#Green Scene Gal

[cloudystevie]

omg I used to be such a Steve girly when I first followed u and now I’m more a Bucky gal so I’m glad to hear u like him too🥹 any crumbs of the jealous/protective Bucky trope would be sufficient 🙏🏼

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warnings: sleazy stupid pervy man(not bucky obvi), petname (baby), asyphxiation, reader is more horned up for bucky than she cares about stupid sleazy man sorry, manhandling, pinv, semi-public sex (in a locked club bathroom)

author’s note: clearly idk what drabble means cuz this is 1500 words. trying to figure out the flow of writing drabbles (and just writing in general this is not my best work) ! the steve girlie to bucky girlie pipeline needs to be studied tbh!!! thank you so much for sending in this little thought baby hope you enjoy!!!🩷🩷🩷

18+ only minors dni.

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“I’ll be back in a second baby, just need to use the restroom real quick.”

You attempt to shuffle off Bucky’s lap, surrounded by all your closest friends at a circular booth at one of the newest clubs in the city. But before you can completely wriggle yourself free of his grip, his hands flex on your waist halting your movements. “I’ll come with you sweetheart.”

You giggle and playfully roll your eyes, “I’m not going to die in the 20 steps it takes to get to the washroom Bucky, I’ll be back in a sec.” You place a quick kiss on his bearded cheek and squirm out of his lap before making your way to the washroom, looking at him over your shoulder and giggling as he glares at you.

Currently, you were in the midst of working up your brooding boyfriend so he would take out all of his frustration on you in the most delicious way possible. Being a little bratty was just a little investment for the incredibly rewarding return you’d get later on.

Surprisingly the washrooms were unoccupied so you were in and out in just a few minutes, powdering your face and touching up your lips while you were at it. Giving yourself a once over in the extravagant mirror you head out of the washroom, swinging the door open and attempting to put your lip liner and lip oil back into your purse. You accidentally bump into someone, causing you to shoot your neck up and let out a flurry of apologies as you see their drink now splattered on their shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you coming. I’m so so so sorry I should’ve been paying more attention. I’m so sorry about your shirt.” Furrowing your eyebrows in concern you take in the man before you. He was a bit taller than you, dirty blonde hair all ruffled up with green eyes just scanning your body with an appreciative smirk. You couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable despite your apologetic gaze as you subconsciously search for Bucky, glancing around the suddenly very packed VIP section.

“It’s alright sugar, wasn’t planning on stripping naked so early into the night but if that’s what you want, who am I to deny you huh?” His voice attempts to be sultry but it just comes across as sleazy, making you grimace and chuckle curtly.

“That really wasn’t my intention, I’m really sorry once again. You can ask the bartender to put a drink on my boyfriend's tab. Just for the inconvenience of course.” A smile that doesn’t meet your eyes is on your face, as you continue looking around for your table of friends, for anybody you may know to save you from this slimy piece of shit.

“Boyfriend huh? Does your boyfriend know you bump into other guys dressed like a little slut?” He steps closer to you making you take a step back. It’s too crowded for anyone to take notice of you specifically and the music is too loud for you to scream and cause a scene.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out as strong as you had hoped.

“You heard me, now, what are we gonna do about making this up to me huh? Why don’t you follow me.” He roughly grabs your arm and you attempt to jerk it out of his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spit out, yanking your arm out of his sweaty grip and shoving him back, causing him to stumble backwards and almost land flat on his ass. This causes a commotion as the people around you stare at the scene unfolding in front of them.

One second you’re trying to shove past the man to get to your table and the next he’s forcing himself onto you again with much more force this time. Before you can even react he’s being ripped off of you and shoved to the floor by your boyfriend who seemingly appeared right when you needed him most.

Bucky pushes his forearm into the man’s throat, making him struggle for breath and weakly fight back, but he is no match for your super-soldier boyfriend. “You wanna go around putting your fucking hands on women is that right? On my girl?” Bucky seethes, eyes wide with anger as the man struggles to shake his head to deny his words.

Everyone has their eyes on you as your group of friends quickly cut through the crowd to get to both of you, Steve and Sam trying to gently pull Bucky off the guy as Natasha and Wanda come to your aid, standing by you and asking what happened, trying to soothe your thumping heart.

You can’t focus on anything except the way Bucky is holding this man down for you. “Don’t let me catch you even breathing in her direction again you piece of shit. Tryna put your fuckin’ hands on my girl, I’ll fuckin’ k-”

You breathe out his name once. Bucky snaps his head away from the man whose colour is draining out of his face to take in your expression. Bucky can read you even better than you can read yourself sometimes. He can see you are obviously upset but even more than that, your eyes are scanning over his shoulders and biceps, his beefy frame easily overpowering the frail man.

Bucky can read you better than anyone else, and right now, you’re not scared or uncomfortable. You’re turned on. The quick rise and fall of your chest, the twinkle in your eyes, and the way you tug at your bottom lip. He even knows you’re ashamed that you’re turned on. But that doesn’t stop you. It never has.

