#And you already got the heritage armor

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Robe

The number of times that you recalled a certain half demon placing his robe over you in protections were too numerous to count. It was only when you were in dire danger or need that the precious red fabric ever left his being. It was his armor, as you’ve come to recognize from every battle you’d witnessed, proving its worth time and time again as he fought countless foes. There were a few times when its protection could only do so much for him but he always treated it with care even when it had been rendered to tatters until it could return to its former completed shape.

Your gaze rose upwards to the darkened night sky. Another new moon had come, earning the little traveling group a much needed break for camp, along with a change over a certain person who now grumbled lowly under their breath as a town appeared in the distance. The change InuYasha befell never ceases to amaze you as he huffed when the little fox demon lightly poked fun. Long pristine platinum white hair was now a black that could rival tonight’s darkness, touchable ears that would swivel or perk had disappeared, and the sharpness of his nails that was rivaled by his eyes were now softer yet still profound that told of inhuman heritage.

“What are you looking at?”

A snap of your head back towards the road shifted your gaze forward. “Wonder if there’s an place that we can stay at.”

“Tsk. Nothing wrong with camping.”

The monk intervened before you could respond, stating that for everyone’s sake it would be best to take shelter, then departed once spotting several prosperous homes. None too surprising that Sango followed him closely with Shippo and Kilala up her shoulders. That meant it was just the two of you walking along the dirt trodden path.

As if pulled by a magnet your gaze drifted back towards the seemingly normal man beside you.

“If you’ve got something to say, than say it already.” His snap was halfhearted, earning a raise of your eyebrow. When you didn’t answer he quickened his pace until blocking your path which caused you to stop. It was rare to see this expression upon his face as the nearby lantern illuminated his features for you. It was concerned, worried maybe, but most of all it was sincere. “What is it? You’ve been awfully quiet since dusk.” This was another aspect that you favored about this time of the month. Honesty was a strong suit of his, ego and bravado being used as shields when someone managed to get beneath his skin, but it was during this change that he was more open with you in particular when in regards to certain topics. Patience wasn’t his forte yet he waited for longer than you expected for an answer of some sort until he cast a brief glance over your shoulder before encouraging you to stand closer to the source of light. “You know I’d do my best to protect you, right? Don’t be scared.”

Warmth entered your cheeks at the tone he used. “Oh, I know you will, that’s not why—” Your words were forgotten as one of his hands appeared from the robe’s sleeves to press its palm against your forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you’re falling ill.” The hum that sounded from his throat reverberated slightly in your ears from its pitch, his expression becoming one of concentration. “You don’t have a fever so that’s good.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

At that moment a breeze blew past, tickling the bare skin of your legs and arms until the hairs stood upright with its cooler temperature, earning a shiver across your body. Your head hung as he sighed. All day you’ve been suppressing similar shivers down your spine with each breath of wind that whispered of fall’s coming frost. Guess you should’ve listened to mom’s advice about packing weather appropriate clothing. The school’s summertime uniform wasn’t going to cut it for much longer. Why couldn’t you have packed a jacket or some leggings instead of all those textbooks that threatened to break your back?

Silence filled the air between the two of you until the sound of shifting fabric caused your gaze to rise in curiosity only for it to become ensnared by a pair of warm sienna brown eyes that subtly shone with amber shards. His fingers were careful as they slipped the heavy backpack off your shoulders, easily swinging it up onto his own, then shifted so that you were nearly sandwiched between his body and the lantern. Not only was he blocking the wind but also attempting to combine his body heat with that of the lantern to help keep you warm until the others returned. And still his gaze remained locked on your own even when the subtlest of pink hues appeared within the tips of his ears. “It’s not much but better?”

A small smile lifted your lips as the chill in your skin slowly dissipated. “Much, thanks.”

It didn’t take long for Shippo to return with word that Miroku had found a place to stay for the night. After a modest dinner and sleeping arrangements had been made, you slipped off towards a quieter part of the residence where a little studying could be done. The head of the house had been kind enough to provide a few candles to offer better light for you but they did little to stem off the night’s chill as your nearly numb fingers fumbled to turn a page. Just as you were about to call it a night because it was becoming too difficult to focus from the cold, something happened that you never would have guessed or saw coming.

From behind you appeared two folds of familiar fabric that loosely enclosed you within a cocoon, a pair of legs folding neatly beneath you in place of the floor that were far more cushioned, and a firm toned surface meeting your back that had begun to protest against the slouched position you’d been in for the last hour. “Getting some studying done?” He asked softly, as if hoping not to startle you too much. A barely audible hiss slipped from between his lips as he drew you closer with a squeeze. “Damn, (Y/n), you’re freezing. How can you possibly get anything done when you’re this cold?”

Your answer was lost to the stuttering of syllables as your teeth chattered slightly, earning a chuckle from the dark haired man.

“Next time you’re this cold, just say something, ‘kay?” It was only when you nodded in agreement did his posture become more relaxed, hold loosening just enough that you could pick up the textbook again.

Now you had a completely different reason to be distracted.

Had he always been this warm or was that the robe? Either way it was so blissful that your mind slowly became a muddled mess the longer you remained within his hold. The sharp scents of Wind Scars or Backlash Waves that mostly dominated his being had given way to reveal faint traces of salty sweat reminding you of the beach, dry chalky remnants that were similar to mountains, and spicy cinnamon that tickled your nose in an alluring way.

“So what are you studyin’ this time? Is it that weird trig-no-metry thing?”

A chuckle came from your throat, shifting so that he could see the illustration of a bamboo forest. “It’s the story of a prince who wants to marry the bamboo princess but she has all these tasks for him to do before she agrees.” The tip of your finger rose when his expression became weary. “It’s similar to the Kaguya legend but this one describes the Robe of the Fire Rat to be silvery and beautiful.”

His eyebrows shot upwards as his chin fell to rest upon your shoulder, causing your cheeks to brush. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. According to this, it was mistaken for common silk at first when an iron box had been dug up beneath a fallen temple. Only the prince of Japan at the time who had sent word to his dear friend in China asking for assistance understand what it truly once when he received it. So beautiful it was the he couldn’t wait to gift it to the princess but didn’t feel as though it would do her justice.” Your hand turned the page to reveal an illustration, eyes finding the sentence where you left off and continued to read aloud. “‘Across a bed of coals did the prince lay the robe, for it had been heard that the robe would become more beautiful to behold once kissed by flame’s lingering breath’. It said in a passage that it was as if silver had been spun finely to create the robe that could protect its wearer from any heat related harm.” From the corner of your eye you could see InuYasha’s gaze shift from the open book to his trusty coat, coaxing his eyes to return to the page courtesy of your nudge. “However, the prince made a mistake. He placed it on the coals twice more and it evaporated into silver smoke.”

The snort that sounded nearly made you smile. “Idiot. Should’ve just left it alone.”

“Well, he was trying to make sure it was in its peak condition before giving it to the bamboo princess. Nothing wrong with trying to ensure a gift is in its best condition.” You chided, noting how he rolled his eyes. “Yours was a gift from your father, right? Would you have been happy if he’d given it to you full of holes?” No sooner had the words come out of your mouth did you wish to take them back as his gaze darkened. Guilt filled your veins as his lip curled. “InuYasha, I’m sorry—”

“It was actually a gift to my mother who then passed it down to me when she died.” His tone was much softer than the expression made of stone he wore. “My old man knew he wouldn’t be enough to protect her so he’d asked the Fire Rat to make something for her. A lot of good it did her though.”

From within your heart came a twinge of sadness for him as he took a deep inhale through his nose. The book was closed with a snap, somehow not earning a reaction from him, then it was placed off to the side as you pivoted so that the two of you were facing each other. Only when the palms of your hands cupped his face did the dark haired InuYasha surface from the thoughts plaguing his mind. His gaze found your own, finding warmth and honesty, before you snuggled into his being while wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m glad your father had it made to protect her, you could almost say it was made from his love for Lady Izayoi, and it became full of her love for you after your birth.” From this angle you couldn’t see his face there was no mistaking the rhythm of his heart quickening when you gave him a squeeze. “You could even say that its their love combined that continues to protect you even during this time when you feel weakest.”

The stiffness within his toned muscular frame ebbed at your words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d been constantly on guard all day knowing what was to come once the sun had set. Sure there was Sango, Miroku, and even Kilala to help if a battle or opponent were to present themselves. Ever so slowly, his arms enclosed around you in a returning embrace until the entirety of your form was nearly pressed against his own. Tresses of his long hair intermixed with your own as his warm breath wafted the sensitive skin of your neck.

Not another word was spoken between the two of you as one by one the candles flickered than hissed before extinguishing until darkness settled over the two of you like a heavy curtain. Neither it nor the whispering chill on the breeze could force you two apart as warmth slowly grew between your forms. The robe was large enough to comfortably fit around your combined forms, although that might have been because you were practically cradled against his form with your face protectively tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rises and falls of your chests in harmony as sleep slowly claimed you both.

It was almost too soon that you woke to find the first few rays of sunshine filtering over the horizon. Unlike the first time you’d witnessed his transformation, you watched with awe as black gave way to silvery platinum and the sharpness returned to his features as he stirred. The lids of his eyes opened just in time for the sienna brown to be overtaken by brilliant gold and pupils to become oval shaped rather than circular, those shards of amber remaining but now becoming harder to see from the irises’ ring. And yet he didn’t move or say anything that suggested you should move away. So within his hold you remained, offering a smile of greeting when his pointed dog-like ears perked in your direction.

“Morning, InuYasha.”

His gaze flitted off to the distance, a huff sounding in his nose. “Yeah…morning.”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Tsk. Would you sleep well if something heavier than a pickling pot sat in your lap?”

A twitch settled within your brow. Standing, you gathered all of the books you’d meant to study last night and shoved the materials back into your bag as the chorus of your names came from within the residence. “Sounds like the others are up so we should get going.”

“Not like we got anything here to keep us. Better to move on.”

The muscles within your jaw clenched as he nonchalantly rose then disappeared around the main house’s corner in the direction of where your companions would likely be as you hurried to follow. It was then that you noticed not only was your bag suddenly missing but the Robe of the Fire Rat was secured around your frame in a similar fashion that it had been at the Sage Tokijin’s temple. When had he done that?

“Hurry up, (Y/n), we ain’t got all day!”

Though it was so fast the others had missed, or if they had seen they didn’t comment, the pink tinge that entered his cheeks when you’d appeared alongside them.

“Why are you wearing InuYasha’s robe?” Shippo asked curiously while hoping up to balance atop of your head. “Did something happen last night that made you not come to bed?”

A teasing smile raised your lips while catching the half-demon’s gaze before taking the lead from him from beyond the gate that was entrance to the residence. “Looks better on me, wouldn’t you agree, Miroku?”

Instantly, InuYasha’s expression became one of anger as the perverted monk made to comment. “Don’t you even start!”

[crystal-rebellion]

So - as some of you may be painfully aware, I am very, very slow about posting chapters to my stories, sometimes even years on them. But they ARE still active, and I do still have ideas and drafts and... stuff.

And I got to thinking - I do quite a few prompts and little one-off scenes, things that don't have a place in a story, or might be used in one later, etc. That's... sort of the equivalent of a warm-up sketch or a doodle, right? And people share doodles and sketches all the time.

So I think I'll do the same. Start sharing more of my 'warm up sketches' and 'doodles' - or drabbles if you will.

I do have a list of prompts I've already done here, and will probably be adding these to it.

Found this in my google docs from about four years ago, including a screenshot of the Lotura Discord server discussion that started it. (Permission granted from the lovely folks featured here to share on Tumblr)

So I did. Drabble below the cut. 👇👇👇

"My queen!"

Allura glanced up from the book in her lap as the Drulish guardsman saluted in utter reverence. 

"Yes?"

As he rose from his deep bow, Allura closed the heavy tome in her lap worriedly and rose to her feet.  Setting the information aside, she began to approach the intimidating, armored soldier.

"I am pleased to inform you, your husband and children have returned."

Allura felt the wind leave her lungs as relief crashed into her body.  She nearly crumpled on the spot; barely catching the back of the chair with her palm to support her weight.

"Thank the heavens," she murmured, quickly brushing away the tears that budded in the corners of her eyes.

"They will be landing on platform Beta in approximately twenty minutes.  ...We thought we saw them on the radar much earlier but... we didn't want to give you false information until we had their landing clearance in hand.  It is, in fact, them."

"Thank you," she murmured, holding her composure together long enough for the guard to salute and leave her in peace.

She collapsed back into the chair, sobs racking her form as sheer joy radiated from her in a manner she could not properly articulate.  Lotor and their children - elder daughter and younger son - had been on their first Campaign for nearly a month.  She and Lotor had gone in circles on the tradition of conquering planets, and the war couple had finally settled on a medium; the children would indulge in the cultural tradition, but only a modest amount of spoils would be taken - and absolutely no enslavement.  The "conquered" planets would easily be able to recover, but the children could practice their skill in the process and honor half their heritage.

The decision not to join them had been twofold - she wasn't the right person to help teach them the ways, and she feared she might interfere more than help.  Moreover, if both governing royals of the Empire were to disappear, chaos would be left in their wake.  She had reluctantly, dutifully, stayed behind to attend to the ministrations of government.

It had been a lonely endeavor; the first day had left her excited, wondering what he and the children might be up to.  The second day was equally full of curiosity and wonder.  As the days bled to weeks, and the weeks to a month... her ambition and eagerness turned to melancholy and sorrow.  As chaotic as the young ones running about the castle could be, the reprieve from them unpredictable was short-lived.  She missed the confusion, the Drulish activity, the discord and the eventfulness.  While her first night alone had resulted in an uninterrupted spa day, complete with an elegant soak in the bath - it had rapidly deteriorated.  Nights felt cold without her husband, and days felt bleak without her children.

Finally, they were home.  Safe.  Sound.  And home.

Allura brushed away the tears once more and stood upright, smoothing out her gown and adjusting her hair before departing the room.

Swift, intense strides made quick work of the distance between her and Platform Beta.  She entered the deck as the familiar warcraft touched down.  Her hands clasped tightly over her chest when her heart fluttered, the steel door closing behind the vessel.  Wind whipped around her, flaring her gown and hair as everything settled into place.  The familiar hiss of the vessel depressurizing to match the planet's pressure sounded, and the bridge unfurled from the entry.

At the top appeared three familiar figures; Lotor in his finest armor, Alenna in a similarly matching dress, and Mero; the 'softest' of the two.  He wore no armor, preferring the vestments of the diplomats.

"Now.  Which one of you can go hug your mother first?"

Shrieks of laughter caught the queen by surprise, and despite her understanding of the culture she had married into, she found herself flat on her back with her two children clutching her torso desperately, each declaring victory over the other.  A laugh broke from her throat and she enveloped them both in her arms, sitting up right and drawing them close.

"I'm so happy you have returned, my dears," she murmured against them, breathing deeply to block the flood of emotion that threatened to overthrow her.  "How was your first Conquest?"

She blinked as shrieks of chatter bloomed up from both the kids, Alenna the most animated of the two.  Allura only laughed, kissing them both on the temple, much to their disapproval.  At the sound of Lotor's bootsteps, the children peeled off their mother just in time for him to extend his palm down to her.  Gracefully, she took it, eagerly allowing him to pull her into his arms, his lips catching hers with no warning - not that she expected any.

"I missed you so much," he murmured between gasps for air.

Allura was barely aware of the noise of disgust the children had made at the sight of their parents snogging before they ran off as she laced her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. 

"You have no idea," she replied.

Bonus:

--One Month Earlier--

"Absolutely not."

"Allura.  My sweet,  Surely you must realize how important this is for the children, especially Alenna!  It's a rite of passage for her!  Mero has a few years, but he could benefit from seeing Alenna's Hunt."

Allura shuddered, brushing off Lotor's hands.

"That's so vile, the way you word it.  Hunt.  Spree.  Conquering.  You sound so gleeful about it, as if you enjoy it as a sport."

"...Allura.  We do."

She flashed him a dangerous look, her temper riling.

"Yes, you'll have to forgive me, my sweet," she quite sneered the words back to him, her temper elevated to a level he had not seen since their courtship.  "I was on the other end of that  spree as you call it.  I forbid it.  No child of mine will be plundering another world.  No chance."

Lotor exhaled in frustration, pacing away from his furious wife.

"What about - "

"Never."

"Hear me out," he added gently, his lips curling into a bemused smirk at her fire.  When she said nothing, her gaze blazing dangerously on him, he continued.  "What if they practiced the tradition - and!"  He held up his hands as she began to interject.  "Left everything behind."

Allura blinked, the swell of fury deflating as she considered his words.

"You mean commit to the sport, but take no trophies?"

"Well, perhaps a bit of gold here or a pretty jewel there... but no, nothing like it used to be."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously on him.

"Absolutely zero living spoils."

"Of course, I didn't think you'd like your children bringing back slaves to serve you."

"Lotor-"

Once more, his palms rose in the air defensively, his chin ducking as a smirk quirked at his lips.  He knew he was only seconds away from having something heavy chucked at him.

"No, my love.  No living spoils, and only a token amount of physical ones.  Will that suffice?  It's an important custom to honor for us, even if the purpose for it no longer exists."

She exhaled, plopping down into an armchair.

"I suppose so.  How long?"

"Weeks.  Maybe a month.  The First Campaign is not a long endeavor.  Not usually. "

"You'll go with them? Look after them, keep them safe?"

