his voice became low, “. . .but I will NOT tolerate any treat-blasphemy in this household.”

“I’m trembling in my boots,” Janus yawned, trying to ignore the tiny chill that crept along his spine. “The sugar-pumpkins you requested are ready.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I see them!” Patton cheered. “They’re just adorable!”

“Puh-leeze, Padre. The only adorable fruit in here is you!” Roman, also having yet to be seen, chuckled. “Because I’m the handsome fruit, obviously.”

More footsteps began trekking along the floor, quickly getting closer and closer to the dining room. Janus had to bite his tongue to avoid chuckling once he saw the sleeve of Patton’s cat-hoodie poke around the kitchen doorway

“Thank you so much for growing these guys, Janus! You’ve helped me to really give everyone pumpkin to talk aboouu. . .” Patton trailed off, the way his eyes were growing to the size of dinner plates suddenly evident in his voice.

For dramatic effect, Janus waited until he heard the telltale sound of a body staggering against the adjacent wall and hitting the floor with a light thud before finally acknowledging the other Side. He smiled, offering a polite nod(?).

Patton, in response, somehow managed to nod back even as he sat trembling and gaping. “J-J-Janus. . ?”

“P-P-Patton?” Janus echoed, tilting his head to the side and putting on a mask of innocent confusion.

"Are—are you. . ." Patton fumbled over his words. ". . .okay?"

"Maybe, maybe not. That just depends on perspective." Janus quirked a cryptic eyebrow. He knew Patton understood how beings like themselves couldn't truly be harmed or killed by physical means like this (despite all that fluff between his ears), but the latter Side still definitely wasn't used to seeing his peers going about their typical business post-decapitation. "Come now, don't look so shocked. I have mentioned wanting to stay ahead of you all several times in the past."

An uncertain giggle wormed its way out of Patton's mouth as the wordplay graced his ears. He still looked a bit green around the gills, but it seemed his nerves were calming back down.

After all, a beheaded person who could still talk and move and make puns (probably) made for much better company than a beheaded person who would just conform to Rigor Mortis and bleed out all over the carpet.

“Hey, Patton? Where did you want the—” Roman called, his shadow crossing the floor as he, too, began to approach. “Whatever are you doing on the floor? It looks you’ve seen a ghAUGH!"

“Hello to you, too, Roman.” Janus’ hand briefly put the marker down in order to tip his hat to the aforementioned prince.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF TRIXIE MATTEL HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

Janus raised a hand, letting it hover before his mouth in a mock-gasp. “Really, now? Using her majesty’s title in vain? I would’ve expected better from you!” He then rolled his eyes as his body went back to work on his pumpkin. “It’s just a scratch, really.”

“A scratch?!” Roman cried, venturing a few steps closer. “Your head is off!”

Janus smirked, eyes glinting mischievously. “No it isn’t.”

Roman sputtered, pointing at Janus’ neck. “Well, what’s that, then?!”

Janus tossed a glance at his body. The golden smoke was still rising from the hole where his head should’ve been. He could’ve made it stop entirely, but he’d decided against that, since it was a truly interesting sight once you got past the fact that blood should’ve been gushing out.

“. . .I’ve had worse.”

“Is the unnecessary confrontation already beginning?” The voice that echoed from somewhere by the living room sounded calm and steady at first, if not clipped. If you listened closely, however, you’d be able to tell that the speaker was simply holding back on some extremely warranted aggravation with the power of Crofters jam and well-intentioned vibes. “I was certain the inevitable catastrophe would come after the pumpkins' insides were cleaned.”

Logan came strolling down the staircase, and though he did do a near-neck-snapping double-take upon seeing Janus in a much more beheaded state than usual, he took his shock with much more stride than the others. “Salutations, Janus. Are you. . .well?”

“Now that you mention it, my neck is feeling a little numb,” Janus replied, making sure that he still looked and sounded supremely unbothered by his headlessness.

Logan ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows, some undeniable curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I’m assuming Remus had something to do with this?”

Janus pursed his lips. “What gave you that impression? The way he was sing-shouting something along the lines of how I should’ve let him carry my head as he ‘properly galumphed’ back into the commons?”

“Correct."

“Ah, so you haven’t gone deaf yet. I suppose that’s good to know.”

Logan quietly moved closer to the table, standing on the opposite side of Roman, who was still murmur-rambling in shock for all he was worth. “May I ask what prompted him to—”

“Really, what’s the point if you haven’t guessed by now?” Janus tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsked, raising one hand to wag a finger in Logan’s direction. “In any case, it’s not important.”