Bucky smirks, and grabs the man by his neck, standing up with him as his legs weakly kick in the air, wheezing out unintelligible apologies and Bucky just looks at you over his shoulder, ignoring the way Steve and Sam are struggling to get him to put the man down. The veins in his arms make you practically drool as you make eye contact with Bucky, and the next moment the man is crumpled on the ground. The man scurries away, clutching at his throat where bruises are already starting to appear. Calling Bucky crazy and how you weren’t even worth it. Bucky pays him no mind because now his attention is all on you.

“You okay baby?” Bucky asks as he walks towards you, pulling you into his broad frame as he scans you with a worried expression. You nod mindlessly and before you know it you’re being ushered into the restroom you just came out of. Bucky locks the door behind him and before you can breathe you’re on him. Your lips clash against his, your tongues and teeth and spit mixing as your hands grip onto his shoulders as he picks you up and places you on the counter in one fluid motion. The display of strength makes you mewl into the kiss as you rut against his growing bulge making him hiss.

“Bucky- Bucky please I need you right now.” You beg, reluctantly pulling away from the heated kiss to look at him with your wide eyes. He looks at you through his hooded eyes, taking in your desperation before smirking. “What does my baby need hmm?”

His teasing makes you whine as you messily grind your crotch against his, looking for any friction. “Need you Bucky, need you only you need you to fuck me.” You blabber mindlessly, begging for him to claim you. Your words make Bucky groan and his hands wrap around your throat to hold you in place against him.

“Need me to remind you who you belong to? Is that it? You’re my girl aren’t you?” He growls against your mouth, biting your bottom lip and nipping at your sensitive skin.

You whine and nod as his hands wrap around you the same way they were wrapped around the man earlier. You moan as he sucks into the sweet spot behind your ear. “Yea- Yes need you to fuck me so good so that everyone can hear us please Bucky. Please, need everyone to know I’m yours and you're mine.” You’re not even sure if your words make sense.

But Bucky understands. He always does.

So he squeezes his hands around your neck just once, watching the hazy smile take over your feature, before quickly manhandling you so you’re bent over the counter, your eyes meeting his through the mirror. You push your hips back against his once and he wraps his forearm around your neck to pull you up, fiddling with his pants and shoving your panties to the side before filling you up in one thrust. He slides in easily due to how wet you were but his girth always creates a delicious stretch and you cry out at the feeling of being full. Your head lulls back to fall onto his sturdy shoulder and he tuts, tapping your cheek with his free hand before squishing your cheeks together and forcing you to look at the two of you.

He leans into your ear, feeling the shiver that wracks your body and he presses his open mouth against your cheek, his breath more prominent than your own. “Don’t you fucking dare look away from the mirror. You’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck you so you’ll always remember what you look like where you belong. Going dumb on my dick.”

[monarchberrysblog]

Alright

*clasps hand*

I love you so very much, and I’ll be watching you from your window. (Inside joke)

How about… cowboy!Miggy spectating a gal and her pals, she’s challenged to ride one of those rodeo bulls by her friends and fell like, three seconds in. Obvi she failed, so she has to go get another round of shots for her friends. So he took the opportunity to offer some lessons with the cowboy himself😇

EL TORO 🐂

✭ 18+ Cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader ✭

✭ summary: losing a bet with your best friends, you buy drinks after failing to stay on a mechanical bull for eight seconds, but before you buy another round of drinks, a local cowboy helps you…

✭ content warning: sexual innuendos, Miguel is a little unhinged, dry humping, grinding, cumplay (?), cum-eating (?), semi-exhibitionism, hook-up with a stranger, and alcohol is mentioned. VIEWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

✭ word count: +1.8k words

✭ a/n: AUGHHHH cowboy! Miguel has me in a chokehold omfg. but here you go, pookie! thank you for your undying support and love! Your wish has been granted 💋 (if there are flaws, I apologize in advance 🩷)

MATURE CONTENT MDNI | MINORS WHO INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED

Orange opaque lights make up the dimly lit bar. Locals from around were either at a table, drinking away from those green beer bottles you grew familiar with ever since you were younger, or seeing your uncles consume those bottles at a baptism or a wedding banquet. Or you saw the occasional burnt middle-aged man sitting at the island counter, rambling to the bartender about his day, complaining about his cattle or the weather. But for you, you came to the bar unwillingly, as your best friends insisted that you liven up the environment.

But really, it was a pathetic excuse to get you out of your grandparent's bungalow home and to meet someone.

・º♢

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Xina urges, flashing her signature smug smile that always appears when she's up to something mischievous. It was always the same arrogant look she did whenever y'all were kids when she got extra chips or a cookie from her pantry closet. Hell, it was the same look your other friends gave you whenever your grandmother or grandfather offered them fresh fruits from their farm.