He stared at her for a moment, his victorious look ebbing at her forlorn expression.

"....You're not coming," he murmured in realization.

Allura looked away, rubbing her arm uneasily.

"I'm not sure I could stomach such destruction, even in play.  I don't think that I could properly... endorse this in a manner that befits your customs," she explained.  "Besides.  Who will run things if we're both gone?  I mean there's Cossack, but I..."

"Oh gods below us, no.  He is a worthy and admirable soldier, but we'd come back to a bloodbath of a civil war because he couldn't figure out how to translate a document properly."

Allura giggled, casting her husband a sad smile as she rose from her chair and approached him.

"I'll miss you.  It will be a long time before you're back."

He palmed her ribcage as she came into his heartspace, her own fingertips touching his chest, her nose inches from his.

"We should make the most of tonight then," he murmured darkly.

"I would very much like that."

[witchofthesouls]

Hey, for the other!tfp trio….let's assume that the team remained on really close contact despite the distance after the war (RID 2015 who knows you? Certainly not me). I wanna see a really touching reunion between the bots and their protegees, but here's the twist:

They return to their kids, only to find out that these three are no longer kids, but young adults (maybe late teens for Raf, because our future little Dragon always will be the youngest of the trio) and are no longer humans (cause they have fully embraced their other heritage)

This time-lapse could be explained by either A) the bots spending a bit longer on Cybertron and losing the human sense of time or B) The kids deciding to make a joint trip to elsewhere/the other side after the end of the war, where time doesn't move the same as in the human plane (they went as kids, but elsewhere spit them as grow ups even though this change doesn't make sense to the bots.... because they are seeing things from a human sense of time); now, when exactly these three got lost and then reborn, that's privy to them alone.... I prefer the B) option if you ask me....

Regardless, I think that these three would remain tightly nit, as tight as possible (they could be on the other extreme of the planet or any other plane, and yet they would return to each other...eventually). Cause after all the went through, separation is not an option for them

Reactions and talks/explanations are meant to happen in response to this..... and what roles June, the Esquivels and the Nakadais families had to play in all this

Ohhh, this is interesting. I hinted or understated in some pieces that time can get weird in Elsewhere as a call to the folktales and myths of humans stepping into an otherworldly space to spend a few hours there, and then stepping back to their world to find out decades had passed.

Perhaps it's their heritage, singing in their bone marrow and igniting from the Matrix's influence, June's own presence (haunting and hungry, no matter how muted or how well she hides her own teeth), or a strange combination. Perhaps it's the experiences they shared, forged in fire and blood as Earth's own chaotic nature. But these three are bonded. Intertwined with each other, even across the world.

Distance means both little and much to them now. They ventured onto foreign, alien planets and spaceships, traveled to lands across the world in the blink of an eye, and went on the run from a manhunt.

Miko keeps the Apex Armor and takes it back to Japan. At the right moments and when the urge gets too much to bear, she steps into the sea and goes farther than any of her relatives could go, even the ones that can hold their breath for 20 minutes.

She hasn't been the most filial of daughters, but she is her parent's child. Her sea-blooded mother stole back a human that survived and thrived from Elsewhere and claimed that man as a spouse. Bloodlust and wet works are no distant strangers to her. She's inexperienced but a willing learner. She already cut her teeth on foreign flesh.

Down in the dark depths where there's no difference between going up to the sun and going towards the abyss, but where her steps tread, she meets someone with pearly, iridescent scales across a long, serpentine body and a face so much like her own (and her mother's and her grandfather's and her-) with large, dark eyes with an amber ring.

After meeting the yokai that birthed her lineage centuries ago, Miko finds her way back to the Americas. A blessing and a warning kept in her heart.

(One day, Miko will understand what her sea-blooded mother meant when she told her that her father was a 'good Man.'

Raf's deep fascination (admiration, obsession) with space exploration and technology is taken in stride among the Esquivels. He doesn't raise any suspicion among them because that's how they all are.

He absorbs whatever he can, consuming the hard-earned lessons under Ratchet's care and oft-handed commentary. The Esquivels hunger and Raf is no different as he swallows how Cybertronian theory and application and attempts to further bridge between human and alien equipment.

Raf had found his teeth and his siblings recognized it as their baby brother doesn't disappear on them nor shrink away from their more vicious arguments.

(They are a family whose flesh descended from fire tempered by earth. Raging passion and violent temptations. Wicked protection and immense wrath. Voracious, cruel, and beastly, yet so very kind and vigilant.)

Mama kissed her youngest boy (because Raf will always be her baby boy) on his head and told him to be careful, praying for his safety as he went with Jack.

That protection will save them on a summer trip when Jack retraces his steps to all the places he once called home.

Ever since his mission to Cybertron, Jack dreams of strange, wistful things. An unquenchable thirst, an itch in his bones... he feels bereft for some reason.

He misses Arcee. He misses all of them. But for some reason, Jack still dreams of the timelessness of Cybertron. There's still something that calls to him in that eerie stillness. Not the desolate ruins of alien cities, although they quietly sing between hope and despair, but it's the outskirts that wait with bated breath.

In the summer after graduation, he takes his new-used car and travels across the mainland United States. The windows are down as the radio blares, wind ruffles his hair as Raf laughs and tries to figure out maps since some locations are so off-beat that the GPS can't confirm the coordinates.

Deep in the bones of a decrepit old house he once called a home in his long-distant childhood because June and Jack moved repeatedly, hopping from place to place without rhyme or reason... there are the echoes of a wailing scream buried within it.

A living corpse for a copse of trees that guard the area.

(A mother will tell her son what exactly brews in their powerful blood and what she has done to ensure he grew up safe to make a choice.)

Elsewhere exists in so many ways, shapes, and forms. At one point, the legends and myths had once walked upon Earth and left their marks. Something happened in the unwritten, unspoken past that corralled those legends away.

The trio will venture through the many portals and gateways and have many more adventures as they realize there are far more Cybertronian relics on Earth...

Mermaid queens and Seelie emperors, dignitaries of unearthly shapes painted in enamel and precious jewels, sharp animals with sharper intelligence that speak in prose, the faint imprints in slumbering environments, and empty, the lingering remains of humanity's role among such great and terrible things.

(Humanity was (is) great and terrible themselves.)

(Miko's father is a 'good Man,' and that means something different to such beings.)

"Long ago, Man made peace with Magic." "Long ago, it was decreed that Man would stay."

Time isn't linear in Elsewhere which incorporates so much that a single or several maps would be useless. Time flows in so many directions that it's a constant battle to recognize and travel to and from their own particular section of a river.

Perhaps it's his heritage or a minor blessing from the Matrix, but Jack is more sensitive to flow and can locate the best spots for them to get back to their Earth. To the same week, month, or year they ventured away.

Miko explores her own bloodthirst and prey drive. The singing, thrumming chant in her blood and how the Apex Armor responds to it.

Raf hones his own instinct on his particular guidance to find portals and lucky happenstances. Between him and Jack's instincts for 'shiny' things, little can escape them.

In some worlds, they grow older. Aging and bulking, exploring how to reshape themselves and all sorts of careers. In others, they seem immortal compared to the rapid change around them in a species whose lifespan is a single human year.

"We could be gods here," says a man with a firestorm trapped in his bones and has become a dragon. Not a Dragon because he searches the stars for a mech he once called brother. "Are we not gods already?" The not-man made of shadows and feathers replies. He still dreams of a far-distant metal planet and realizes that it whispered to him back then. "Does it matter," laughs a woman encased in armor that's more like a second skin, tendrils sweeping upon the floor like the gentle motion of a calm tide upon the beach. Pink for her lost girlhood and passion, a warning and a sign from her many great-grandmother. Green as the metal she once called her kin.

When humans are pulled Elsewhere. Three things usually happen: they break there, they struggle or thrive, or they break at home.

"How many times have we done this?" A boy that's not really a boy, who shall become a dragon in so many lifetimes, asks his companions. (Raf keeps his sister's warning close to his heart as she once died in a foreign, strange desert and was resurrected in her own pyre to devour the city that enslaved her and so many countless others. Pilar has become a Dragon and that legacy between mortal and divine shall be her epitaph in a battlefield far sooner than later.)

Ratchet returns. Some things change, while some remain the same.

Jack tastes the grief and repressed anger upon the medic and leaves him be. Raf remembers Ratchet parked in the garbage and keeps the old medic busy between lessons and searches. Miko digs into the festering tangle of emotions, lapping into those wounds as she uses the Apex Armor on the training mats to absorb those fighting skills and grills for information about Cybertron and the rest of Team Prime.

She cares, she really does, but the boys' avoidance of Ratchet's issues won't help anyone, especially if (or when) the medic leaves the planet with no way to contact again.

Ratchet went Elsewhere twice. The first time was a rough pill to swallow as Team Prime never realized its existence. He wondered where the trio had scavenged a considerable amount of Energon crystals and the resources to guard the new base with all the newly acquired. He stiffly apologized to them because he had thrown hurtful words over their travels, calling them "superstitious" and "better than that" and "this is why you never applied yourselves" was the least of the insults. The second time, he realized just how much and fast humans age as he counted each tick on his chronometer as they ventured across new continents and strange seas. Those years and crippling injuries and strange bodies melt away from the trio as they return back to their native Earth and their baseline human form.

June visits them. Ratchet never thought to ask how she found them in Nevada when Agent Fowler would have never told a civilian about them. No one questioned how she managed to bypass all the security with her car.

He tallies all the strange, eerie signs as she leaves hints to solve their challenges, how she seems to appear when food is low and they're too busy to bring anything more substantial than a simple run to the nearest fast food joint or a quick foraging session, how all the security in the world, both Cybertron's and Earth's, cannot track her.

"I am what I need or want to be." The one called June Darby demurely answers.

The only family member of Raf's that Ratchet will officially meet is Pilar whose bones are filled to the brim with rituals, survival tips with monsters, gods, and hostile environments, and formal protocols in so many kingdoms, both dead and alive. She grieves as well. She had given up the Dragon to return home but her memories are bursting full of laughter and people and color when the crumbling ruins the new Team explores are long empty of an extinct people or a fallen kingdom.

"Sometimes I think I carved out parts of my heart and left it there. All I have left are the memories as I'm the only one that remembers the campfire songs and the lessons of all those who helped me."

Ratchet will never meet the Nakadai family face-to-face, but he gets a hint of what they are with all the messages and packages they send their only child. Izumi sends pointers on how to prepare certain sea creatures and how to differentiate the signs of an underwater portal in treacherous waters. Her husband will leave cryptid messages and strange, gold pieces. Sometimes he sends coordinates for Miko to dig up a weapons cache or an informant to cultivate.

Of course, things change when the not-quite-human trio spirit back a Primal Artifact of Quintus Prime...

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

This post took me so long to actually write down all of I ended up sketching the swapped companions before finishing it

Behold!

More detailed descriptions and musings under the cut

Jenevelle the Shadowheart

Forever seeking to serve her Queen and to prove herself among her adoptive kin. Prove herself worthy of the silver she wears and perhaps one day grace the back of a mighty red dragon as Kithrak, should her Queen allow it.

Paints her spots on every day along with her war paint

Her long braid is decorated with a headpiece paying tribute to the Undying Queen, though of course never as resplendent as Vlaakith herself

Lazelle, Daughter of Shar

With her blade, she will cut Selûne and her wretched Tears from the sky and blanket Faerûn in the Nightsinger’s perfect darkness, whether the Mother Superior permits her to become Dark Justiciar or not

If not for her nose, it would be hard to pin her as Githyanki and not a strange looking wood elf. No spots and the shells of her long ears lacking the usual frills (inspired as an artist by Ptaris not having those features in game). A harmless malformation as the result of being raised in an unnatural environment, or something more sinister at play?

The name Lazelle was gifted to her by the Mother Superior, though something about it always felt slightly… off.

Karlach Cliffgate, Mage of the Heartlands

Chose her title saying there were far too many lofty heroes already claiming heritage from Baldur’s Gate, and she wanted her legend to show she fought for all the innocent people of the Heartlands her city calls home, like the heroes of sword and sorcery that inspired her to study magic as a youth.

Far fewer scars but nearly as many tattoos under those robes as the Karlach we know. Runes imbued with protective wards, magic symbols, dedications to her parents and to Mystra.

Her rough cut and dyed hair is woven in with silver disks with the symbol of Mystra

Even having fallen out of her favor recently, the Mage of the Heartlands wears her tabard emblazoned with the symbol of the goddess of magic still.

Naturally quite tall and heavy set, she still keeps an impressive musculature for a mage. Claims there’s no use for more mages who just sit in their towers reading all day. The Weave is meant to be touched, used to protect and assist people. Would far sooner cast a new spell to see the effects than study it in theory.

When you first meet her, she explains the softly glowing orange mark on her chest to be a scar of one such use of experimental magic. Perhaps after some trust is built, she will reveal the true nature of what caused it.

Gale Dekarios, the Black Flame of Avernus

A guard trained in picking off threats with his trusty longbow long before they could reach him or the one he protects, the Blood War has seen him far closer to the center of the action than he would prefer.

I didn’t draw them because it was hard enough designing new outfits for him and Karlach but he’s got tattoos. And scars.

The black flame and smoke from the infernal engine in his chest waft from the vents on his shoulders, the deep ominous glow from under his ribs never ceasing.

Wears a single earring of the crest of Waterdeep, the home he has sought to return to all these long years. Now, he’ll finally have the chance. If his heart doesn’t burn him from the inside out first.

Astarion Ancunín, the Blade of Frontiers

Handsome, heroic, and the talk of the land, the Blade of Frontiers will be a storybook hero in times to come

His dashing smile and golden eyes, handsome figure fitted in beautiful embroidery, are protected by his rapier and the healthy green glow of Fey magic

The armored chest piece he wears emblazoned proudly and loudly with the crest of Baldur’s Gate, a reminder of the people he’s sworn to protect

Wyll Ravenguard, the One-Eyed Warrior

A handsome and unassuming man at first glance, apart from his missing eye. Closer look is even more intriguing, his remaining eye a striking blood red.

Dressed in courtly garb, hardly the outfit you’d associate with an adventurer, but his skill with the blade quickly squashes any doubt he’s fit for the task at hand.

Upon first meeting him, he says the missing eye is the scar from a battle and nothing more. When you learn about his past and his history with the vampire lord Cazador Szaar, he reveals the scar is one of the last injuries he suffered as a mortal man. Taken out in the fight with cultists of the dragon that resulted in his death, before Cazador claimed him as his undead spawn.

[dailycharacteroption]

Roleplaying Races 14: Trox

(art by Nicholas “Rookzer0” on Artstation)

And here we have another example of an ancestry originally created as an example in ARG’s race builder, this one demonstrating how strange and powerful you could make a playable race. The result was powerful and bulky beetle-folk with a chip on their shoulder.

While there doesn’t seem to be any one specific inspiration for this ancestry, fantasy has always been full of big, monstrous peoples who may or may not actually be surprisingly gentle despite their bulk and fearsomeness.

Interestingly, trox got a major update to their lore in Starfinder, which we’ll talk about momentarily.

As we learn in Starfinder, the trox as a people were created by the goddess Hylax as her envoys and sentinels, and are in fact native to the Liavaran moon of Nchak. However, while the majority of their people lived in relative peace, that group is not who we are talking about today.

You see, many trox were sealed inside protective asteroids by their goddess and launched to various other worlds to serve as envoys for her diplomatic ways, and one such stone fell to Golarion in the ancient past. However, the Golarion clan had the misfortune of being discovered by the duergar , who saw their physical might and similarity to the giant beetles they already used as beasts of burden and enslaved them, subjecting them to eugenic breeding programs and alchemical enhancement to turn them into powerful brutes.

Many trox have since rebelled and broken free, escaping to the surface, only to discover that the evils of slavery were present there as well. As such, while they retain some aspects of their heritage, the trox of Golarion are distrustful of other species due to the suffering their people have gone through.

Sporting heavy chitin elytra, mandibles, and armor, trox resemble humanoid beetles, but they are not fully arthropod-like in anatomy, sporting an internal skeleton as well and soft fleshy parts as well. Additionally, they also sport an array of smaller appendages on their chests in addition to their bipedal arms and legs. While not strong and articulate enough to wield objects, they can come in handy.

While the trox of Golarion have become brutish and somewhat violent, they share with their ancestors a strong sense of community that overrides personal desires, they also prove inquisitive, eager to learn about the ways of others, and fiercely loyal to those the call friends. Sadly, the vast majority of them still live in slavery, either to the duergar or to surface slavers of various peoples.

Trox are immensely strong, but centuries of conditioning have dulled their minds in all regards.

Despite their bulk, they prove surprisingly agile when they need to be.

Their night-eyes also suit them well for a life underground.

This in turn is fueled by their powerful digging claws, making them swift under the ground.

The conditioning that they were subjected to and the subsequent fury this engenders also makes them surprisingly violent when replying to the attacks of foes that have harmed them.

Additionally, their grabbing appendages are quite useful for latching onto a grappled foe, freeing up their arms to fight other foes.

There is one alternate option for the trox, representing those trox that have trained themselves to abandon their rage and focus, tapping into an atrophied vibration sense, all the better to notice when invisible foes like their duergar slavers are coming.