“I’m inclined to disagree!” Roman protested.

“Why haven’t you reversed the damage by now?” Logan wondered aloud. “Having to carry your own head can’t be a very pleasant experience.”

“Oh, you’d be so surprised,” Janus drawled, his body offering a shrug. “I’m sure I’ve proven how much I adore the odd challenge or two. Would you believe me if I said that I sought out Remus and requested this?”

Logan’s face was quick to fall back into its usual no-nonsense mask. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Right, right. Just as I wouldn’t be more focused on keeping an eye out for the plans Remus might have for later this week.”

Logan squinted at this particular statement, just barely tipping his head in a nod as his eyes darted all around the room in thought. He then set his focus on the available pumpkins nearby, scanning the pile to see which one would be worthy of his carving.

“W-well. . .I mean, it sounds like there’s gourd vibes all around.” Patton cleared his throat, finally back on his feet. He flashed a nervous-yet-genuine smile over to Janus, who responded with a smug chortle at the pun. “But the pumpkin-flavored everything isn’t gonna make itself, so, I guess I’d better get to it!” He turned on his heel, retreating back into the kitchen. “You kiddos have fun with the jack-o-lanterns! Just call me if you need anything!”

Roman finally picked his jaw up off the floor and sat down on the chair he’d had in a white-knuckled grip since the beginning of the situation. He heaved his seventh dramatic sigh of the day, side-eyeing Janus.

“Couldn’t you at least. . .do something? With the stump?” The prince attempted to huff a laugh. “You’re supposed to be all about mystery, aren’t you?”

“Is that what I am?” Janus mused, angling his head in a way that allowed his eyes to be shaded while his scales caught the light. “Well, this may come as a shock, but I’ve been trying to work on my pumpkin for that exact purpose.” Something sinister crept into his casual facade. “But, if you’d rather I try something else. . .”

Janus’ body raised at arm, first to drum his fingers against his throat before snapping those same fingers twice.

The golden smoke seemed to pause. It then grew darker and thicker, splitting itself down the middle to create two columns. And as those columns began to twist and ripple in place, their particles took on a much more organic shine.

Twin bone-rattling hisses crept into the air as row after row of scales spiraled throughout the vapor.

Two pairs of haunting, slit-pupiled eyes blinked to life, automatically scrutinizing the area.

A matching set of sinuous skeletons flickered within the glow in a way that could reasonably be compared to an x-ray.

And just like that, within less of a minute, Janus suddenly had a new head.

Well, he technically had three heads now, but who was counting?

Certainly not Roman, who fell out of his chair with a shriek as the duo of huge, ethereal snakes now protruding from Janus’ neck tried to slither closer to him.

“How’s this look?” Janus asked, not batting an eyelid. “Do you think their scales compliment mine?”

“I think yOU SHOULD LEARN TO TAKE A DAMN JOKE!” Roman cried, shielding his face. “JUST GO BACK TO THE SLEEPY HOLLOW REFERENCE! IT SUITS YOU!”

“Splendid idea, Roman,” Janus simpered. With a couple more snaps of his fingers, the ghostly serpents evaporated, spiraling out of existence layer by layer. “It’s almost like I was trying to do that in the first place.”

“. . .That was an exceptional reference to Coatlicue,” Logan pronounced, with the intrigue in his eyes being a little more than mild.

“Of course it was,” Janus purred, somehow being smug and grateful at the same time.

“Co-How-Do-You-Say?” Patton, piped up. He was poking his head through the kitchen doorway yet again, probably having been lured back by the new commotion and (judging by the cocktail of confusion and fright on his face) was now most certainly questioning several of his choices.

As Logan began rattling off the basics of Aztec mythology, Roman climbed back onto his selected chair with a few petulant grumbles that might’ve been more colorful if not for Patton’s re-entry. He was quiet for the next moment or two, reaching across the table to drag a particular pumpkin closer.

“So. After we’re all done with putting the hollow in Halloween. . .” he eventually coughed. “. . .I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chase-and-duel on horseback later tonight? I just organized a new little forest in the imagination. With a brook and a bridge, of course.”

Janus mulled this information over as he took a tiny saw into his hand and pushed it toward his chosen pumpkin. “I might be able to make some room in my planner.”

@sammys-magical-au @lickoutyourbrains @impatentpending @fangirltothefullest

#the thirteen days of goretober #goretober 2023 #my writing #my stories #sanders sides #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #tw body horror #tw blades #tw physical violence #tw acidic chemicals #tw skin melting #tw blood #tw snakes #tw mentions of food

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