"No," you quickly retort, sipping your cocktail. "Please!" MJ pleads, grasping your wrists and seemingly ready to kneel. "PLEASE!" Xina soon exclaims, joining MJ to cause a scene with those around you.

"Xina, MJ…!"

"PLEASE!" They draw out the last syllable together, their voice taking on a childish tone reminiscent of when they were eight years old, fleeing from a honey bee or spider. "Okay! Okay..." You groan out, shaking your head in defeat.

"Yes!" Xina pumps her fist in victory before removing your fruity margarita from your hands and placing it on the table. "Now get on! And if you don't last eight seconds, you pay for our next round of drinks!" A low groan emerges from the back of your throat like alcohol stinging your esophagus, ready to escape. But your body, unfortunately, didn't want to do that for you so you could weasel out of the bet. You look back to see MJ at y'all's table, keeping an eye on the drinks while looking at Xina guide (dragging) you across the bar.

Your shoes squeak against the wooden floors as you get pushed to the mechanical bull area. "Just stay on there for eight seconds, and you don't have to pay for our round of shots." You and Xina passed through the semi-packed bar, occasionally brushing shoulders from a couple of guests in the bar. But one character caught your attention, nearly knocking you off your feet.

His russet brown eyes burned into your soul while his cowboy hat shielded the glisten in his eyes, giving him a dead look by any bystander who dared to make eye contact with him. His eyes match yours, lingering on your orbs. The prolonged millisecond of eye contact seized when he smirked, his eyes lingering on you and you only.

His hands, weathered and rugged, bore the marks of hard work - dry, with occasional scars and scratches, yet exuding strength. They were the hands of a hard-working man, capturing attention as much as his eyes did, capturing attention as much as his eyes did. His shirt was unbuttoned, clearly showing a bit of his chest and hair peppered. Oh, how it would feel to be held in those strong hands... Or how his hands would hold onto your hips while bouncing on his dick—

"C'mon! It's your turn to get on!" Xina urges, directing your attention away from the man and to your inevitable end of the night- falling off a mechanical bull within three seconds.

/

You sit at your table, hair somewhat touseled about while you order the next round of drinks for you and your rowdy group of friends. You looked at the half-assed served shot glass and glared at your best friends as they took their shots. With a sigh of defeat, you walk to the bar counter and take a seat on the wooden stool, covering your face and hiding away the embarrassment.

You settled onto the bar counter, absently running your finger along the smooth rim of your shot glass. A sense of intrusion picked at your gut as you felt someone trespassing on your personal space. Glancing to your left, you saw the familiar figure of the man from earlier, seated a few stools away. Your eyes dart back to the tiny glass in your hands, playing with it.

"You couldn't last eight seconds."

That sounded more evocative than it had to.

"Excuse me?"

"3.4 seconds." He adds, not acknowledging the rhetorical question you spat out. "You're those women having to give up straddling like how a car needs an oil change."

What the—

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You lack balance, sweetheart. And movement." He lifts his shot glass, calling the bartender to refill his shot glass. "It’s straightforward."

"Oh yeah, since you seem to know everything about it, give me some constructive criticism then." You reiterate, knowing that this man was going to play the smartass card with you by sharing information that is useless or already known by the public.

"You’re not engaging your core, and you don't have any balance on your hips." He sighs before mumbling about city folk and getting off his seat. "C’mere." He waved his hand over, ushering you to get close. You didn't know if it was your being an actual dumbass, but you got off your seat and made your way over.

"M’kay," He sighs before getting off his seat and touching your hips. “It's all here, sweetheart. You have to move with the bull; it's called inertia," His hand rests on your hips and squeezes that specific area. "Always move in the opposite direction of the mechanical bull."

"If the bull moves forward, you move back. And if the bull moves back…?"

"I move forward?"

He nods before patting your tummy. "And engage your core a bit. You have abs under there, sweetheart."

His words of advice continue but they muffled out while taking note of his hand resting against your soft stomach, feeling the heat of his palm.

You take note of his words and stop. "Wait, how do you know how to do this?"

"Take it or leave it." He mumbles before he takes his shot and slams the shot glass down. "Actually," He clears his throat and sighs. "Tell them you want to redeem yourself, then tell your friend, the one who dared you to ride the bull, to buy the bill, and I owe you a drink if you make it past eight seconds."

"And if you don't, you owe me a drink."

He removes his hands from your soft stomach and sits back on the stool. "It’s your decision, sweetheart."

You think momentarily, considering the options he placed on the table. The idea of not having to pay a tab and getting a free drink sounded satisfying.

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure, why not?"

/

Sitting on his lap in the darkest, dingiest parts of the bar was not in the plans, but your pigheadedness said otherwise. You straddle down on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Keep your balance, sweetheart." His right hand pats on your hip before bucking his hips against yours, earning a low groan from him.

"Engage your core and move in the opposite direction of me." His warm breath fans your face before he bucks his hips once again to your clothed sex. A soft mewl escapes your lips, feeling his clothed bulge against your clothed entrance.