With their extremely high strength bonus, trox are very suited for melee builds, particularly grapple builds thanks to their extra appendages, making any combat class a good pick for them. The penalty to all three mental stats is something of a deterrent for any caster or skill-based class, but not an insurmountable one. In fact, the fact that their penalty applies to all three means that it’s almost like the board is even between the three, just expect to have to make a little effort to bring them in line with other casters and characters. Any class that can blend casting with more traditional combat will probably work best for them, such as druid, magus, paladin, and warpriest.

That does it for today, but we’ve got one more entry to do before we’re done. Look forward to it tomorrow!

[jcniper-backup]

cannibal class - astarion x f!durge

Chapter Count - 12/25

Fic TWs - Dark Urge-typical violence, Canon-typical Trauma, Mentions of Astarion's Backstory, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, Blood Drinking

Fic Summary -

They did it. They made it to Baldur’s Gate. Upon arriving, Vaelyn remembers her heritage.

Everyone is supportive, until they aren’t.

How can she defy her father when she was the creator of the Absolute?

____

Sequel to: i am hungry (i was born hungry)

prologue

Everyone decided they deserved a break before they got to Baldur’s Gate. There were only two days of walking left for them, and they already knew that there wouldn’t exactly be  time to rest when they got there. With Gortash and Orin the Red to deal with, they would have their hands full. Right now was not the time to think about that, though. They were surrounded by beautiful hills that were luckily not too damaged by the Absolute’s army marching through it. All of them were lazing around a rather slow moving river.

Karlach and Wyll had managed to bully Gale into jumping in with them. “Come on, wiz! You could just magic yourself dry later–” The expression ‘magic yourself dry’ sent Gale on a tangent on how there was actually a proper name for the spell and how to do it that was only ended by Karlach splashing Gale in the face. Shadowheart was sunning herself next to the shore, alongside Jaheira. Lae’zel paced the shore back and forth and back and forth. Vaelyn doubted the gith had ever relaxed a day in her life, but she was contemplating it now. Halsin had turned into a bear and disappeared somewhere along the way.

Despite trying to kill him just yesterday, Astarion’s head was currently resting in Vaelyn’s lap. She smiled down at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to join them?” Astarion asked her. 

“Only if you go with me. I don’t remember if I’ve ever had to swim before.” 

“Ha! Of course. Well, I guess that means we’re both staying dry today.” Vaelyn listened to him sigh, and dimly wondered if he didn’t remember how to swim either. After all, he had been a vampire for two hundred years, and running water was a well-known weakness for them. Would he even have liked swimming in the first place? 

From what little Astarion had told her of his life before Cazador, she doubted that he would’ve even dared to get his hair wet. Perhaps that didn’t matter, though. The ability to be able to choose if he swam was taken from him - that was the thing that hurt the most. 

Absent-mindedly, Vaelyn raked her fingers through his curls. This earned a rather annoyed sound from him. “Is there any reason you’re doing that or are you just trying to sabotage my hair, darling?” 

 She glanced back down at him and extracted her hand from his hair. “Sorry.” 

“I didn’t say stop.” With a roll of her eyes, she continued. It was a relief, being able to do something soft after what had happened. For most of the day, she had refused to touch him at all, until he petulantly dragged her to a suitable resting spot on the shore and made her sit down so he would have a proper pillow. 

You haven’t harmed him. 

You’re doing good. 

Raucous laughter came from the river. Shadowheart had been bullied into going into the river as well, while insisting in increasingly higher octaves that she couldn’t swim, only for Karlach to put her on her shoulders and insist that she wouldn’t drop her. This must have awoken something in Lae’zel, who was now stripping out of her armor and into her underclothes, following them in as well. “How long do you think it will be before Shadowheart and Lae’zel sleep together?” Vaelyn asked.

Astarion barked out a laugh, “I’m very surprised you picked up on that, darling.” 

“I’ve been trying.” After all, these were her friends. She wanted to know what was going on with them. “It’s…still more challenging for me than most other things.” 

Emotions were not simple. They were not things she was afforded before the tadpole and this whole wretched journey, that much she was sure of. Under her Astarion sighed, probably irritated that his light-hearted comment turned into a dark turn in her thoughts. 

 “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” He asked. Before she even said anything, Astarion sat up. “How many times do I need to tell you not to worry about it?”

“You make it sound like worrying about killing you is silly.” Vaelyn hissed. Astarion telling her not to worry about potentially killing him was rich. After all, the reason he sought out this relationship in the first place was for protection. Was he being serious about this now? Was he telling a joke? Vaelyn couldn’t tell. She was too tired and still sore from the day before, and for the first time ever her eyes hurt because she had sobbed in front of him which was mortifying. 

“Okay, maybe it’s not silly to worry but you won’t kill me.” He said it with such conviction. “But really, I don’t think you will. You didn’t last night, and I’m sure we’ll figure out what happened before then.” 

Vaelyn blinked. 

Why was he being so nonchalant about this? 

“Do you really think that attempting to hold a knife to my throat would scare me away? I held a knife to your throat once already and then drained you dry a few nights later. Or did you already forget about that?” Astarion cocked his head to the side, clearly waiting for an answer. 

“You revived me and I forgave–” 

“Then you just would have revived me, and I would have forgiven you. Even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have held it against you.” The tone of his voice was so genuine that it alarmed her. It made her head reel a little. 

“O-okay,” She sucked in a deep breath. Astarion was looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Now can we go back to what we were doing, I’ve done enough reassurance for one day.” Vaelyn huffed out a small laugh, letting Astarion fall back into her lap. Her hand resumed the job of giving plenty of pets for him. All of it was rather peaceful, letting her slip into a mindless lull where the only thing she was thinking about was the happy sounds coming from her partner and her friends having fun at the river.

The air around them got a little warmer. Vaelyn watched as Aylin and Isobel emerged from somewhere behind the brush a little further down the shoreline. “I think Aylin’s a little too devoted to Isobel for a third, darling.”

 Vaelyn blinked, turning her attention back to Astarion. “What?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

He thought about it for a minute. “Not really.” 

They went back to their comfortable silence. Vaelyn wished that this was all they had to do. If their days just consisted of relaxing in beautiful places like this, her life would be perfect. She didn’t want to think of the people that betrayed her, or the violence that she was predisposed to. 

Just this. 

This was nice.

[burnwater13]

Grogu wondered where Ahsoka Tano got her poncho. It was kind of beat up and tattered, but he still liked it. It had a hood and fastened at the neck so it wasn’t a real poncho, but it looked like a real poncho and he liked that about it. 

Grogu had become obsessed with clothing recently. Styles, trends, materials, construction, durability, and the like. His coverall had been very useful to him, but he felt sure that the next growth spurt would make it too tight, too short, and too out of date for him. 

He wanted something different. Something that would point out very clearly that he was no longer a Jedi youngling, but a Mandalorian, with Jedi tendencies. But he didn’t want to forget or ignore his Jedi heritage. He’d been wondering where the balancing point was between the two styles. He was hoping that studying Ahsoka Tano’s choices would help him on his path.

The poncho like coverup was just part of ensemble that he was considering. He needed pieces to wear under it, but he didn’t think he wanted them to be quite as fussy as her clothing seemed. 

For example, a belt as wide as the one she wore would start under his armpits and end at his knees. So he couldn’t do that. He’d be tripping all the time. And why did people even wear belts? Did their clothes not fit right? He understood why the Mandalorian had a belt or two, but they were for weapons, ammo, pouches, and the like. But Ahsoka only seemed to carrying around her lightsabers. Did the really wide belt with it’s straps and rings need all that embellishment to hold them? Grogu didn’t think so. 

Grogu did like the idea of a shirt and a pair of leg coverings. That would provide a lot more freedom of movement and he could have pockets in both pieces for important stuff like the silver knob and snacks. He always needed to plan for the future and that meant keeping snacks around because the Mandalorian sometimes got too caught up in the work to remember that food was what provided them all with the energy needed for the work. 

But the next question was which style of leg covering and shirt did he select? His dad wore pretty tight fitting pants because of the armor attachments and stuff like that, while Ahsoka wore leg coverings that seemed more like an umbrella that was closed up, if that made any sense. They had a lot of volume. He wondered what that was for? Maybe you could use them to float in water? Or perhaps you could store a lot of stuff in them? Or maybe they just looked nice? 

Grogu wondered if anyone made something in between. Not super tight, but not like a balloon either. With pockets. Lots of pockets. 

He had to admit that he really liked the top Ahsoka selected. It looked cool and comfortable. He didn’t think anyone else he’d ever met at the Jedi Temple had worn things like that. It was hard to say because everyone had a tunic and a jacket and a cape or a cloak that covered them all up. His only problem was he didn’t think that his dad would like that. Din seemed to be a keep everything covered up kind of guy and Grogu wasn’t sure if that meant he was adverse to seeing people’s skin or he was adverse to having people see his skin. He was glad that Ahsoka didn’t have the same concerns.

The one real dilemma he had when considering the styles of the two people who were with him right then and there, was that he din’t like having anything on his arms. Even the super soft material that the cuffs of his coverall were made out of annoyed him at times. He couldn’t imagine have vambraces or gauntlets or anything like that covering his arms. What good was stuff like that anyway? Sure, the Mandalorian’s armorer had added weapons to the vambraces as well as other gadgets, but Mandalorians already had a lot of weapons choices. Ahsoka didn’t seem to have any special purpose for the ones she wore. Maybe it was just a fashion thing? 

Grogu didn’t know and he didn’t really want to ask her. It was going to be hard enough to convince the Mandalorian that he needed new clothes. As far as Grogu could tell, Din Djarin was really good at repairing his clothing, although he seemed to ignore all the little holes, rips, and tears in his cape/blanket thing. The Mandalorian wasn’t just going to let him throw away the coverall and get something new. Maybe Grogu could talk him into making him some clothes once they were done with wherever they going next. 

Ahsoka had mentioned a rock on some other planet that Grogu could sit on and that would help him find another Jedi. Grogu didn’t think it was going to work but he was willing to humor his protector. Maybe after that he and the Mandalorian could go somewhere fun, like Naboo and go shopping. They deserved a break from being on dreary, beat up planets. He wanted to go someplace pretty and green where people had nice clothes and were friendly. 

That had to be the Way, right?

[galactic-pirates]

You know when you are trying to be patient because it’s only been a few days and that includes a weekend? Yet have zero faith it will get better?

Yeeeeeah…. I’m talking about WoW Remix. I am so disappointed in it.

Think I might do a proper blog post later to rant :(

But TLDR highlights - what was advertised, was not what went live. They got my attention with “currency for items” and “accelerated levelling”. I watched lots of videos and I hadn’t felt that positive about the game in a long time.

What I was expecting was the first character levelled would be slow/normal speed, but getting slightly faster/more powerful as they levelled up and the cloak got power. Then as the cloak was account-wide, the next character would be even faster/more powerful, and the next one even more than that. Aka the more you played, the faster the levelling and the more OP you got. I was giddy. I had planned my levelling order. I was thinking I would perhaps do 8 to knock out various heritage armor quests.

But the cloak is not account wide anymore (it was on the PTR and why would they program something so complex only to hardcode what people got instead???). Now once one character gets the top “infinite power” (ha! what a joke) achievement, any alt will simply start with the same baseline ‘upgraded’ cloak - the same. So the second or the tenth is identical. And this baseline ‘boost’ is no more than what the winds of wisdom is that they give us sometimes yet I had to earn it??

Now with the currency accumulation to buy stuff that was like double bubble. This one is probably on me because with currencies going account wide in the next expansion, I assumed bronze would be - but it’s not. Also it accumulates so slow that someone did the math. You’d have to clear mythic Siege everyday for the full 95 days to stand a chance at getting all the things, and that’s if you don’t need to use the same currency to upgrade your gear to be able to run the raid in the first place.

I just feel super demotivated when I was ready to heap praise on the mode. Because I thought it was set up super well because everything in the mode was a way to get more powerful and make progress. I had been planning on spending most of my free time in Remix. Now with how disappointed I feel I don’t really want to play at all.

Aaaaand that was basically a rant not a TLDR - oops! I didn’t even mention how broken the scaling is. Like want to get weaker and weaker the more time you put in? Yeeeah that’s how it goes. Worse I don’t think they will go “ok our bad” and revert the batshit nerf and make the cloak account wide again, because some people realised the frogs were farmable and have powered their cloak mad high. That was always a way to farm lesser charms back in the day (I did it myself sometimes when I was short) and so it’s not like blizz didn’t know that was a thing. But yeah I foresee this being the excuse now for why cloaks can’t be account wide and have to be capped :(

Their promo is about being “overpowered” so I don’t get it. Well actually I do because the community is toxic. It launched Thursday and already the “if you don’t have X or Y don’t even bother applying to the group” has started. So I sort of get why balance is a concern but at the same time it’s a limited time mode, that has no bearing on the actual live servers as it’s all locked away. Boost everyone up. Although this clearly anathema to them. I’m on a Fury Warrior and my primary stat is in the red because they have thrown a class wide nerf buff thing, that lowers my stats just by logging in. Like why? They said in an interview about powering up enough to solo raids and sure, make that possible without exploiting creative game mechanics (aka frogs). Let everyone have mad fun and not just those who have spent all day everyday racing ahead.

Sorry ranting again. I’m just disappointed. I shouldn’t have got so enthusiastic about this mode. I shouldn’t have believed the PTR or all the videos of players excitedly talking about it. I should have expected it was too good to be true. But I was counting down until launch. I hyped up my guild. I rearranged my regular Thursday night plans as I wanted to experience the chaos of the launch, and jump right in. And now yeah I am just so demotivated :(

[saiyanandproud]

🖤

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

"I mean... As an Earthling juding an Arcosian, I guess Cooler is... Objectively attractive?"

She glances up at her comrades of the Young Armored Squadron from across the table. Damn her idea of suggesting something fun to play after dinnertime.

"I mean, he's elegant, noble-looking. He has elegant features, too. A nice posture." She nods, trying to look formal, ignoring Isa's peering eyes. "Between him and his brother, I'd certainly say he's the hottest, yeah."

"Should we hightlight 'hot' as well?" Ketch suggests with a grin.

Mariko doesn't answer, only glares at him.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

Mariko looks down at the mug in her hands. Inside it, there is a warm drink improvised by Neiz, something tasting oddly similar to hot chocolate.

"Yes, he is confusing," she confirms. "I mean, I can see how some people might think he's a dictator..." She has to be careful with words, on this spaceship. "He's ambitious and wants to expand his control over the universe. But he's also... Respectful of the cultures he meets? At least from what I've seen."

She does wonder how respectful he would be towards her if he knew about her full genetic heritage, though...

"He is charismatic, and I can see why his men trust him. I mean, we do as well, right?" She's quick to add with an awkward smile at her friends. "But he's also kinda shielded. Doesn't surprise me, I bet he counts more enemies than friends..."

"Why did you highlight 'artistic'?" Plum asks, curious.

Mariko shrugs and takes a sip from her mug.

"I can see him playing some instrument, or writing poetry. I bet he does."

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

"Seriously?!" Mariko jumps on her feet at Ketch's question, face burning bright under the Brench's shit-eating grin.

"It's just a game," he insists suavely. Next to him, Isa's face is a warm pink under her perlescent complexion, while Plum looks like a kid caught in a conversation way too mature for him. "Come on, answer!"

"To have everyone gossiping about it?" Mariko casts a quick glance at Neiz, busy cleaning up the kitchen from across the cafeteria. He seems distracted, but she is sure he can hear them from over there. "No thanks. I got busted once already for a similar question, and I am sure Cooler still remembers it."

"Yeah," Isa comments cooly, "so do I."

"How about you, Isa?" Ketch asks, this time hesitantly. "How likely would you--"

"Next question," Isa rules, peremptory.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

Mariko frowns. "I'm his pupil, not his friend," she says. "And I'm sure he'd agree with me on this."

Isa nods in approval, while Ketch rolls his eyes with a bored snort. Plum shrugs.

"Okay," the Durian says, "but what if you could be friends with him?"

Mariko blinks. She looks down at her mug once more.

"Well... Yeah, I guess I'd like that," she murmurs. "It'd be interesting to know more of him."

But she is certain the feeling wouldn't be reciprocated.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"Hah," Mariko grins, "get it?"

Ketch chuckles while Isa gives Mariko a deadpan look.

"Very funny," she says flatly. "As if you guys haven't made this stupid joke a hundred times already," she adds, giving Ketch a reprimanding frown.

"And it's still as good as the first time," the Brench prince snickers.

"Cooler doesn't seem to mind it either," Plum suggests, trying to appease the Arcosian rookie.

Mariko wears a smile and takes another sip to hide her face. She couldn't say that, the first time she met Cooler, she didn't trust him a single bit.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"Again with this joke?!" Isa snaps, exasperated.

Ketch gives Mariko a high-five.

"Wait," Plum asks, reading the answers with a confused look, "what do you mean with 'he's growing on you'?"

Everyone at the table falls silent. Three pair of alien eyes turn at Mariko at unison.

She shrugs, tense.

"I mean... I'm getting to appreciate him," she mutters. "Getting to know him closely and all."

"You mean you didn't appreciate him before?" Isa inquires, narrowing her lilac eyes.

"No, I--"

"You mean you kinda like him?" Ketch suggests with a large grin. "Which brings us back to that question you haven't answered earlier--"

"I mean what I said," Mariko cuts them short, cheeks warm. "He's a good leader and I appreciate him as a mentor. That's all."

The three rookies hesitate for a moment, then they all give up with a nod, looking down at the list of questions. Ketch glances around.

"So... Whose turn is it?" He asks.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed," Isa says, quick to stand up and leave the table.

"Yeah... Me too," Mariko clumsily imitates them, leaving the half-full mug on the table. "See you tomorrow, guys."

As Mariko and Isa leave, Katch stares at them with a baffled look. He then turns at Plum, who answers a hesitant look. Ketch sighs, reaches out to grab Mariko's mug, and slurps a sip from it.

"So, Plum," he says, "how would you rate Lord Cooler on attractiveness?"

Plum answers a long, dragged sigh.

[theoscout]

Ugh the flames of phlegethos feat for tieflings is driving me up a wall again...

It's best used with the fire bolt cantrip and the green flame blade cantrip. There are some subclasses such as alchemist and artillerist artificer, a bunch of cleric subclasses, celestial warlock, draconic sorcerer,

Since you need to be good at spellcasting to use this effectively, which means using shilleagh, doing hexblade, or being some kind of artificer which uses intelligence to attack and damage rolls.

I've been fucking driving myself insane when I try to get ALL these cantrips AND get the bonus to fire damage or cantrip damage, AND not be too MAD. I think I've already gone mad by this, actually.

The optimum method is probably to just be a draconic sorcerer with a 1 level dip in hexblade warlock so you get all three. HOLY SHIT. I got it!!!!

Abyssal tiefling is optimum because of extra hit points. Then you take dragonic sorcerer for more hit points!!! When you dip warlock you take the spells that aren't really save or suck, such as presidigitation or something. You get medium armor proficiency and martial weapons and shields which is super cool!!! You get charisma to hit with weapons and green flame blade, you get fire bolt for a longer range, and you get a bonus to your attacks via your draconic heritage!!! AND you get more space with which to take elemental adept so that pesky fire resistance won't bother you!!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[divinewill]

Capítulo Trece: All This and Heaven Too

I donned my armor, and Mrs. Chiba plotted the route to the meeting location on her phone, then told us, “It’s a fifteen-minute walk.”

Mrs. Chiba, holding the knife by the blade, handed Sakurai a knife and said, “If you’re coming with us, then you need to take this so you can defend yourself if necessary.”

Sakurai was clearly uncomfortable receiving the weapon. I doubted she had ever experienced getting punched in the mouth, let alone knew how to box.

The way she held the weapon told me she knew nothing of knifefighting. Mrs. Chiba seemed to notice as well. I could tell that she contemplated giving Sakurai her pistol, but then realized that the girl certainly had no experience with a firearm and therefore kept it.

I politely informed her, “If anything happens, you two need to run. I will handle it.”

Mrs. Chiba suggested, “As far as we know, it could be a trap.”

I stoically said, “I know, but even if it is, I’ll ensure both of you will remain safe.”

Sakurai inquired, “Do you have a plan, if it is?”

I told them, “Precise and overwhelming force. Same way I killed the gashadokuro yesterday.”

Sakurai asked me, “You killed a gashadokuro?”

I confirmed, “Fairly easily, actually.”

To my surprise, I kept my armaments throughout the panic yesterday. Instinctively holstering them in my armor before heading out to help with rescue.

As I holstered Ryūseiseki and Hiraiha and rested Kyūdōmujun on my back with a sash, Mrs. Chiba sighed. She removed a New Nambu M60 from her purse, then holstered it at her side.

She told me, “If you’re going to protect the people from devils. Melee weapons will not cut it. You need to keep a distance between yourself and the enemy.”

As I finished preparations, I informed her, “Advice assessed, but I have some mighty projectile weapons of my own.”

I stood up and Sakurai asked, “You can’t seriously intend to walk out like that?”

I smiled and said, “Just watch.”

Every aspect of my body gently, but rapidly reconfigured. My skin, hair, and eye colors changed, as my height, hair length, bust, hips, waste, relative trunk length, body type, nose breadth, face breadth, head breadth, and head height all changed. Some changes being barely noticeable and others being radical.

All the while, my horns receded into apparent non-existence, my fangs reducing to human proportions, and the claws on my fingers became like well-maintained nails.

I, in my altered, higher-pitched voice, asked, “What do you think?”

Young Sakurai simply said, “That’s amazing!”

The silent horror on Mrs. Chiba’s face told the truth of what she thought of my transformation.

I responded, “Thank you, and here’s another trick I’ve got.”

I snapped my fingers for showmanship, as opposed to necessity, and I cast an illusion that switched out the appearance of my armor and weapons with the appearance of Ms. Sakurai’s school uniform.

They were speechless at my glamouring powers, and as I opened the door, I simply said, “Now, please lead the way, Mrs. Chiba.”

In only a few seconds, I looked like a totally different person. I looked as if I could have been one of Ms. Sakurai’s younger classmates.

Ms. Chiba led the way as Sakurai asked me, “How did you do that?”

I confessed, “Your myths of oni, djinn, succubi, and vampires tell of their fantastical powers, among them shapeshifting and illusion casting. My adoptive metahuman parents give me the power to inherit all of my parents’ fantastical powers.”

Sakurai reached out to touch me and was startled when she pressed into fabric and soft flesh.

“It’s real!” she whispered.

I corrected her, “Not quite. My mythical heritage allows me the powers to interfere with your human sense perceptions, such as vision, mechanoreception, and proprioception, but these illusions are imperfect, and a sharp mind can tell when they are being deceived.”

I had the sense that Mrs. Chiba had already deduced this, though she kept such realizations to herself.

We made our way to an elevator, at which point I realized we were on the fifth, really fourth, floor.

Making our way to the lobby, we signed out and began walking.

I could tell that Sakurai felt yesterday in her legs, now that the adrenaline of today’s encounter was wearing off, so I offered, “If you’re tired, I can carry you on my back.”

She was adamant. “Absolutely not! Save your strength just in case you need it to beat some sense into those yōkai!”

I gave an uncomfortable smirk and continued. The unnatural silence was awful. It was as if the city had been largely abandoned, though there were a few stragglers in terms of small businesses operating.

Walking through empty sidewalks, across vacant streets, and in between uninhabited businesses gave a feeling as if we were moving through a pristine necropolis. Of course, it wasn’t hard to understand why these streets were so vacant. I would come to learn that most of the world entered a similar period of economic and social inactivity during the first few weeks of kaijū activities.

During our venture, Sakurai asked several questions ranging from small talk to poignant, but Mrs. Chiba remained relatively silent on all except one.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Chiba... I remember an American classmate explaining the Pentagon’s history of outlandish military simulations: for alien invasion, zombie apocalypses, and even kaijū. So, I was wondering, since you are ex-JSSDF, do you think the United States or Japan knew about the existence of these things?”

Mrs. Chiba admitted, “I do not think so, and even if they did, I was in the wrong part of the JSSDF to ask those kinds of questions. When the various alphabet agencies of America were dissolved, the heads of those organizations destroyed countless classified documents, for which they were rightly arrested, tried, and convicted. So, it’s possible that this information was lost.”

I asked her, “What are the alphabet agencies?”

Mrs. Chiba rattled on, “The agencies which were ruled to be unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the United States a few decades ago, when the tenth amendment was finally upheld as it should have always been. They were the CIA, FBI, NSA, ATF, IRS, BLM, DEA, etc.”

She spoke with authority on the topic, as if she were someone well-versed through instruction and study.

So I asked her, “How do you know so much about America?”

She confessed, “My grandfather was a general of the United States Marine Corps with a master’s degree in both American and Japanese history.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you’re of mixed race like us?”

She told me, “No. My grandfather is White, but I am fully Japanese.”

I asked a followup question. “Were you adopted, like me?”

She explained, “Kind of. My mother was conceived through rape, but my grandfather loved my mother as if she were his own daughter, and he adored me as if I were his own granddaughter. My grandmother wanted to abort her, but my grandfather wouldn’t stand for it. They argued day in and out, and eventually he convinced her to keep the baby. Which is why I am here.”

She couldn’t see the smile that her words put on my face due to being ahead of us.

I told her, “I’m glad your grandfather changed your grandmother’s mind.”

She did not respond to the comment, but I had a sense that she understood and received my intention.

Sakurai said, “I’d like to meet this grandfather of yours. He sounds like a good man.”

Mrs. Chiba told her, “Best I can do is take you to his grave.”

Sakurai apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mrs. Chiba kindly explained, “Not everything is as it first appears. He took his own life after my grandmother passed away in a traffic accident. A combat related TBI inhibited his ability to cope with the loss, and it destroyed my family. It’s not your fault for bringing it up. There’s no way you could have known, so don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

There was a great tragedy implicit in the idea that a man who saved a child’s life would take his own and steal himself from that same child’s adult life. I didn’t believe that Mrs. Chiba really came to terms with it, given the change in heart rate, which would have been inaudible to human ears but were perfectly audible to my owl-like audition. However, I didn’t pry about it.

I was a demon slayer, after all. Neither psychotherapy nor spiritual counseling were skillsets I possessed.

Long before we got there, since the restaurant where we were supposed to meet was downwind, I experienced the luscious sanguine smell of a large bowl of blood curd. It made me salivate as I anticipated its lovely flavor. It was nectarous—the metallic tang accompanied by sizzling scents of beef, onions, rice, and other foodstuffs. Though the scent of blood was the thing which was foremost in my olfactory focus.

I was part-vampire, so a fixation on these tastes, smells, textures, and sights were hardwired into my biology.

As we approached our destination, we saw Hakutenga standing outside the restaurant. She flagged us down with a standing wave and a smile. Inviting us into the establishment and showing us to the table where her associate sat alone.

“Come, friends. Let us dine together as we negotiate our terms.” She requested.

We sat on the opposite side of Hakutenga and the Shinigami, who needed to be reminded by a gentle but forceful elbow to introduce herself. “My friend has reminded me I forgot to introduce myself yesterday. I apologize for the rude behavior. My name is Fukushi (福死). I am a Shinigami.”

Much to Fukushi’s apparent, though subtle, delight, that admission gave her both Mrs. Chiba and Sakurai’s full attentions. Although I could not perceive it, I knew she had Nenia trained on the Shinigami specifically. Ready to immobilize her at the drop of a pin.

Hakutenga snidely remarked, “You were more than rude, Fukushi.”

Fukushi rolled her eyes and was forcefully nudged again.

A waiter came by to take our orders and, and just as promised, Fukushi offered to pay the tab for everyone there. Hakutenga requested sukhoe (숙회) and tea. Fukushi ordered bulgogi (불고기) with water. Sakurai asked for kimchi pancakes and orange juice, and Mrs. Chiba chose egg dumplings with water.

I, of course, requested the sŏnji-guk, which I suspect our hosts preordered for me. The waitress took the order, and Fukushi paid up front in gold coins without rising from her seat. She then pressed her index finger to her lips as if to request the waiter’s silence. The waiter, who was the owner of the business, left without protestation to prepare the food, clearly enthused and intimidated by the sheer degree that our host clearly overpaid.

Hakutenga then introduced herself. “Hello, as you know, my name is Hakutenga. I am a Swan-maid, most recently born in the 1970s.”

I thought to myself, “most recently born?” What the hell does that mean?

Hakutenga asked, “So tell us a bit about yourselves.”

Mrs. Chiba took charge and answered before either I or Sakurai had the opportunity, “My name is Chiba, I am a former officer of the Japan Self-Defense Force.”

She then glanced at Sakurai, who introduced herself. “My name is Sakurai. I am a student studying to one day become a nurse.”

It was now my turn. “I am Setagaya. I am a devil hunter and protector of the people who raised me.”

Fukushi lit a cigarette as she derisively said, “Your commitment to the defense of these mortals is admirable, if somewhat misguided. I am certain that mankind can defend itself…”

Then a thought crossed her mind, and she asked, “Wait, you’re mortal-raised?”

I defensively deflected, “What of it?”

Fukushi observed, “You do not seem to be a hanyō.”

I corrected her, “That’s because I’m not. I am a full-blooded yōkai.”

Hakutenga asked, “Wait. Then, do you know anything about Otherworld?”

I admitted, “Not much more than what I can gleam from human mythologies and extremely rare conversations with lost and weary travelers.”

Hakutenga asked me, “How far back can you remember? Do you remember the Xenotheomachia?”

I asked her, completely confounded, “The what?”

The question seemed to catch Mrs. Chiba’s attention, though it was so subtly telegraphed that only I seemed to have noticed.

Hakutenga explained, “The war between the devas (天人) known to Earth and asuras (阿修羅) known to another world.”

I asked her, “Known to another world? Do you mean a pantheon of an alien planet or another universe?”

Then Fukushi explained, “That, or another Human World (人間界) entirely. There are countless planets in the Human World inhabited by their own autochthonic human populations, with their own distinct pantheons.

“Otherworld is a trichiliocosm: a network of three thousand million lokas interconnected through a network commonly analogized as an all-pervading world tree atop a cosmic mountain and separated by a veil. Celestial world (天界), Spirit World (霊界), Demon World (魔界), Beast-Man World (獣人界), and Talking Beast World (能言獸界) are but the tip of this cosmology.”

If the Earth felt small before—a blue pixel encircling but one insignificant speck of light itself drifting alongside hundreds of millions of other stars in one galaxy out of more than one hundred billion galaxies within the observable universe, which was, itself, only a fragment of the universe in reality—then it certainly felt smaller now.

As far as I knew, the universe could be incomprehensibly vast but bounded in a manner like the classic asteroids game, where traversing the edge leads to one reentering from another part of the boundary. Or it could be infinite in spatial extent. Certainly, the world of devas and asuras, the ancient gods and devils, was more expansive than the Human World. And knowing that there were at least four other lokas alongside these two, this universe of interconnecting lokas suddenly became much larger.

Chiba interjected, “Pardon the intrusion, but it sounds as if you are describing the universe as a 3-sphere. Are these worlds nested alongside each other in a higher spatial medium? Separated from each other at right angles to the three degrees of freedom we are currently moving through in our ‘Manuṣyaloka’ (人間界)?”

Fukushi rudely dismissed the soldier. “Alright, Alighieri.”

This response confused both me and Sakurai, so I asked, “Alighieri? As in Dante Alighieri?”

Chiba explained, “The geometry of Dante Alighieri’s universe in his Divine Comedy is highly reminiscent of a sphere with four spatial dimensions and one time dimension—a 3-sphere. I guess that means you have some familiarity with Western literature?”

I looked at her, astonished, and she admitted, “What? I’m a math major.”

Fukushi annoyed, but amused, said with a condescending tone, “Cute, but clever child.”

Chiba took this comment on the chin. It was clear that she had questions, and we three earthlings understood that, as far as we knew, she could be thousands of years older than any of us.

Hakutenga asked me, “Then, does that mean you’ve never heard of the antigod (祅)?”

This question took me aback, so I asked, “Please elaborate.”

She obliged, “Thousands of years ago, the veil between the Human World, Otherworld, Beast-Man World, and Talking Beast World was fortified by an unknown and alien antigod calling themselves the ‘author of tragedies-turned-comedy’. This unidentified being possessed the deva the Romans called Iānus and compelled him to foretell the birth of a human supergod (超神).

“According to prophecy, this supergod and their descendants would be immune to the powers of angels (天使), buddhas (仏), immortals (仙), gods (神), yāo (妖), devils (魔), and ghosts (鬼).”

I asked her, “Do you know the identity of this supergod?”

Fukushi took a puff of her cigarette and admitted, “No. There has been no successful attempt at divining the identity of this alleged supergod. Moreover, we are entering an era where even the precognition of the Fates is failing them. The Sky Striker is adamant that this is because of the passive interference of this being.”

Sakurai asked, “Is that because this supergod will be active in our future history, and knowing the effects of their activities would allow the Fates to divine the identity of this supergod?”

Hakutenga was enthusiastic about how quickly we seemed to catch on. “That is spot on regarding what the oracles and sages think is fated to happen, I…”

I interrupted her. “I do not believe in fate.”

There was a beat of silence.

Chiba asked, “Does this alien antigod have something to do with the hitherto unelaborated Xenotheomachia mentioned earlier?”

Fukushi revealed to us, “I do not think so. Almost two and a half thousand years ago, Otherworld was invaded by alien gods (星人の神々). Their most terrifying warrior was a god of strength; a deva of power seemingly unbounded. History tells of his prodigious strength in the xenotheomachia (外空神之戦). At the battle of Sakura Archipelago, an immortal (仙), knowing how to summon mountains, dropped Mount Sumeru (須弥山) upon the shoulders of that alien asura. That did not work, so he then dropped mount Éméi (峨眉山). But even these two cosmic mountains proved insufficient to stop this monster, and the divergent daemon continued to move with the speed of a meteor. As the foreign god mocked them for their efforts, Mount Tai (泰山) was employed, but this too could not stop his strength beyond strength, which allowed him to overcome devas of war while bearing the weight of the three mountains. At the battle of Hell Valley, a bodhisattva dropped the Five Phase Mountain (五行山) atop him, and it still proved impossible to slow him down.”

Fukushi shuddered. “Nothing seemed to stop him. Kailash (岡仁波齐峰), Fuji (富士山), and Olympus (オリンポス山) all failed to slow him down, and his strength threatened to shatter the world tree.”

My older escort chuckled, “So the powers of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism did not stop him… So, the devas turned to Jainism, Shintō, and Platonism?”