"You can do it, c’mon…”

You pathetically moved against his aching bulge, pushing your moist gusset against his denim jeans. "There we go, move your hips to gain balance, move with me."

His dick twitched underneath you, pushing up to be free from its constraints. You slowly gyrated down, bucking your hips against his movement, creating a comfortable tempo.

A choked groan verberates your chest, sending the sensation to Miguel, earning a low moan from the man. "C'mon, keep it up." He jerks his bulge upwards, finally finding its way in between your clothed folds. You wailed, feeling his length now against your clothed clit, rubbing against the sensitive bud slowly and deliciously. You could sense the arousal trickling down to your soaked gusset and gathering the slick arousal in the cloth. "You can do it."

You patted his shoulder and took in deep breaths.

"Try again." His usual staid words slowly evolved into breathy whimpers. Miguel's words of affirmation slowly died, becoming breathy moans and grunts. The typical demands slowly turned into begging as you continued to push downwards, feeding the desires you two desperately wanted.

"Muneca..." He rasps out before you see his hands scramble down to his belt.

The sound of his belt clinking was enough of an indicator, but you knew what was next. The sound, let alone left you salivating with anticipation.

"Grind on the length."

Oh... Oh.

Glancing down, your eyes widen at the sight. Sure, he was pushing seven inches but the girth... With your left hand, you move the gusset of your underwear to the side and slowly guide your aching core down to his length, slowly enveloping his length into your soaked folds.

A low groan verberates your chest cavity, soaking the length of your slick, sticky arousal. The slippery sensation of your clit gliding down Miguel’s length, creating delicious friction.

"C’mon, move your hips."

Your body went on autopilot on that demand, relying on your slick arousal to move fluidly on his length. "You're a fast learner, aren't you?" He groans out quietly, still holding onto your hips.

Soft pants and groans filled the small space and evolved into loud guttural groans from both of y'all.

"Sweetheart, slow down a bit." His breathy request fell on deaf ears before you did as he demanded. "You're humping me like I'm your pillow." He groans out before he adjusts you off his length, feeling the slick linger onto his skin.

He takes his pointer and middle finger, gathers the slick off his length, and places said fingers at the bottom plush of your lips, lightly tapping them, almost asking for permission. "Seems like you understand what I say," He pats your rear lovingly with his free hand before you suckle on his fingers, tasting the mess you left behind. He hums while you clean the pads of his fingers clean.

"Now, ride the bull for me." He demands.

/

The walk back to the lively scenery returned you to your senses as you prepared to confront your little group of friends. The conversation jumped about like crickets hopping around a long grassy field. It felt like there was no point in being driven before you challenged them against their better judgment and bet. Xina's lips pursed straight, and she nodded to her other girlfriends. The group looked at each other momentarily and caved in, just to see themselves embarrass themselves for the second time that night.

But it wasn't going to happen again...

Straddling down on the pseudo-bull, you looked out to the semi-lively bar, seeing your friends watching from afar and your 'mentor' looking at you while taking a shot. With a raise of his brow and tipping his cowboy hat, a surge of content rested in your belly.

[ibunyang]

i wanted to put more thought on that modern au doodle i did with both of these gals, Alice M. (mcgee) liddell and Alice C.(caroll) Liddell who met each other in a group therapy session because i thought it would be genius. little rant on the designs i did!! based alice c.'s clothes on the particular copy of the book that i have ! it has a green cover ; this one so more green... blue... the hearts, the clock

i wanted her to seem whimsy more "weird" the orange crocs and stuff were something i found funny, she seems the type to unironically put gibits on them and such... she has a baby doll type dress and pants over it because i just think these would fit a modern alice ? peep the cat on her pants leg hehe, the flamingos and the rose vines on her coat/sleeves are a direct call to the croquet match scene too for her hair, i love making their stark differences prominent. GOD im obsessed with it OTL shes deff a more whimsical/kind bright wonder in direct opposition to alice m's dark and dreary kind of vibe weehee

speaking of her! i really wanted to base her clothes more on the environment that the game puts us in, through the first scene specifically... but i think i kind of diverted form it just a little too much and ended up hyperfixiating on blue butterflies again because of how many times ive seen those things plunging to my death. but anyway, the sort of lace/crochet over coat based on the vale of tears...weepy tear shaped crystals that i think are gorgis. there isnt a direct reason why i placed a spade on her bag other than i really like spades. (also the spade card is somewhat always kind of associated with skulls..i think..) she has a keychain of the ruin baby and the two symbols she has on her apron, gold teeth necklace too i wanted her to seem like a more darker version of alice c. but they're basically the same font different colors type of thing. alice in wonderland has been my favorite book since childhood so UGHH im just a little less than normal about these two. WAHEE okay sorry for the rant i just wanted to point things out and babble a little bit TEEHEE

[rey-jake-therapist]

If Sauron just wanted an "assistant" and a "figurehead" who would let him do everything he wanted while happily doing his bidding, Mirdania was a much better pick than Galadriel.

I mean, It's always about what "Sauron wanted", but it's never "how Galadriel would have reacted". If he seriously believed that Galadriel would have been okay with being a powerless puppet, then he was even more delulu than I thought lmao Unlike him, Galadriel's not a follower. If she had taken his offer in season 1, she would have fought to get what he promised, I have no doubt about that !

Mirdania, on the other hand, was so easy to manipulate. That's why I wonder if he didn't consider making her, probably not his queen, but what Charlie said : his assistant/PR/figurehead... We all saw him manipulate her to isolate Celebrimbor and make him more vulnerable to his abusive techniques, which was definitely what Sauron was doing with her, partly at least.

Yet, before Mirdania put on the ring and passed in the Unseen world, he didn't care at all about her. She was trying to be friendly with him, and he just stood like... "Is this an insect on my back ?"

But after Celebrimbor put the ring off her finger, that was his reaction when she said what she saw :

Ohh suddenly Mirdania became interesting to him. Because she had been there. Suddenly, he was all over her, even a little too much over her (get your hands off her you creepo!!) :

I think there were many things in this gesture, which is weird even by his own standards; Sauron's a man of words, he seldom touches people to manipulate them.

1st meaning : he was manipulating her : the most obvious meaning. But he had already gotten into her pants when he compared her to "the lady Galadriel", there was no real need to touch her like that.

2nd meaning : he was thinking of Galadriel : ship or don't ship Haladriel, but Mirdania was totally meant to be Galadriel's stand-in: she was blond, with an identical hairstyle, and she wore an almost identical green dress to the one Gal wore in Eregion. And Sauron immediatly noticed it when she came to meet him the first time. Look at how he's looking at her from feet to head, then start immediatly flirting with her :

So, Sauron likely got carried away by his obsession for Galadriel when he touched Mirdania's hair, here.

3rd meaning : maybe, maybe, he started thinking that Mirdania could indeed provide a replacement for Galadriel, in his plans.

Then there was this scene :

Another unnecessary touching. An intimate one that is, look at what he's doing ! We never saw him touch anyone like this before, not even for manipulation sake. It felt like he was trying to feel something. Something in relation to his obsession for Galadriel, again : if he couldn't get Galadriel, maybe Mirdania could do ? But then his face looked like... Not convinced. Not convinced at all.

Later in that same episode, Sauron created an illusion for Celebrimbor where Eregion was doing fine so he would go back to work. After Celebrimbor left (so the illusion was no longer needed), this scene involving a Galadriel lookalike and a faceless man (likely to be a self-insert) telling her these words took place, and caught his attention :

I think it's when he realized that there could be no replacement for Galadriel. He didn't want a pretty submissive Elf girl who would be only perfect for the PR and the paperwork, he wanted the fiery Galadriel who wanted his death.

I mean, it makes Mirdania and Sauron's last interaction easier to understand; he was back at being cold and uncaring, while he was not done with Celebrimbor yet ! He could have still needed to manipulate her, and yet he just looked annoyed when she reached for his hand :

I don't know about you, but the moment I saw the way he looked at her I thought, "oh Mirdania dear, you're so dead". I think it's the moment he decided she was disposable, because whatever project he had for her was cancelled. This cold cynical bastard even told her she would be "duly rewarded".

We all know what came next :

(R.I.P. Mirdania, sorry, really)

[fanfreakinfiction]

My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers

Chapter 1: Don’t Cry

Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤

14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!

Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.

Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.

A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.

His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that. 

From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.

His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.

Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.

The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.

In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.

With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.

"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet. 

After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.

But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.

The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.

Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit. 

Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.

"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.

The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.

In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.

"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."

"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.

With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.

—

The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.

The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.

"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.

The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.

“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.

“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)

Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."

I am a lonely mother.

—

The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.

Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.

"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.

In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.

Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.

Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.

It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you

"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.

"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.

With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.

In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.

"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.

Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.

"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.

The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.

The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.

"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.

Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history. 

"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"

“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.

Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"

"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.

"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.

"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.

Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.

Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely. 

“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man. 

"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"

The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.

"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.

Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.

The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.

Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.

Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.

"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.

"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.

"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.

The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys. 

As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.

"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.

The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.

The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.

— 

The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.

Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.

As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you. 

"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly. 

The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.

You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.

Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.

With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.

Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff. 

After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.

Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.

“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.

You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.

Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack. 

With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.

Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.

An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing. 

Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.

You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.

After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.

Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.

A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.

Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.

"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.

After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.

After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.

You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.

Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.

It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.

Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.

While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.

At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.

Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers. 

This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.

Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.

In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations. 

You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.

—

The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night… 

The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.

Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.

But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar. 

As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.

In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm? 

When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu. 

Years. Actual, years.

In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.

Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?

"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.

“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.

But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.

Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.

The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.

Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.

"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.

"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.

“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."

Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."

The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.

The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.

At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.

Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right. 

This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.

As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.

Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.

He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.

Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.

Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.

He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.

Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life. 

He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.

That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar. 

With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.

Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.

— 

After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.

With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.

As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.

With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.

The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.

You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.

But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.

Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.

With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool. 

A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.

“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.

“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety. 

Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.

He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.

“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.

Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment. 

With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.

As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.

“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.

Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head. 

Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.

In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.

“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.

You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.

The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.

The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms. 

She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy. 

— 

The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.

Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.

Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.

Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.

Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.

His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.

Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.

He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible. 

The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.

— 

Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.

The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.

“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.

As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning. 

Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.

As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.

Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.

To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.

Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.

From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.

—

Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.

As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.

“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.

Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.

"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.

— 

"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.

The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.

You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.

As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.

It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.

However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.

You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers. 

He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him. 

His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more. 

“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light. 

He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t. 

You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.

You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you. 

His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place. 

He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.

"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.

—

"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.

Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.

He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm. 

"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.

"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.

Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then. 

"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.

For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.

"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.

You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.

"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.

Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.

He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.

Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.

As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.

Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.

"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.

Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.

"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you. 

"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.

"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.

"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.

"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.

"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)

Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him. 

He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.

He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.

With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.

You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering. 

In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.

"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.

Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.

"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.

"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.

As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.

Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.

A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.

He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.

In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned. 

His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.

"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither. 

[court-jobi]

hi! i love your works so much!!! i was wondering if i could request a hawks x pop princess f! reader?

like he does security for her groups concert and hes like “pffft im number 2 why do i need to be here”. then he watches her during sound check and is like okay i need to know more about her. so while shes getting ready hes just hovering backstage trying to talk to her. after the show she finally gives him her number (def against her companies wishes) and hes like trying to be suave and flirty and shes like “oh my god why is this working”. just a lot of hawks being a lover boy and sending gifts to her company anonymously and cutesy stuff like that lol. they have to keep their relationship a secret bc her company has a very strict no dating unless we agree rule. can be pre or post war hawks btw! you can take this wherever you want with it as well! can be nsfw or not.

im sorry that was so long! i was trying to make sure my thoughts were coherent lol.

Ooooo I love this idea so much, what a lovely dynamic to picture: a fanboy Hawks for a change, perhaps?? ~ this was a fun one to work on! @strwbrrykthv i sure hope this one was worth the wait and that I've done it justice!

You all are seriously the best readers a gal could ask for, and these requests are ✨giving me life✨~ Keep 'em coming!!

Who Has the Mic

Words: 4.3k

Rating: T

Warnings: Pro Hero!Hawks x popstar fem!reader, forbidden romance, flirting, mostly FLUFF, mentions of canon-typical threats, protective instincts, Hawks is a little shitTM, we love him your honor

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Hawks falls prey to a special thrill out of extending favors to others. 

‘I owe ya one’-- such a simple nicety that in the beginning, he doubts anyone would truly come to collect on it. It makes him sound agreeable, charming, starved for connection even before the height of his inevitable fame. 

Then he rose and rose in the hero rankings, securing himself into the very visible and wildly popular top spot, in terms of viewer popularity. 

It’s now that the redemptions of Hawks’ pro-hero favors have come rolling in… The unexpected keeps him on his toes and entertains him for the most part; and if it’s all for the sake of protecting others, then why not have a little fun with it? 

Once upon an overbearing press conference, back when he was first tiptoeing into the public scene… Hawks begged a makeup artist on staff for a spot to hide out in the green room and sneak a snack or two (or ten). He was granted pity for a teenager expected to take a seat at the table of an albeit boring Commission presentation. Well, it seems that particular makeup-artist rose within the talent realm themselves, and ended up reaching out to “that flyboy kid” back for a surprising accommodation: 

Top tier talent warrants top tier security.

Hawks takes a call at his agency and soon finds himself ushered in for the Tokyo opener of the reigning top-of-the-charts pop star with a voice of gold. The first meeting of old acquaintances led the Pro-Hero to tour the brand new, sky-high facilities, then return for the load-in day of the stage. Again for first dress, and each night of the week-long residency.

He carries his presence on the stealthier side, far above the stage floor in the scaffolding. Up here, lights are rigged with steel supports running every which way, where he executes perfect balance while walking in a straight line atop them. He’s checked -double and triple- that each outlet is free from hazard, each line of multi-ton equipment has been secured and safe, so that even his ‘adventuring’ from up high is not a risk.

He’s happy for the variety of work he faces as a hero- but right now, he’s bored. He shouldn't be feeling so dreadful, especially on the job, but he is. It’s not his style to be so down, after all. But Hawks has checked into every nook and cranny of this place and for the sake of an understandably hypervigilant security team, has an eye for which points of entry and exit could use a bird’s eye view come showtime.

His muscles are used to far more fast-paced antics and time-sensitive chases; not traipsing around like a literal vulture ready to swoop in at any moment. Surely he’s needed elsewhere.