The swan maiden explained, “He matched Heracles in strength, and could even hold his own against the Striker. Our best magical bindings, such as Gleipnir and the Golden Headband (金箍圈), were impotent to ensnare him.”

The Striker, being the deva interpreted as Zeus (Ζεύς) by the Greeks, Thor (Þórr) by the Norse, and Indra (帝釈天) by the Indians.

She continued, “While the invaders had many powerful avatars embodying strength, courage, wisdom, wit, light, death, and heart, among other realities, armed with terrifying astras… the terror of his power helped them wage psychological warfare against the Otherworld. It was a battle unlike anything ever seen before, more devastating than the Aesir-Vanir war, Titanomachy, Gigantomachy, Theomachy, and all the conquests that the Striker undertook to conquer Otherworld.”

I asked her, “Then how did Otherworld survive?”

She explained, “An unknown intelligence, neither deva, buddha, nor immortal (仙), in the guise of a queen of light, commanded that a mountain, which was only 765 meters tall, be dropped on him, and he ground to a halt. Not in the sense of collapsing from exceeding his physical strength, but in the sense that he had a revelation. With that, both sides stopped fighting, and the alien asuras agreed to leave Otherworld.

I asked her, “So, one small mountain did this? Do you know the identity of the mountain? Or perhaps the person who did this?”

Fukushi seemed to not want to admit an answer, so Hakutenga (白天鵞) explained, “Hallvarðr is adamant that the being who dropped the mountain was an angel (天使) acting on behalf of the queen of Heaven (天后), and that the mountain was Zion (シオン).”

I raised my eyebrow and asked incredulously, “You’re serious?”

Me and Chiba understood what that would mean if true, but Sakurai seemed to not understand the implications thereof.

The Shinigami admitted with a smirk, “Then you and me are on the same wavelength regarding that. I’ll grant him the bit about the angel. Those are way more terrifying than any deva or asura I’ve ever seen, but I do not believe that his assessment of the mountain’s identity is plausible.”

I asked, genuinely confused, “Have you ever met an ‘angel’?”

The Shinigami took a deep puff of the smoke and, after exhaling the noxious fumes, revealed, “No, but Hallvarðr has. As have some of the most powerful devas and immortals, and let’s just say that I have no interest in ever meeting anything like that.”

Hallvarðr, in the guise of a sharply dressed Germanic strongman entered the restaurant and spoke from behind us, “In Otherworld, the devas live in Devaloka (天界) and we Yāo live in Māraloka (魔界), as humans live in Manuṣyaloka. Though there are magicians so powerful that they can generate their own lokas.”

Fukushi, as Hallvarðr made his way to our table and took an empty seat from the adjacent table to sit down with us, elaborated, “That is how Brahmāloka (梵天界) and Viṣṇuloka (毘紐天界) came to be, through the mastery of 3,000 Great Paths (三千大道).”

I couldn’t help but think to myself, “The hell is this, a Xiānxiá (仙俠) novel?”

Hallvarðr, stoically courteous towards the interruption, continued, “Although, this is not where angels live. You see, these lokas where the gods and monsters of your human mythologies live are still limited within space and time. But angels exist in Aloka (無界): a state of being transcending space and time.”

He introduced himself. “Hello, my name is Hallvarðr. I see you have met my associates.”

Chiba and Sakurai introduced themselves before Sakurai asked, “So, angels are nowhere?”

Hallvarðr pulled out what appeared to be a folded piece of cloth from his shirt pocket, which he then unfolded into a full-sized cloth chessboard, with all the pieces placed in their appropriate starting positions.

He explained, “We are the pieces on the board. We move about the board through the spaces or intersections. Angels are not like that. Their relation to lokas is not analogous to our relationship to this board. Rather…”

He flipped the board over, the pieces keeping their placement relative to the board and effortlessly flattening as they are gently pressed against the table.

He continued, “the relationship between *where* the angels are is analogous to the back of the board. While not within the zone of gameplay, it is simultaneously equidistant and intimate to every square and intersection on the board’s face.”

Chiba asked him, “Would that mean that they can interact with all lokas, even the artificial ones?”

Hallvarðr told her, “Correct. Even devas, immortals, and buddhas who have manifested their own lokas have had no success barring them from interfering with their work.”

Fukushi chastised him, “You’re late. Where have you been?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “I apologize for my lack of punctuality. I have been exploring the local library. It’s not every day I get to see such a sight as this.”

Hakutenga explained, “Hallvarðr is a bit of an anthropophile. He is endlessly fascinated with human cultures and has obtained several books from human philosophers and theologians, with a particular bend towards the Catholic dharma. Books from the Human World are scarce in Otherworld because of the aforementioned fortification of the veil, so his relatively modest collection of texts is quite impressive.”

Hallvarðr admitted, “Very true. My father passed on to me a copy of the Proslogion, and I have been forever fascinated with theology. I traveled across Otherworld, looking for human books which made their way through the veil. During those excursions, I have obtained a copy of the Incoherence of the Philosophers from a tribe of djinn (幽精), as well as a copy of the Summa Theologiæ from a hippocentauress (女性のケンタウルス), the Summa contrā Gentīlēs from a phoenix-maid (不死鳥処女), the Kuzari from a flesh golem, and even received the N’yāyakusumāñjali from a deva.”

Hakutenga asked, “Did you find anything to your liking?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “Yes! I bought quite a few books. The two that have caught my eye specifically are the historical evaluations titled ‘On the Reliability of the Old Testament’ by Kenneth Kitchen and ‘The Historical Reliability of the Gospels’ by Craig L. Bloomberg.”

Sakurai made an opportunity to ask Fukushi, “What makes you doubt Hallvarðr’s claim regarding the identity of the mountain?”

The Shinigami explained, “I simply do not believe in a God (上帝). So I have no reason to believe such an entity causally relates to the event.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you believe in angels, but not God the parent (親神様)?”

Fukushi insisted, “Unlike Hallvarðr, who must refer to God (自在) in order to make sense of the world, my worldview possesses no such deficiency. And even if such a being as this exists, I see no soteriological or magical relevance which would give his mountain relevance to my goal of obtaining the Dharmakāya (法身).”

Hallvarðr critiqued, “On the contrary, your worldview is explanatorily deficient in many areas of metaphysics and history.”

The look on Fukushi’s face was one of unyielding resolve and competitive respect. Such as someone who has struggled in debate against an unyielding and squirrely but cunning and honest opponent.

Hallvarðr asked her, “You were there in a previous life. What mountain do you believe it could have been? Surely, the mountain of the man who demonstrated his total mastery over life and death by not only being born of a virgin who was preserved from all ancestral and personal sin, died then came back to life in his original body transfigured into immortality, then raised all his saintly dead from their graves in their original reconstituted bodies, all under his own power, would be a reasonable candidate?”

Fukushi responded, “Poppycock.”

Hallvarðr reminded her, “There is a small population of humans that has lived in Otherworld for thousands of years, and among them are validly ordained priests whose lineages predate the East-West Schism. How do you explain the priests’ powers to obliterate harmatiological karmas that condemn the soul of a Faerie (妖精) to punishments in their next life?”

I assumed that the word yōsei (妖精) was being used in place of the English “faerie”, which seemed to refer to all mythical intelligences that were neither human, nor angel, nor God in Celtic mythology.

Fukushi asked, “Simple, Jesus was a Buddha. How does this differ from the powers of Amitābha?”

Hallvarðr explained, “Anyone who honestly claims that Jesus was a Buddha is either ignorant of the teachings of Christ or ignorant of the teachings of Buddha. Jesus made no claim to Buddhahood, nor do the historical documents show that he was one. The power to forgive sins represents total mastery over karma, where all harmatiological consequences are invisibly resolved. The power to grant this hamartiologically absolvent power, such as the power to release and bind punitive karmas, was given to his apostles by virtue of his word alone, as well as to the holy orders by virtue of their inheritance. This demonstrates an ability to communicate his power to men. What Buddha has the power to communicate their grace to another, such that the power granted to them is efficacious despite the deficiency of the apostle’s character, knowledge, enlightenment, or works?”

Fukushi batted back with, “You are really going to ignore the fact that reincarnation clearly happens? That is not compatible with the teachings of Christ, but is with those of the Buddha.”

Hallvarðr told her, “The Church teaches that ‘it is appointed for men to die once’. This does not hold true for other rational souls. Angels, for example, cannot ever die, as they have no body to slay, and cannot subject themselves to time. Thus, they cannot change. Rather, their ultimate fate is determined by a single immutable choice.

“Whereas the ultimate fate of man is determined by a lifetime of decisions wherein they willingly move within and without the Logos (道). We faeries are not men, nor are we angels. We are appointed to be born and to die in a multiplicity of lifetimes, with our ultimate fate decided at the end of our last life.

“We know this because we see in ourselves precisely what we do not see in men and angels but would expect to see if reincarnation were their fate, and this is because we have bodies which are malleable and polymorphous. Given our the soul is the form of our body, our vital principle can be transmitted from one host to another because the principle of our identity has different potentialities to actualize than a human being or an angel.

“Since it is the soul of man which is the essence of man, and the soul of a cat the essence of a cat, it cannot be that ‘the soul which rules man should take on itself the nature of a beast’ or angel ‘so opposed to that of man’. Nor can our souls take upon themselves the nature of a human, beast, or angel so opposed to ours. This is because the soul contains within it the organizing principle which animates the body.

“While our bodies are malleable, the bodies of the sensible and rational animals are fixed, and thus can only ever bond with their own singular lifespan under natural means.

“We see this evidenced in our past life recollections. It is not uncommon among us to see that the souls of our children vary at their conception. We find that, as they mature, through the recollection of past life memories, some souls are clearly newborn while others are ancient.

“‘If souls depart at different ages of human life, how is it they come back again at one uniform age? For all men are imbued with an infant soul at birth.’ I can think of no example where a faerie can recall ever being human in a past life, or an animal or an angel, in a manner that our psychic powers cannot adequately explain.

“Similarly, we find that there is no human that can reliably recall ever having been a faerie, an animal, or an angel.”

At first, Chiba and I were getting progressively more annoyed as this tangential conversation continued, while Sakurai just seemed lost. But we both realized that this sidetracked conversation was freely giving us a lot of information that would be desperately necessary to make a wise decision. So, we paid as close attention as we could, without this specialized knowledge.

The waiter came back with our food, and, though we continued to talk, we all ate. I finally got my ambrosia, and it was more satisfying than I expected. Because of the conversation, I had forgotten how hungry I was. The waiter asked Hallvarðr if he wanted something to eat, and Hallvarðr politely declined, so the waiter left.

Sakurai, a Tenrikyōist, and therefore someone who believes in both God and reincarnation, chimed in. “You said that the bodies of faeries could keep cross life memories because of the malleability of their bodies… Doesn’t that explain why humans don’t keep these memories?”

Hallvarðr said, “My dear, even if I grant your suggestion, human reincarnation still does not stand. This is because the act of transforming the essential form of Saoirse into that of Sakura still destroys the form of Saoirse in the same manner that transforming the essential form of man into that of a cat destroys the form of man. There can be no continuity within such transmigration.”

Fukushi defended, “This assumes Hylomorphic metaphysics. I would challenge the idea that those substantial forms, as you have described, even exist.”

Sakurai, flustered, pulled away. I was so caught up in the conversation that I did not realize the girl’s obvious attraction to the guise this troll had adopted. Though, I highly doubt that she would be as interested in his monstrous true form.

She simply said, “I agree with you that God the Parent (親神様) exists and is the master of karmas (いんねん), but I also think that Ms. Fukushi has a point. That it is part of God’s design and wisdom that humans may have a fresh start (出直し) through saṃsāra (輪廻), and that the soul preserves some form of continuity as it passes between lives.”

Hallvarðr asked her, “My dear, might I ask what is your religion is?”

Sakurai told him, “I am a Tenrikyōist (天理教家).”

Hakutenga remarked, “I assumed you were a Hindu, honestly.”

Hallvarðr apologized, “Pardon my ignorance, but I am unfamiliar with this religion. Would you have any suggested reading?”

The girl fumbled through her bag and presented him with a copy of the Ofudesaki. He placed a scroll atop it, and we saw as the text automatically copied from the book onto the parchment.

With no need for the original text, he gave the book back to Sakurai and thanked her, “I appreciate your gesture, but I do not mean to deprive you of your property. I will gladly get back to you when I’ve finished reading this book.”

The girl, beat red, deigned to accept the offer, “Of course. I’d love to talk to you when you’re done with it.”

Having seen what he looked like without the guise and realizing that he was, in fact, not flirting with her and was oblivious to her attraction to him, I felt bad for the poor girl. And as interesting as it might be to get a better understanding of fey metaphysical biology, I felt it necessary to redirect the conversation to what was of the essence.

“I do not mean to disrupt your riveting conversation, but I need to know what it is you’ve called me here for.” I reminded them.

Fukushi recited a spell, in some unintelligible though human language, which Hallvarðr translated as, “If you do not open the gate to let me in, I shall smash the door and shatter the bolt. I shall smash the doorpost and overturn the doors. I shall raise up the dead and they shall devour the living: and the dead shall outnumber the living.”

Chiba and I both recognized this as a translation of the threat Ishtar (𒌋𒁯) makes in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Hallvarðr revealed, “I’m sorry for the delay, so I’ll cut to the chase. We would like to petition for your help, should the time come that we find the Lich-Czar.”

I remember him calling this villain a necromancer of the devil path, but to learn that they had succeeded in the greatest act of necromancy—turning themselves into an undead magician—was new.

He continued, “The antigod seems to have eroded the veil between Otherworld and Earth, resulting in naturally and supernaturally formed doorways where yāo, devils, asuras, gods, and immortals alike are likely to enter the Human World. Men may also venture into Otherworld, and possibly even Beastman World and Talking Beast World. From what little we know, this necromancer has obtained siddhis unknown to Otherworld from their human lineage. So, we suspect they will make their way to this side of the veil to study this power.”

Fukushi explained, “We are offering you our help in defending your adoptive people. So, will you alert us if you should find evidence he has crossed the veil?”

Hakutenga chimed in, “They will provide training from experienced martial magicians, to teach you what your human teachers may not have been able to about your fey powers.”

I told them, “These terms are acceptable. I would never leave my homeland undefended, but when the time comes, I will deign to help you slay, or at least contain, this devil.”

I was still wildly uncomfortable with the potential killing of a half-human, something which Hallvarðr seemed to sense.

He promised, “You do not have to be the one to deal the killing blow. If you can help us capture him alive, we can put him on trial as per the custom of the Phoenix-folk, so they can decide his fate.”

I admitted, “I find such a proposition agreeable.”

Seeing that we had fulfilled the point of this meeting, Sakurai asked him, “By human siddhis, did you mean superpowers?”

They seemed unfamiliar with this term, and Hallvarðr admitted, “I do not know.”

Sakurai explained, “Some humans have siddhis which they can pass down to their children through descent, adoption, or fostering. Each one is unique, with no two metahumans having the same powers.”

She pulled out an omnibus reprint of ‘Darker Than Black’ containing volumes one through three and handed it to Hallvarðr.

“It’s not exactly like this, from what I understand, but the Earth’s native magic is very similar to the superpowers found in comics dating all the way back to the 1930s and the literary traditions stemming from them.”

He looked at the strange codex and copied it in the same manner he copied the original and gave it back with, “I will be certain to read this. Thank you, lovely miss.”

She blushed and I, sporting a shit-eating grin, nudged her with my elbow, then said, “Wanna show him?”

She asked, in a confused stupor, “What?”

I stood up and said, “I’ve agreed to help you, but I still need to smash in your smug Shinigami snout for how she treated my hosts?”

Fukushi stood up and said, “You are…”

Suddenly, before she could complete standing up, the Shinigami went catatonic despite being fully conscious of her situation.

I mocked her. “That’s what you get for being rude to my ward.”

Hakutenga worriedly attended to her, “Fukushi, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”

Hallvarðr, likewise on his feet, attended to her. A composed but worried curiosity inscribed on his face, as he nudged her with his hand and snapped his fingers in front of her face to illicit a response.

He turned to us and calmly interrogated, “What did you do to her?”

I told them, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Turning to Sakurai, I requested, “Release her, please.”

Sakurai, without moving, did as I requested, and you could see the panicked gasping of the Shinigami as she leaped to her feet and almost fell.

I told him, “Humans with innate siddhis, obtained through descent, adoption, or fostering, are called metahumans. Every metahuman’s powers are different, even if they, at first, appear to be the same.”

Hakutenga, attending to Fukushi’s panicked state, commented, “So this is the power of ‘metahumans‘?”

I told them, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Hakutenga asked, “Would you be able or willing to find other such ‘metahuman’ magicians? Abilities such as these may be quite useful in controlling and combating devils.”

I confessed that, “I am reluctant to solicit human help in dispatching devils. Metahumans have one or two abilities, and not all of them suited for battle. Even if they have a siddhi which could prove useful for such, metahumans are still human. In contrast, our kind have a myriad of abilities to draw from.”

Hakutenga asked, “So that is a ‘no’?”

I confessed, “Correct.”

Mrs. Chiba stepped in. “I would advise you to investigate these claims further. While I have detected no lies, it may be prudent to verify this information yourself. Regardless, it would also be a good idea to find humans who can contend with faeries and prepare them to protect their country from this new devilish threat. In fact, I might be able to help with that second issue. I still have connections within the JSSDF, and I know a real military otaku who loves isekai. He would almost certainly dive into such an opportunity as this.”

She continued with a request, “If these claims prove true, could we count on you to present this information to our government? So they could prepare, as best they can, for these villains?”

Without skipping a beat, Hallvarðr said, “To defend my brother-race, and the species of my Lord, you have my word that, should you trust us enough, I can present this information to your leaders.”

This statement perplexed Mrs. Chiba, as she did not know that Hallvarðr was a Christian.

Mrs. Chiba looked at me and asked, “What about you, Ms. Setagaya?”

I answered with an affirmation, “Yes. I will gladly evidence the existence of devils if requested, but under no circumstances will I reveal my name. I have a family to safeguard, and a life to live.”

Hallvarðr commented, “That sounds reasonable.”

Mrs. Chiba did not look as if my answer was reassuring, but she did not pursue the issue.

I requested, “And please do not reveal my identity when you come out with this information.”

Mrs. Chiba simply said, “Of course.”

Her heart betrayed an indifference to my worries, but I understood that with both Sakurai and Hallvarðr here, I could not press this issue, so I let it slide for the time being.

After a long conversation over dinner, we parted ways on peaceful terms. Though before leaving, Sakurai petitioned Hallvarðr to meet up with her in the future so that they could discuss metaphysics, to which he agreed.

This was the first foreshadowing to me I now lived in a world where C. S. Lewis, Wú Chéng’ēn (吳承恩), H. P. Lovecraft, and Grant Morrison would collide with horrific effects: a world of angels, buddhas, outer gods, and supergods.

[mcclurefamily]

Linen!!! Ohmygoodness. My heart was racing the second we stepped into this shop. If you didn’t know already, I have an obsession with 100% linen and other natural fibers like organic wool. I even have a Story Highlight that shares all the reasons why! Check it out if your curious. This amazing yarn and weaving shop sang my song loud and clear! 🧶 From sheep to yarn, you can see in the pictures how they raise the sheep to produce the purest, softest, most beautiful, plant-dyed wool yarn. But my favorite was learning the process of how they take the flax plant to make beautiful dresses, strong as armor! I could’ve spent days here! 🧶 This sweet lady educated us on the beautiful transformation of flax seed to linen yarn. How they grow it, “rot it,” dry it, brush it, and then spin it into yarn, before weaving on the looms into clothing or linens to use in the home. The process is so intricate and time consuming, and sadly, almost lost due to the fast-fashion clothing industry. 🧶 This was by far a highlight of my trip to @homesteadheritage !! #senoritalily and I were enthralled by every inch of this place! #supermaven was ready for a nap and swimming once we got back into town...lol. 6.30.22 (at Homestead Heritage Village) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfbsfRxufJ4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[arosefromgilneas]

Me: No more alts till Shadowlands because getting to 120 is the most harrowing thing one can do after doing it 6 or so times previously.

Also me: -makes a fourth Vulpera character named Pidge and I want nothing more than to level her-

[apas-95]

what are your thoughts on the police files that just got leaked from xinjiang reeducation camps?

The ones from a supposed 'anonymous hacker' who's veracity was verified by... the Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation and Adrian Zenz, the ones who published them? What's that - we investigated if we were lying, and found ourselves to not be?

The same Adrian Zenz who says he's 'led by god' on a mission against China, whose prior research has already been torn to bits - his figure of a million supposed detainees coming from oral interviews with only eight people; his numbers showing an apparent alarming amount of IUD operations being a result of him literally just adding extra zeroes to a number 'accidentally' and implying, if given a second of thought, that every single woman in Xinjiang got a dozen IUD operations - this Adrian Zenz:

Adrian Zenz, who works for the surely-unbiased Victims Of Communism memorial foundation (which published this supposed 'leak'), an arm of the far-right Heritage Foundation.

All of which just-so-happens to come out as a UN delegation arrives in Xinjiang, surely ready to overshadow the reality that they, like every prior human rights delegation to the region, will not find a shred of evidence of what would be an incredibly gigantic, undeniable operation.

If such a terrible thing were really happening (without any apparent motive on the part of the Chinese government beyond Being Evil), wouldn't there be more clear evidence than blurry satellite pictures of schools and farms misidentified as concentration camps, random pictures of unrelated prisoners, and even Taiwanese BDSM footage rebranded to 'footage of torture in Xinjiang'?

Wouldn't someone, anyone with a shred more credibility than Adrian Zenz and the Victims Of Communism foundation be the original, primary source for any of the supposed leaks or studies that every article on Xinjiang traces back to?

We're already seeing the west in the midst of a propaganda war, where experts have said, openly, that the truth doesn't matter as much as making sure that what you're saying hurts The Enemy and helps The Good Guys - that misinformation can be a positive force, as long as you aim it at your enemy and believe it wholeheartedly - are we expected to just take them on good faith?

Most of the world isn't. The parts that are are the same ones in every map like this - the ones that don't recognise Palestine, the ones that oppose UN resolutions against glorifying neo-nazism, the ones that have 14% of the world's population but 73% of its wealth.

It's easy to say, thirty years later, that of course Iraqi soldiers weren't taking babies out of incubators, that of course they didn't have WMDs - but in the moment, in the churn, when you're caught up in the swell and you lose your bearings, it's a lot harder. If you notice you're on the side of the ones braying for war, and that they'll lie to get it, maybe that's a sign to rethink.

I understand why you'd believe it. If there's the slightest chance that this were really happening, I'd want to be one of the people who stood up. I wouldn't want to be someone who, in the pages of history, sat there, happily following the status quo as it committed terrible atrocities. The people in charge also understand, and they know that it's a powerful response. Atrocity propaganda is nothing new.

If you really care about standing on the right side of history, about actually opposing crimes against humanity while the world around you stands silent - then siding with the United States, the genocidal settler colony, the invader, the torturer, the armorer of apartheid, the boot on the neck of progress everywhere in the world; it's not the way to go.

[spaceasianmillennial]

The suitors of Din Djarin

Boba Fett: So, how’s your dating life?

Din Djarin: Weeeeeell, there’s was this lovely woman, Omera. Great woman, great mother to a kid. She asked me to stay. I couldn’t, but I think of her often.

Boba Fett: What about Cobb Vanth?

Din Djarin: Why him?

Boba Fett: You made out with him with your helmet on, and him wearing my helmet. Seriously, when I put my helmet back on I could smell the man on it and smelt that you kissed him in it. I have no grudge. It’s just that I’ve seen the man and I don’t blame you. So, what about him?

Din Djarin: He’s handsome. But there’s someone I rather helmet-kiss. And I have already.

Boba Fett: Who?

Din Djarin: There’s... Paz Vizsla. My ex-boyfriend. We fight, physically and verbally. We’re a perfect Mandalorian match. He wanted marriage. He wanted to see my face. But I wasn’t ready for that commitment. But the helmet making-out was good. Even when we broke up, we sparred like we did. But then---

Boba Fett: Oh, someone else.

Din Djarin: That Jedi Skywalker. He gave me his number. I mean, it was likely in case Grogu changed his mind and I might need to pick him up but I noticed he put XOXOXOX “You Have a Handsome Face” and realized he was hitting on me. It took me months to realize what that meant. 

Boba Fett: Look, I respect who you admire, but Jedi Skywalker is a rancor killer. He might be a good Jedi teacher to you kid, but he’s a rancor killer. I was gonna suggest you marry Cobb Vanth because you kissed him, but you should really marry Paz Vizsla if he’ll take you back. You two are compatible, both Mandalorian, both devout.

Din Djarin: What?

Boba Fett: I’m just saying, physical intimacy without marriage is immoral.

---

LATER

*Fennec answers a knock on Jabba’s Palace* 

Fennec: Do you have an appointment?

Paz Vizsla: DIN DJARIN WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Fennec: What the wha?

Din Djarin: What’s my ex-boyfriend doing here?

Boba Fett: Oh, I tracked him down. Told him about you. And it turns out, according to your Way, if he marries you, that means you’re be married back into your clan and forgiven. Trust me, I did consult your Armorer.

Din Djarin: YOU DID WHAT?

Boba Fett: Hey, I respect you and it changes nothing about how I feel about you. But I feel better if I work with someone who would legitimize their pre-martial intimacy.

Din Djarin: I’M NOT READY FOR COMMITMENT.

Boba Fett: C’mon, I’ll can officiate the wedding. Just breathe. He’s your true love. Just breathe.

---

Din Djarin and Paz Vizsla at the altar.

Boba Fett: Dearly beloved, deadly beloved, we’re all gathered here... If anyone objects to the union between these two Mandos- speak now or forever hold--

Cobb Vanth: (Breaking in and holding flowers) MANDO! 

Boba Fett: Does anyone else object--

Mayfield: (Charging in and holding flowers) BROWN EYES, I TRACKED YOU DOWN. EVER SINCE I SAW YOUR BROWN EYES-

Din Djarin: Fett, they’re ruining our special day. Do something!

Boba Fett: Are you kidding? Let’s see how far this goes. You’re delicious!

Paz Vizsla: Dear, I’m actually curious to see how long this plays out.

Luke Skywalker: (Coming in with his cloak and hood all mysterious with Grogu slung around his chest) Din Djarin, I should have asked you sooner, will you raise this youngling with me? With your healthy parenting skills and my Jedi training, Grogu will grow up into a healthy adult and have access to both of his heritage.

Paz Vizsla: Oh man, you got great options here. I don’t wanna stand in the way of your best one.

Omera: (Holding flowers) I was gonna say something but now I’m gonna sit this one out.

[beskarberry]

Blue Orchid

Flowers for Ishtar, Chapter 1

(Nonhuman!Mando x f!Reader) [+18!]

You’d had to bite down on the corner of your blanket when you thought of him pinning you to the wall or bending you over the dashboard, stuffing you full of his length while he groaned his praises in your ears until you were soaked.

This was not at all what you had imagined.

Next->

Summary: You discover your hunting partner isn't human, which in a galaxy far, far away isn't that strange until his alien needs become too much for him to hide.

Rating: Explicit as FUCK

Word count: 9.2k

Content warnings: Major kinks: breeding and pregnancy, eggs and oviposition, mpreg/fpreg, alien genitalia. Minor kinks: praise, eating and weight gain. Kink sprinkles: threw some things in like just a tad of sex pollen, hair pulling, spanking, a very brief daddy kink, the idea of a/b/o. There's a few more but if you're familiar with my writing you know what's up. Negatives: body horror, dysphoria.

A/N: Yeah... um... hm... So this is some weird shit but if you enjoyed Garden of Ishtar this will be right up your alley. If that was weird and creepy for you then this is not for you! You have been warned!!!

There’s something strange going on with your partner.

Mando, as he insisted on being called, even though that was clearly not his real name, had been acting differently recently. Though he was an odd one from the get-go, the burly, short-tempered, efficient hunter took some getting used to, but now something about him was off.

It was a strange partnership you’d gotten yourself into, ever since that day you had been sitting in the same cantina booth as him on Nevarro, arguing with Karga over the last available bounty puck.

“Karga, I’m not splitting a puck with this guy.” You’d barked, crossing your arms and leaning back with a huff. Next to you, the armored stranger grunted in agitated agreement, his plated shoulders catching the light as they stiffened. You didn’t know each other, and as far as you could tell the only thing you both had in common was that you both worked for the Guild.

“Well that’s too bad!” The old agent stated, shaking his head. “This is the last one I’ve got until next month, so unless one of you wants to wait until then, this is all I have left. You're going to have to work together as a team.”

“Unless I kill her first.” The iron giant said coldly, not even looking your way.

“I’d like to see you try.” A knife flew from your belt to the table as you buried the tip of it in the faux wood counter, glaring daggers with your eyes at his shiny metal head.

“Easy now, we’re all friends here! Can’t have my two best hunters fighting, or killing each other…”

“Bullshit, I’m the best hunter here, Kargsy, and you know it.” Fury seethed from your words, but it was seemingly lost on the other man. “Tinman here can go fuck himself.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, but I fuck yours with it!”

Greef slammed a fist down on the table, making the trio of spotchka glasses bounce and spill. “That’s enough, either you two figure out how to play nice or neither of you will be getting this puck, or any other pucks for that matter! And that’s final!”

That was six months ago.

Despite your differences, the pair of you made for a terrifying duo, between his heavily armored body and your quick, nimble blades, it was like hell itself had released its most deadly demons. The bounty was found, hunted, and captured so quickly and easily that the minute the Razor Crest touched back down on Nevarro you were both excitedly harassing Karga for more.

Your newfound companion didn’t talk much, but what he didn’t say with his words he made up for with his actions. He gave you a little backstory, filling you in on his Mandalorian heritage and what that meant regarding his helmet and armor, and you were fine with the condition that he would never show his face around you. What he did show you was how lethal he could be, a whirlwind of blasters and beskar, an immovable object that coupled neatly with your unstoppable force.

It was poetry in motion.

Bounties fell at your feet like wheat before the scythe, wracking up credits like Kessel-running smugglers which you both blew on firearms and vibroblades as if the galaxy was ending tomorrow. What didn’t go towards guns and ammo went towards food and fuel, the Crest blasting off of Nevarro again and again and again.

As time went on, you slowly started to warm up to each other. You couldn’t really say you were friends, just work partners that happened to be flawlessly efficient at what they did. It was a fine arrangement, but over time small, but significant changes between you started to catch your attention.

You’d pinned a bounty, a large, malodorous Twi’lek that nearly squirmed out from your grasp, only to earn themselves a vicious cold-clocking to the back of their tentacled skull. Breath heavy and eyes burning with aggression, you’d slogged the captive into the carbonite freezer like you were taking out the trash, your wanton strength not going unnoticed by your companion.

“Good job.” Mando had said with a tilt of his helmet, watching your chest heave with adrenaline. “Such a strong verd’ika, can’t wait to see what you do to the next guy.” He’d never complimented you up to that point, if he spoke to you at all. It’d caught you off guard, but in a good way, and you knew right then you wanted to hear him say it again.

So you kept doing a good job.

And you did it on purpose.

The next bounty you held in place while Mando punched their lights out, holding steadfast against the living sledgehammer that was your partner, wincing every time you felt his fists explode against the Aqualish’s exoskeleton. When they’d keeled over, you let them fall to the floor, jumping slightly when Mando patted your shoulder, impressed with your ability to hold your own.

He seemed kind, when he wasn’t retaliating against your snide remarks or beating the living shit out of a bounty. Often when it was just the two of you he was almost soft spoken, asking you if you got enough to eat or if your wounds needed tending to, but not once did he ever make a pass at you.

That was somewhat of a surprise, but you didn’t even know what species he was, so there was a good chance you weren’t even on his sexual radar. He looked human, he obviously wasn’t a Togruta or a Twi’ with that helmet, and he was too tall to be a Rodian or Ugnaught. Too broad to be Gungan.

He was humanly proportioned to a sinful degree, his wide armored shoulders and cinched waist giving you wicked thoughts in the late hours. Even his fucking voice did something to you, the deep, gravelly husk of it almost reverberated in your chest when he spoke, and more than once you wished it would vibrate for you somewhere else.

But you were just two hunters making a living, nothing more.

Recently, however, something had started to change; and it wasn’t something that you liked. You weren’t buddy-buddy, but in the recent weeks his demeanor had started to wane. Mando was always private, taking his meals alone and keeping the fresher door locked when in use, but even when he wasn’t dealing with the necessary inconveniences of being alive he was starting to avoid you more and more.

At first you let him have his space, it was none of your business what was bothering him if he wasn’t going to speak up about it. But as the weeks seemed to drag on his temper began to flare more often, his sentences getting even shorter than they already were, his words sharp and vindictive.

You let it slide until he was rude to a merchant in a Bespin market, demanding more food rations than what he was being offered. Mando had left the market with so much dried meat and canned vegetables that it was falling out of his satchel, leaving a breadcrumb trail of bantha-in-a-can as he stormed back to the ship.

He was eating more often, too, squirreling himself away from your campfires or tucking himself up in either his sleeping cubby or the cockpit; whichever was further away from you at the time. You had your own space in the upstairs part of the Crest where he’d strung a ramshackle hammock for you, but it was so close to her reactors that you frequently woke up sweaty whenever you were in hyperspace.

On one such occasion you decided to sneak over to the ladder hatch when he thought you were sleeping, carefully peeking into the hold below. You could see him in his alcove, but just barely, only his back visible to you from your vantage point. He was eating, a lot. You watched his back and shoulders heave with each desperate bite of food, gorging himself as if he’d been lost in the desert for weeks.

The next cycle he kept his back to you almost constantly, like he was trying to hide something from view, but there were very little private spaces in the ship, especially while the stars streaked by overhead. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his secret from your prying eyes, though you weren’t surprised with what you saw after watching him eat like there was no tomorrow.

He was gaining weight.

It was just a little at first, maybe just an illusion brought on by some extra layers of clothing; hyperspace was chilly, after all. However it soon became obvious as his extra warmth began to pudge over his belt and upset his armor that it wasn’t all fluff. You checked the larder after he went up to the cockpit to work on the navigation, and you were alarmed to find that almost half of your rations were already used up after having left Bespin only three cycles ago.

Something was definitely up with your partner.