But the threats have been rolling in… as they do for all of these larger-than-life musician types who found their way into the spotlight. They’re at risk of going in blind if they don’t have a good team around them to help them see.

So here he is, playing guardian angel to do his part and make sure all goes smoothly. It's a big operation by his count; there’s sixty members on the tech roster, plus the venue stage manager and their contracted staff, then all performers, and of course the headliner. Now where she is, he’d like to know– for not so selfless reasons.

He’d know her music by heart, given how much of an earworm and personal anthem her songs have become for him. It’s rare that the tables are turned, where Hawks is the fanboy and someone else is the idol. That dream is his dangling carrot for completing this mission successfully: he has the most sought-after bodyguard duty in the nation, and as good as a front row seat to her show.

Yet in a weird sense, Hawks also kinda hopes he never meets her. Doesn’t want to crush that bubble, ruin the allusion of the woman he’s got set as his ringtone.

So, he just runs his headcounts on all bodies supposed to be present at the top-of-show meeting to busy his mind. All is in order. ‘Cues’ are rounding up the pre-show acts, each in plainclothes for this rough stumble-through. Still doesn’t see the little starlet yet, and he gets the residual feeling that this might be typical behavior of ‘the talent’ to show up whenever she damn well pleases. 

Though funnily enough, he spots a pretty thing down there sporting some Hawks merch! Always nice to see a supportive fan in the most unlikely places… 

It's a well-fitting quarterzip sporting his red feather blades down each arm, an item he vaguely recognizes from this season’s newest launch. She’s got headphones on and subtly bopping about in her own little world, perhaps running through tonight’s set under her breath, if her self-contained taps of the fingers are an indication of her keeping beat. 

Hawks’ curious attention to that girl on the fringes of the stage is pulled when he hears the strict timbre of the stage director he’d met on day one take center stage.

“Ok, time to rein it in. As we covered in the email from Sec-Eng- which I’m assuming you gen-z’ers have read,” the bossman snarks to the younger members of this crew down below, “we’ve got some additional eyes in the sky pulling security for this leg in the tour. So, I want to give you all a chance to get your excitement out -along with your thanks- to our equally chart-topping hero, Hawks~ who’s… somewhere around here.”

Hoodie girl blanched– as if she’d been told she’d need to share her internet history to her grandmother. Immediately, she tosses off her headset and starts frantically stripping herself of the jacket she wore. While enthusiastic heads all fly around in every direction in search of the hero, Hawks chuckles at the sight of her alone. 

“...//Well, he’s probably checking the perimeters anyway//. How bout we all just send a big thank-you, eh?”

The couple of ‘Hoodie’s fellow dancers were poking fun at her -poor thing still flushed and clammed up- while the group gave a loud, singsongy ‘thank you!!’ up to the stage doors, assuming the Pro-Hero might be busting in, grand entrance fashion on command. The love-laden response from the dancers makes Hawks roll his eyes lightly, but he appreciates their praise all the same.

They giggle about in jazzed excitement with one’s voice carried out squealish and feminine, despite their professional assembly,

“Oh my god, you must be in HEAVEN!! He’s gonna be watching you ALL NIGHT!”

‘Hoodie’ looks downright mortified. The others have seemed to gather around spouting nothing but encouragement to this little fan girl who's doing her best to put on a poker face. Adorable. 

“Now we also need to make some edits before the crew breaks for lunch, everyone, so we are gonna start today with opening of Set 5 instead- hold.. Hold on… WHO HAS THE GOD MIC??”

The mics table scrambles for the one handheld microphone with omniscient audio range to the house. Surely it's the one thing they wouldn't lose and should hand straight to the Stage Manager, right? 

Well, said mic was sitting unattended there on the cart earlier… all for the Winged Hero’s taking when he was making his preliminary sweep earlier. 

From his inner jacket pocket, Hawks catches his lip in his teeth as he remembers where to turn the thing on. Once his throat cleared and the mic blinks red in sync with the soundboard, he amplifies a little trademark bird whistle: for each and every soul in sight to hear. 

The stage erupts in excitement, as planned. ‘Hoodie’ immediately teeters over to one of the props hideaways and stows said jacket away. 

Hawks chuckles with the mic at chest level– only to call her out from his perch,

“Saw that, dear~”

Seems logic caught up with the poor thing, as she -finally- pieced together the true vantage point of her idol’s presence, and looked up. 

Sparing her too much embarrassment, Hawks simply cocked his head on a folded up fist and gave a little wave of some fingers to her. 

Despite her clear shock and surprise, she did smile brilliantly back and gave a little signed ‘thank you for being here’ rather than a scream like all the others.

The stage manager followed her line of sight to where the hero stands in wait, ready to dismount and return his bit of cheekily stolen equipment. Despite some bewildered aggravation to Hawks’ antics, he gestures with the exhaustion of a high school teacher.

“There now, see kids? That's how you protect your voices before a show!! Better than belting your way to the doctor’s office. Our star here sure leads by example now doesn't she–” 

In rare form for the hero, it's Hawks’ turn to be stunned. His fangirl: it’s you.