You were watching him now from where you sat on one of the supply crates, toying with a vibroblade while he rigorously cleaned a plate of his armor, his back turned to you. His beskar was spotless, nary a drop of blood or spec of dust remained. He was just trying to distract himself from his newfound curves, but you were starting to get frustrated.

It was time to get to the bottom of this.

“Hey, are you feeling alright? You’ve been acting-”

“I’m fine.” he barked, the aggression behind his words making you jump. You weren’t afraid of him, or he of you. Your partnership was mutually beneficial and respected, and it wasn’t like him to be so short with you in close quarters. You weren’t having any of it.

“That’s crap and you know it, something's up with you, I can tell. You wanna talk about it?” Though he wasn’t looking your way, you cast your eyes at his pudge muffin, hoping he would catch your implications without you having to put it into words.

He said nothing, instead he rose from his seat and hurried up the ladder to the flight deck, sealing the airlock behind him.

You didn’t see him again until the ship dropped from hyperspace.

It was a quiet couple of days, and fucking boring too. Mando didn’t even come down to use the fresher or grab food, which made you nervous after seeing him stress eating like he had been. The Crest touched down on Jedha not far from an enormous crater that the Empire had put there in its heyday, but even when the engines went quiet, the blast door remained sealed.

“Mando? You still alive in there?” You asked tentatively with your ear pressed to the door, rapping your knuckles against the durasteel.

“Fine.”

“Are you coming out?”

There was a long pause, then: “...No.”

You grumbled and donked your head against the door. “Are you gonna make me go get this bounty myself?” He didn’t answer, which unfortunately meant the answer to your question was ‘yes’. You sighed heavily like you’d heard him do innumerable times. “You suck. Do you need anything before I head out?”

“No, thank you verd’ika.”

He was still alive, and talking, so those were both good signs, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with him during your entire hunt. The bail jumper you were after came quietly, which on a regular day would make you angry that you had even wasted fuel for such a lame chase, but you were anxious to get back to your partner.

You marched the delinquent up the ramp and goaded them into the freezer, filling the little cabin with carbonite fog. Though you were making a hell of a racket, you still hollered up the ladder before climbing it, only to find the cockpit empty. Nervously you searched the upper floor, checking everywhere from your hammock to the fuselage, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Jumping down the ladder, you quickly scanned the hold, only to realize that you’d run right past him. The door to his cubby was closed, like it always was even when he wasn’t in it, but outside on the floor near the entrance were piles of empty food tins. Horrified, you checked the larder, your eyes going all the way to the bottom of the crate. He ate everything!

“Mando! I’m back! Open up!” You yelled, pounding your fist on the door, not giving a flying fuck if he was asleep. Something was very, very wrong.

“You’re back already?” He called, his voice weak and hoarse behind the door, making your blood run cold. Oh Maker no, don’t tell me he’s sick.

“Yeah, and I’m worried about you! Open this damn door before I rip it off its rails.”

“You need to leave. You can’t be here.”

“‘Scuse me? Fucker I live here! I’m not-”

“Please, you’re not safe.” He pleaded, his voice sounded broken and desperate, like he was trying to choke something back.

“Not safe? Mando you’re not making any sense, I already took care of the bounty, they-”

“You’re not safe from me!”

A weird mix of emotions flooded through you, first the worry for the health of your partner, the confusion at his panic, and suddenly the rage that burned behind your eyes at the mere notion of him thinking you couldn’t peel him apart like a can of sardines.

You’d had enough.

“Fuck you, chum bucket, this ends right now! Hope you’ve got pants on because I’m coming in!”

“No! Don’t, please!”

“HERE I COME!” You bellowed as you slammed your fist into the glowing button panel on the wall, deaf to his fretful protests. The metal grate rattled as it rolled upwards, and briefly your eyes caught the back of his head right before his helmet sank down over the dark curls that he kept secret. The fact that he even had hair was the least startling thing of all.

What hit you first was the smell.

Inside the sleeping cubby where the Mandalorian was hurriedly scuttling into the deepest reaches, the pungent scent of...something hurtled through your synapses. It didn’t stink, quite the opposite, it smelled delicious. Warm and rich, like honey on fruit sitting out on a beautiful summer day, the alien aroma making your mouth water.

“What the fuck is that smell?” you roared at the man huddled as far away from you as he could get, his body lost to the shadows behind the scattering of armor he had discarded. You didn’t like that one bit, feeling something akin to pity at his doubled-over, armorless frame. You sniffed the air again, taking deep, greedy inhalations and trying to decipher what the fuck was going on. “Are you eating starfruit?! You fuckhole! You’re snacking without me!”

“Please leave me alone.” He grumbled, wedging himself even harder against the back wall. “I’m fine, really, I just want to be alone.”

“Well that’s just too fuckin’ bad, you’re sick, and the least you could do is tell me what’s wrong. I have a right to know if my partner is gonna up and die on me.” He pleaded again, his voice sounding whiny even through his vocorder, but you were having none of it. “I’m coming in.”

“Dammit all, why won't you leave me alone?!” He was yelling now, but in his anger he turned enough towards you that you could see his front, making you gasp.

Big.

“Holy fucking shit, Mando, are you… are you pregnant?!” Hidden by his broad backside no longer, his protruding belly caught the light, jiggling a bit when he wrapped his arms around it.

“No! I mean… sorta…”

“The fuck do you mean sorta?!” you were screaming now, blown away by his swollen guts and the fact that he was very much not pregnant only a few days ago. “What the hell is that then?!”

He was caught now, you’d seen his shame and there was no going back. “They’re… they’re my eggs.”

You stood a moment, staring at him while your mouth flopped uselessly like a dying fish. Welp, there’s your answer, he is not human. There were lots of sentient species in this great big galaxy you called home, many of which produced offspring via eggs, so you weren’t as surprised by that as you were by the suddenness of it. Of... him.

Mando rubbed at his belly, curling in on himself as if doing so would shrink him down into nothingness where he could disappear into oblivion. “Please, it’ll pass, I’ve just… I’ve never had anyone around me while I...grmph... deal with it.”

His groan of pain broke your stare, pumping determination into your legs along with the burn of adrenaline. “Do… do you need help? Is there anything I can do for you?” You leaned forward into the alcove, reaching for him. “Are you in pain?”

“...I-I’m f-fine.” He shirked away from you, avoiding your touch. “Happens every couple of years, just...hmmph… it’s not usually… so much.”

Now you were just plain fascinated, climbing up slowly on your hands and knees, trying to be delicate. “Mando, I’m your partner, I’m not just gonna stand around while you suffer. Tell me what I can do to help.” The warrior flinched hard when your fingers found his shoulder, reflexively protecting his belly. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Cyar’ika, please, I don’t want to...hmmph… do anything that I-I’ll regret.”

“You already ate all our fucking food, what more could you do to piss me off?” You said with a laugh, trying to break the tension. Carefully you brushed your hand along his clothed shoulder, a thin smile dancing over your lips when you felt him shudder.

“You shouldn’t touch me, I’m dangerous.”

“You ain’t shit, and I’ve seen how you’ve stiched my wounds closed, you won’t hurt me. I know you.”

“No you don’t!” He screamed, flipping around all the way to try and shoo you out of the cubby, but his hefty gut kept him rooted in place. You couldn’t help but stare at his rounded middle, his flack coat straining to keep zipped shut as the weight of him wobbled delightfully. It made you laugh.

“Mando! You’re gonna be a m... da... parent! You’re gonna be a parent! Why didn’t you tell me?! I would have baked you a cake.”

“It’s.. it’s never been this bad.” he stuttered, consigning himself to the fact that he was stuck with you. “I grow a clutch every year or so, but it’s usually just a handful of... them.” he hissed with an air of disgust, shame creeping into his voice. “They pass without much issue, but it’s never been this much.”

“What do the other Mandalorians do when this happens?”

He shook his head, guarding his middle. “Mandalorian isn’t a race, it’s a creed. The Mandalorians rescued me after an army of droids killed my parents and everyone else in my village. I… I don’t know what species I am, and neither does my clan. There’s no record of my village, or where they found me, and I can’t find anything on the holonet about… this.” His visor tilted down to his tummy. “I might be the last of my kind.”

“Mando, that's terrible, but I’m sure there’s more of you somewhere. There’s gotta be! Maybe if you took off your helmet I could see-”

“No, helmet stays on. I don’t need to add the indignity of a broken creed to this mess. Now please, mesh’la I’m begging you, lock me in here and let me ride this out alone. I don’t know if I could live with myself if I hurt you.”

You scuttled closer on your knees until you were right up against him, cautiously reaching out towards his swell. His visor snapped at you, his body flinching harder into the corner, but he was trapped. “Why do you think you’ll hurt me?” You whispered as your palm met the straining fabric cradling his shameful secret.

He grabbed your wrist so hard you felt your bones grind from the strength of his grip. “Because…” he growled, the timbre of it so low you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Because I don’t know what I am, but I know I need to put these eggs somewhere, and I want...I need to put them… inside…” He trailed off when a painful contraction shook his body, making him let go of you to hold himself together. “Get out now! It’s starting… please I can handle this alone but if you’re near me… I don’t know what I’ll do!”

“Shut’cher gob and tell me what to do, and don’t tell me to leave because I won’t!” You didn’t know jack shit about human births, let alone alien gestation, but you’d been through some fucked up situations, what’s one more for good measure? “I’m guessing you need to get your pants off.” His breathing was heavy, his helmet tilting with each laboured heave, but he nodded and started to fumble with the zipper of his trousers.

Your heart leapt to your throat. In the darkness of your hammock you’d imagined what it would be like to undress him, taking each of his beskar plates off and trailing your fingers down his tight clothes, revealing the man underneath like unwrapping a gift. With your fingers lost between your legs you’d pictured his muscular shoulders and broad chest, maybe even a trail of dark hair that led you all the way down his beefy abdomen to his thick, heavy cock. You’d had to bite down on the corner of your blanket when you thought of him pinning you to the wall or bending you over the dashboard, stuffing you full of his length while he groaned his praises in your ears until you were soaked.

This was not at all what you had imagined.

His gloves and his girth were giving him a hard time, so diligently you stepped in to help him undress. Your nimble fingers found the button and zipper with ease, the heat of his groin making your cheeks flush rosy pink, and then red when you pulled the zipper across the bulge in his pants and flooded the tiny nook with the perfume of his sex.

The hair surprised you, you didn’t think that an egg-bearing creature would even have curls, but there they were. Dark brown and soft against your fingertips, growing from lovely, sun-bronze skin, but that was the last of his human traits from there on. Ultimately, you were expecting a cock, horrified by the implications of what that meant in this situation, but as the zipper’s teeth continued to split, your eyes were greeted with something that made your guts flip.

It was fucking blue.

The thing sitting heavily between his legs was the prettiest ocean blue you had ever seen, with coils of deep indigo veins running up it’s length between bands of bioluminesce. Long, thick, and glowing, Mando’s half-hard trouser meat sprang out of his open pants, a relieved sigh wheezing through his modulator. It was shaped like a wang dangler all the way up to the head, but there it was something else.

At his tip a circle of petal-shaped protrusions cinched together like the blossom of a flower right before it bloomed. The knobbed end of his thingy wept with clear juices, beading deliciously from between each little bud. Your eyes were locked to a particularly fat drop of precum as it slicked down his length to his base where you found another feast for your eyes.

A hole.

He didn’t have balls, you guessed they were somewhere inside him, instead he had a fat, juicy cunt, his quivering cock growing from where a clit would be on a human. It was just as alien as his length, a dark cobalt that lightened to vibrant teal around sharp teeth that lined his widely spread folds. Those rightfully made you nervous, and fucking confused. What the hell are those supposed to latch on to? Me?!

“I’m disgusting, I know.” He whispered, turning away from you to study the wall while you studied his excitables.

“What? No you’re not, you’re… you’re beautiful.” He snapped back towards you, his visor searching your star-struck eyes for the hint of a lie, but there wasn’t one. He was looking at you, but you weren't looking at him, you were looking at him, straight through his groin into his vulnerable soul. There was just so much, and you wanted to touch all of it. Reflexively you licked your lips, wondering if he tasted as good as he smelled. Your fingers crept forward, hovering inches from his cerulean length. “Can I?”

A sharp inhale echoed in the cubby, followed by a stark nod. “Be gentle… it’s... argh… sensitive!”

“Shhh, Mando, I’ve got you. I’m gonna take good care of you.” Your fingertips met his heated flesh, making him shudder and groan. His strange length twitched from your touch, making another pearl of precum shimmer from the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking the velvety length that weighed heavily against your palm. His helmet hit the wall with a deep, guttural moan, sending molten waves of heat to your own growing need.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck mesh’la...your hands are amazing.” The man purred, letting his arms fall from his belly to his sides where his fists tangled in the threadbare sheet. His hips thrust upwards into your slow tugs, rutting into your palm. In the tight quarters the mouthwatering scent of honeyed fruit grew stronger until you were sucking down your own spit to keep it from flooding your mouth.

“Hehe, yeah? You like this?” You flicked your wrist in languid spirals, running your thumb over the weeping blossom to drag warm slick down his length and towards your second goal. His toothy slit parted for you as you got closer, the pearly white fangs curling away from you safely. With one hand still on his beef, you rubbed your fingertips around his flushed hole, sinking a digit down to the knuckle.

“Yes.” he moaned breathlessly, his womb jiggling when he convulsed from your touch. You sank another finger inside, scissoring him open while you fisted his cock. “K-keep doing that and... and…” His heels scooted on the mattress when he clenched around you, his swelling length pulsating in your hand. A needy whine busted out of his modulator, and between your sunken digits you felt something grow.

“Go ahead, Mando, come on my hand, or in my hand, I don’t care. That’s a good boy.” He bucked into your steady thrusts, lost in the combination of filling and being filled. His walls fluttered around your fingers, and you felt something press against you when he bore down, but instead of something popping out of his cunt, something went up his length.

*Pop!*

From the tip of his spear, a bright orange ball sprang from him, surprising you so much you let go of his throbbing shaft and pulled your fingers from his slit. Excitedly you plucked the egg from where the halo of petals parted, presenting the orb to you like a priceless gem. “You did it! Look, Mando, it’s a… ball! Congratulations.” You were beaming, so proud of yourself for midwifing him through the process, but he was shaking his head.

“There’s more… and… and I’m starting to get desperate. You got me started, I can take it from here. Thank you for your help.”

“I’m not leaving til you’re done, but let me go find a bucket or something to… oh no!” In your hand the soft shelled egg started to dissolve and wither in the dry air, turning into goo that dribbled down your arm. “Oh shit! Oh shit Mando I’m so sorry! I-I don’t know w-what happened!”

“No no… It's alright.” He shook his head, bringing a hand up to caress his swell. “They never make it. It’s ok though, it's not like they’re fertilized. Please leave me now, your hands aren’t going to tide me over for long, and I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

“You keep saying that! I don’t understand, why do you think that you’ll-”

“Because I want to breed you.” The singular black eye of his visor snapped viciously towards you, making you pale. “I’m sorry, but it’s all I can think about. It’s been getting worse the closer I’ve gotten to my heat, but I don’t want to do that to you, I respect you too much. Please… forgive me.” He looked away from you shamefully, but his luminous length was still pulsing with the rapid beating of his heart. “I think being around you is why I’m so full, you’re just so damn beautiful… a-and I want you.”

Maybe it was the sickenly-sweet spice that he was putting off, or the cum soaking your hands, or even the vulgar fantasies that you imagined to yourself in the night, but you were intrigued. “You wanna do what now?”

“Breed you.” He growled, his voice so dark and sinful everything inside you clenched around nothing. “Fucking stars ever since you stabbed the cantina table I’ve wanted to be inside you. Feel your pretty little pussy squeezing me, hear those sweet moans you make when you’re alone at night… yes I can hear you. You’re louder than you think you are. But I want to be the one making you scream.” His growls turned to forced laughter. “I wish I’d gotten to before...this.”

“I don’t mind this…” You hummed, dragging your fingers along his velvety length, but he caught your wrist again, shaking his head.

“Stop, before I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to hold back.” You batted your lashes at him and bit your lip, leaning seductively towards his hunkered body. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t know what I’d do to you, what my… ugh… eggs… would do to your body.”

“Maybe we should… find out?”

“You don’t know what you're asking.”

“Neither do you.” With that you rolled forward to kiss at his big blue eel, making him curse out your name and grab a fistful of your hair.

“Mesh’la…”

You hummed and lapped at his crown, his nectar tasting even better than it smelled. Sweet and succulent, driving you crazy with need. Your venomous tongue could be so kind when it wanted to be, swirling around his knobbled head and flicking at his frenulum. Beneath you he was a mess, writhing and bucking with desperation. Lips slick with spit, you sank your mouth as far down as you could take him without gagging, fisting the rest with one hand and teasing his cunt with the other.

Fingers digging into your scalp, Mando fought the urge to fuck your throat raw, your obscene sucking threatening to toss him right over the edge. You hollowed your cheeks and spun your tongue, lapping around each sensitive bean and plunging into his slit to drink him down.

His muscles swelled and clenched with another pass, and you barely were able to pull your mouth away when a new sphere spat out his tip, rolling away from you to melt elsewhere. “Mando, they’re going to waste, what are we going to do about that?”

“Take your fucking clothes off so I can fuck them into you, pretty girl.” He was gone, the husk of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me breed you properly, make you mine. Show you what it means to be mated by a Mandalorian.”

You obeyed, rocking back on your haunches to peel your shirt away, releasing your breasts into the hot, steamy space. The black swath of void where his eyes should be drank in the sight of you as if you were the last glass of water on Tatooine, his hand coming up to pinch at your pert nipple. “These are beautiful. I’ve dreamed about these for so long, but they’re so much better in person.”

“They taste better, too.” You crawled over top of him, your knees in between his, waving the heavy dewdrops in front of his armored face. “You wanna?”

“My creed…”

“Party pooper. Fine, then you better help me open up, you’re packin’ more than I think I can fit.” You’d taken lovers before, once you’d even taken a Wookie on a drunken dare, and if it wasn’t for the persistent wet dog smell it might have been the best sex you’d ever had. But Mando was thick, and even thicker when his cock swelled to push out an egg.

“Are you really ok with this? You’re not just saying…”

“Mando~” You purred, pressing your softness against his pulsating length, shivering when you felt his fangs scrape your thighs. “Breed me. They’ll just melt back out anyway, what’s a little...fun?”

He reached a hand up tentatively to your face, his helmet shaking slightly from side to side while he hunted in your eyes for any resistance, any clue that you were just saying that to make him feel better, but he found none.

“How did I get so lucky…”

“You’re about to get even more lucky.” You teased, taking his hand from your cheek to pry the black and yellow glove off, chucking it somewhere behind you. The flesh of his hand matched the flesh of his groin, a soft golden tone that looked like it was kissed by the sun, but not once had you ever seen him bare an inch. It was also very human, looking much like your own, save for the length and thickness of his fingers and the dark hair that grew from his knuckles. They were very much the hands of a man.

Yay!

Your pants fell away next, disappearing out of the cubby and onto the floor with the collection of empty ration tins and discarded armor. Naked as the day you were born, you clambered over him and flopped against his side, letting your legs fall open. “Touch me, Mando, get me nice and ready to be bred.” He growled against you, rolling on his side and cradling you to his chest so he could easily sink his fingers into your fluttering heat.

“Fucking stars, you’re soaked. This all for me?” You nodded and whined, your eyes rolling back when he dove one finger inside, then a second, curling them upwards to find that hidden patch of nerves you could never really reach on your own. “Gonna get you nice and open, make you cum so you can take my clutch. Would you like that, mesh’la, want me to fill you up? Swell your belly full?”

You mewled at the debauchery of it all, blissed out of your mind as he finger fucked you relentlessly. His fingers sank into you all the way to the knuckle, his thumb drawing tight, diligent circles on your clit. Mando snaked his free arm under your neck, pulling you in close to his muscular body and leaning his helmet against your brow. The cold metal burned against your sweating forehead, the steam of his breath coiling out from under the sharp iron edge with every ragged breath.

“That’s it, come for me, beautiful. Almost there.” Your nails dug into his clothed shoulders and made you realize he was way more dressed than you were. Need to fix that. With shaking knees you squirmed and writhed on his slick hand until he brought you over the edge, your walls trying to break his fingers as you came, drenching the thin sheets. “Good girl, such a perfect little cunt. Give me one more, cyar’ika.” All his gentleness evaporated as he thrust into you, his thumb pressed to your sensitive button and making you fall apart all over again.

“Fuck me, Mando, please! I want you in me, you’re not the only one with wet dreams, y’know.” He rumbled a laugh and pulled his arm out from under your neck and his fingers from your sopping mess, dragging the wet of it across your bare thigh. Hauling himself up, he moved until he was between your legs, pulling his remaining glove off and working to undo his flack.

With bated breath you watched him hurriedly undress, wondering what other fun alien treats he was keeping from you. As the dark fabric fell away, your eyes were gifted with the sight of his body, though besides the wandering blue tiger stripes and his obvious non-human bits, he was remarkably close to a man.

Except for the parts of him that were glowing.

Strings of faint teal lights followed the flow of his body, mixed intermittently with yellow stars. It wasn’t enough to illuminate the little alcove, but it was a beautiful sight nonetheless, a constellation of stars you could call your very own.

His chest was wide and muscular, a trail of dark brown hair dusting down his sternum and over the swell of his middle. His arms and shoulders looked like tree trunks, ribbons of countless scars marring his flesh with shimmering whites and pinks. Pushing his pants all the way off gave you an even better view, though he had considerably more glow streaks further down his legs, spanning from the sapphire spire around his hips.

He was fucking gorgeous.

What does his face look like, then?

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, right?” He asked sweetly, grabbing his beast and dragging the leaking head against your thirsty little cunt. You bucked your hips up to him, trying to notch him in your entrance, but he pressed his tip into your clit to make you writhe. “Tell me, I need to hear it.”

“Yes, Mando, now please please fuck...me!!” He snapped forward and thrust his appendage into you, bottoming right out even though his full tummy was in the way. He held himself still, his body shivering with delight as your excited walls rippled around him. Deep inside you felt the little buds at his tip teasing at the tight ring of muscle that protected your innermost sanctum, politely asking for entry.

“Fuck-ing Maker, I knew you would feel good, but...ah… so much better than I ever imagined.” You giggled at him, reaching out and rubbing the taut flesh of his abdomen where it sat heavily against your own, rocking your hips side to side. His fingers dug into the skin of your knees with a broken curse, trying to hold you still. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna…”

“What? This?” You arched your hips into his, trying to coax him into gear. “I didn’t know you were such a tease, tinman.” His helmet vibrated with a growl before he was sliding himself out, making sure you felt every inch of his length drag along your walls. The head of it almost managed to drop out, sitting tantalizingly at your gates before thrusting into you with reckless abandon.

You shrieked, impaled on his otherworldly spire again and again, the noise of it wetly echoing in the cubby. Above you he grunted with the strain, hooking his elbows under your knees and going to town. You were helpless, head rolling back, eyes fluttered shut as he filled you over and over again, moaning out his name.

Though he was lost in the heat of the moment, he wished the name on your lips was his real name, the one he had sequestered away when he took his oaths. Din. He fantasized about it in the night, the short syllable tumbling from your full lips, wet from sucking him dry. Din! He wanted to snuff out the sound of it with his own mouth, capturing your tongue and tasting you fully, plundering the hot wet hole that would so beautifully sing his song.

“Din!”

But Mando would have to do.

For now.

Both of you could feel he was getting close to something, his thrusts quickening with his breath. You felt your heartbeat gallop in your chest, thundering against the walls of its cage with excitement. He was gasping, struggling to pull oxygen in through the iron that protected his face. Hips snapped against yours, the slap of skin sounding obscene in the little space. You arched your back and bore down on him, your coiled muscles milking out his release.

And then you fucking felt it.

The clever little buds on his tip stuffed themselves into the cradle of your body, teasing your cervix open and leaving something behind. Inside you felt the soft little ball swell your womb sweetly, giving you a feeling of fullness you’d never experienced before. You keened from the sensation, bringing your hands up to your belly, searching for your treasure.

“Are you alright? Am I hurting you?” Mando asked urgently between broken breaths, a weathered palm coming up to caress your face. You tittered and nodded, his relieved sigh felt through your legs and stomach.

“Got any more for me, big boy?” You purred, dragging your nails through the soft hair on his bulging abdomen where he obviously did.

“You’re going to ruin me, cyar’ika.” The pulsating length stuffed inside you slid out slowly, stringing a line of precum from your slick heat to his flushed blue tip. “Get on your knees and I’ll show you how much more there is.”

Scrambling out from under him, you flipped yourself over like a slutty little pancake, presenting your ass in front of him to feast on with his eyes. The rough pads of his fingers dug viciously into your fleshy globes, making both of you groan. “Gonna give you all of me, beautiful. Tell me you want that?” He was trying to be dirty, but the sincerity in his voice made your heart flood with honeyglow.

“I want it, tinman, I wanna be full!”

A dark, lecherous laugh rumbled behind you while he lined himself up, rubbing himself over your slit before plunging in. Stars flashed behind your eyes when he hit your deepest reaches again, making you drop to your elbows. He circled the bones of your hips with his hands, squeezing and rubbing at your waist while you adjusted to the new angle. Impatiently you clenched around him, earning yourself a stinging swat on your backside that made you squeal.

“Bad girl, you have to wait.” He growled behind you, making you whine and earning yourself another spanking that was followed by a soothing palm. “You gonna be a good girl while I breed you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“-snrt!-” You were having too much fun now, begging underneath him for friction with a roll of your hips, giggling through the cock-dumb grin on your face. “I’ll be good~”

“I know you will.” He slid forward, the angle hitting something destructive inside you, and you could tell he felt it. Memorizing your insides, he rocked forward again and again, building you up higher and higher to make you squirm. Fisting the sheets you cried when the lightning cracked up your spine, your cunt squeezing the life out of him and soaking him through. Your orgasm sucked another egg from his cock, the gentle weight sitting pretty next to the first.

“More…” you mumbled into the mattress, curving your ass up and brushing the underside of his swell. “Please…”

“You’re fucking perfect, mesh’la, so perfect for me.” His voice behind you sounded wildly different, lacking the gravelly modulation you’d grown used to, replaced with a rich baritone that tied your guts up in knots. Curiosity almost got the better of you, but before you could turn around to look at his bare face he covered your eyes, his broad palm spanning the entire width of your face. “No peeking. Be a good girl or you won’t get any more.”

He set his empty helmet down by your head, giving you something to look at if you could keep your eyes open, but his filthy cadence made your eyeballs roll back til they were gawking at your brain. Mando plowed you like his life depended on it, his fuckstick swelling inside your walls with each pass of his spend.

Reaching back, you rubbed your steadily-filling middle, the weight of his brood already making you show. Your devious digits kept going, fingertips teasing around where he melded into you, your lips stretched tightly around him. He jumped when you stuffed your hand back even further, careful not to catch on his goddamn crotchteeth to finger his cunt.

“Mesh’la!” He cried, bucking into you and pushing at least three more eggs into your womb with a single thrust. Above you he curled against your spine, his belly flattening while yours continued to swell. His arms left your hips to snake up your body, crossing between your breasts like a seatbelt and hauling you up off your elbows to his chest. Buckle up, buttercup! His sweaty pecs stuck to your spine while he kissed at the side of your neck.

You wanted so badly to look.

Instead you closed your eyes and let yourself get lost in the passionate kisses he pressed to your skin, his teeth grazing the tender flesh under your jaw. The fact that he even had lips crossed a few dozen species off of your list of possibilities, and even more when you felt the tickle of facial hair. Mando’s heated kisses tracked up your throat to nibble at your ear, his thrusting getting messy behind you.

“Can you cum for me again, beautiful? I wanna feel it.” The hand between your breasts slid up to your throat, pressing ever so gently while the second found your clit and spun devious little circles. His scruffy beard scraped your shoulder as you writhed on him, tears springing to your eyes with your crashing orgasm. “Mmph, that’s my good girl. So fucking perfect!”

His hips stuttered, slapping against your ass with a final burst, the fill of him swelling your middle to capacity, bouncing with fullness. Heavy, desperate breaths puffed against your skin as he came down from his high, caressing you with his hands and the sharp point of his chin; mumbling praises in your ear. “I didn’t think you could get any more beautiful, look at you…”

At his purring you flickered an eye open, looking down past your breasts at where you were swollen with his clutch as if you were swollen with child. His broad palms danced along the taut flesh, sliding from your precious tummy to the drops of your breasts, his hums of contentment rumbling between you. His chest and abdomen were flush with your spine, his body returned to its natural shape while yours had changed so drastically.

Between your legs his spent cock throbbed, making your combined arousal drip down onto the destroyed mattress when it softened and released. You whined from the loss, whining louder when he sneaked his fingers inside, feeling your stretched walls and musing about how wonderful you felt.

You reached forward for his helmet, handing it back to him and trying not to look at the warped reflection of his face in its sloping surfaces. He took it from you gently, letting it sink over his face so you could get off of your knees. You flopped heavily over on your butt, sitting upright and petting your full womb with a blissed out look on your face.

He laid next to you, holding you close to his body as if you were his cute little wife expecting your first baby together, and not a pair of interspecies hunters giving in to your primordial needs. You leaned against him, sighing contently and watching his serpent retreat into his body, the rows of teeth biting together and showing you why he didn’t wear codpiece with his armor.

“That’s fuckin’ weird, dude.” You laughed, brushing a fingertip along the glistening enamel.

He winced behind you. “I know, I’m sorr-”

“No, I like it.” you crooned, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “That was fun. How often did you say this happens?”

“About once a year, but… uh… I can still get hard, without a clutch, if that’s what you’re asking?” You nodded with a laugh, curling up against his side so your full womb rested on his hip. He sighed contentedly, drawing circles on your belly with his fingers. “How does this feel? Does it hurt?”

“No, not at all, actually feels good. Feels full. I like it, I’m almost sad that it’s not gonna last.”

“Me too, you look so good like this. I could get used to it.” You hummed in agreement, shifting your legs apart so that when the eggs withered and turned to goo they could easily make their way out.

Should be any second now.

The two of you waited, laying together in post-coital bliss, just enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies, tracing scars and stars, exploring the wonders you’d kept secret from each other.

You waited.

And waited.

The minutes ticked by, at first it was a blessing, giving you time to bask in the afterglow together, but as the minutes turned to quarter hours, then halfs, you started to get worried. “Mando? I can still feel them, they’re not breaking down.”

“I’m sure they will, they always do.”

“Ok…”

They didn’t.

Hours went by, and even after waddling to the fresher shower and trying to squat them out, the eggs remained. You got washed up, half morbidly, half exuberantly watching the way the fresher water dripped from your belly while you cleaned up.

Outside the shower you toweled yourself off, taking extra steps to dry under the swell of your womb, but you struggled to reach all the way around. Mando knocked on the door politely before letting himself in, dressed only in his helmet and pants. Dutifully he took the towel from you and got to the places you couldn't reach while you were carrying his potential young.

It was surprisingly intimate, maybe even more so than being stuffed full of his length. He started on your legs, between your thighs and up to their apex, then softly wiped at your tummy and hips. His deft hands dragged the towel under each breast, then your shoulders and arms, then lastly your neck; draping the wet fabric around you like a cloak when he saw your bunching brows. You looked nervous.

“We’ll figure it out, mesh’la, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” He stated with determination, brushing his thumb down the curve of your cheek and turning your eyes to meet his visor. Your hair was still wet, and now so were your eyes, the first twinges of fear creeping into their corners. He didn’t like what he saw. “Close your eyes, lovely girl.”

You did, squeezing back the mist that was starting to form. He let go of you, and you heard the sound of something heavy and metallic being set down on the sink. The towel around your shoulders was lifted over your head, draping it over your face. You were about to give him hell, mad that he would want to hide your face when you were clearly getting emotional, but instead you felt the wet fabric being lifted as he joined you underneath.

Then he kissed you.

Warm, petal-soft lips pressed against your cold wet ones, suddenly surprising you before you melted into him. His kiss was as gentle as his hands that were making their way up to your jaw, holding you steady while he slotted his mouth to yours. He felt human, the edges of his teeth dull like yours, thankfully not sharp like the ones between his legs. Tasted human, too.

You kissed him back, darting your tongue out with an experimental flick, licking his plush lower lip. He inhaled sharply, caught off guard by your forwardness. His fingers coiled around the back of your head, tangling in your wet hair as his kisses grew in intensity. The smooth muscle of his mouth danced with your own, letting you both taste each other for the first time.

“Ner cyar’ika, I’ve waited so long for this.” he purred against your lips, his words heavy with adoration. He kissed you again, pulling you into himself hungrily and tickling your nose with his mustache. Your own hands came up, slowly dragging over the expanse of his chest to the sinewy length of his neck, and finally to the edge of his jaw.

“Can I touch your face, Mando? I won’t look with my eyes.” He nodded against your lips, his nose bumping the side of yours. Cautiously you wandered your fingertips along the edge of his jaw, the stiff bristles catching under your nails. He shivered with need when you scratched him, carding through his scruff like you were taming a massif.

His sharp jawline led you up his cheeks, their softness dusted with erratic bristles. You ran your thumbs under his eyes, exploring his cheekbones and the creases that bordered his large eyes. Pressing your forehead to his and pulling your lips away, you circled your thumbs down the sides of his well-defined nose to the line of hair above his lips. The creases that your hands found told you he wasn’t a young man, but he probably wasn’t too far beyond your age either.

And you imagined him to be very handsome.

It wasn’t until your hands found his ears that you remembered he wasn’t the same species as you. They were pointed, and sensitive if his little moans of pleasure were anything to go by.

“I don’t ever want you to see those, they’re ug- oh!” You cut off his self depreciation to tilt his head between your hands, pressing a kiss to each of his ears with a seductive puff of steam. “St-stop, you’re giving me goosebumps.”

“Stop being so mean to yourself, buckethead, only I can be the judge of that, and I bet they're cute!” He laughed, the sound warm and brassy, but not enough to distract you from your current predicament. “What… what are we going to do about… this.” You took each of his hands in yours and set them on your full belly, letting him caress his handiwork.

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead in the dark of the towel, his lashes brushing your skin when he dropped his brow to yours. You heard his lips part with a smile, imagining the way the wrinkles around his eyes would bunch, wistfully hoping that one day you could see them for yourself.

“Mesh’la I-… I have no idea."

Next->

If you liked this fic, check out Garden of Ishtar! It's chapter 9 in a series but can be read stand-alone. Enjoy~

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