Everyone else may be calling that first call time your lucky day… but you were intimidated to the point of feeling ill. Thank goodness for your poker face; because locking eyes with Hawks’ stunning crimson canopy and giving you that wink and a grin about sent you into a heart attack. 

You're starstruck. The absolute heartthrob of an idol you revere as your favorite Pro-Hero has been standing over 150 meters above your head, watching for every sign of danger that could threaten you for the last week. 

That near guarantee of safety would trump your fleeting nerves– if you hadn’t given the first impression of a closeted fangirl like you did!!

Nothing short of awe crossed your mind when you so much as think of the hero. A very vocal fan whenever he came up in the news or your social feed amongst your inner circle. Hawks is a household name for you, who you were incredibly fond of… both in how he handled massive crowds or charmed in intimate, one-on-one interviews. 

You know the role; you suck up for cameras, too, as it's all in the optics. But for every PR-guided response you know is crafted by easy-going smiles or a disarming tone, you remember to see past the spectacle of Hawks and look for ‘him’. Remove the wings and hero getup: who is he? Can you spot the tells on camera like your mom can when she watches you? No matter how big of a global phenomenon her baby girl gets, she can still tell when you have a headache while having to give an appearance on a talk show. 

The man you spot on screen has to have a series of faults and slips. Even battle-ready heroes put their shoes on one at a time– just like everyone else. He’s sure to have a favorite lunch spot, a favorite pen to use for autographs, a favorite singer, even… 

Surely not you, but a girl can dream.

There’s a glazed-over glint in Hawks’ eyes when he very subtly checks out when being spoken to which gives you the strong suspicion you two may not be so unalike. And that list of little mannerisms has grown exponentially– with every day that's passed:

Hawks has difficulty staying still, you've learned. He’s also much younger than people assume. Carries a crafty habit of popping up unexpectedly in a way that’s youthful– and borderline cheeky. From atop a stack of amps, to a crowdless green room, to the rigging of lights where you've stunned the crowds for the last four nights, he’s perched out of sight from your thousands of fans. 

Though each little comment thrown here and there in praise has floated down to your ears in sweet jest, things come to a head when the last night of your show arrived: where the crushing realization sought to dampen your mood. 

After tonight, you wouldn’t have your angelic, crimson-winged shadow anymore. 

But Hawks surprises you once again. 

You nearly miss it, too, once your final round of ‘surprise songs’ is revealed and you are snuck down to your assigned hideout to get ready to leave the venue. It’s back in your can-lit dressing room that you’re making double takes down the hall looking for any sign of your security team; especially the one to whom you owe a hefty ‘thank you’ to for all his efforts.

-but as your half-redressed form has donned your beloved Hawks hoodie once more, you’re not so spooked to hear a familiar whistle from behind you this time.

Headphones slung back down around his neck and wings slimmed down to a more presentable manner for tight hallways like these, Hawks slips into your prep space with a speedy uptick of steps. A knowing whisper to ‘shut the door fast so no one notices’ eeks out of him, eliciting a smile from you.

Each one of your suspicions are confirmed with that one comment alone; he knows this game well. Still, playing along with his dance of keep-away from any prying eyes (or cameras) doesn’t mean your heart isn’t  hammering away in your chest at the knowledge of getting your hero all to yourself.

So here, Hawks traipses around your makeshift room with unbidden interest– which, for such a small space, is cute to know how many little details pique his curiosity. Your various outfits still hang all facing the correct way, your personal backpack sits beside it on the end featuring your mess of pins and collected patches from the locations you’ve toured thus far. The run schedule is still taped on the wall, and below it, your laptop has your notation software open and idle onscreen.

“Well, now,” Hawks chimes in with a little crouch over the back of your empty chair, “Surely I’m not looking at our next chart-topping hit in the making, am I?”

“Maybe!” you chuckle, joining his side to quickly save your work before you forget. “It’s getting the lyrics and melody to marry right that’s the hard part. Working out the latter right now, and it’s kinda kicking my butt.”

“But you’re doing it! Look at all this– wait. Is this what you were dancing to earlier?”

Damn his powers of observation. You’d been testing out the rhythm of the hook this week– when you’d been caught under his attention.

“...M-maybe?” you hedge again.

“I knew it-” Hawks beamed, “A stunning starlet and a mastermind. What can’t you do?”

Flattered beyond belief, you answer honestly, 

“Keep myself outta trouble with my managers. Trying to, at least,” you close the laptop to conserve its power, “but between the shows and speaking engagements, it’s left me a bit starved for time to actually make the music.”

“N’why would writing get you in trouble?”

“It takes me away from all the other things I ‘have to do’,” you sigh easily. “They can bring in anyone to make the music and keep pitching songwriting teams to me to take the load off. Just think something’s gotten a little out of balance.”

Without meaning to, you held Hawks’ attention– enough to make him sit back on the armrest of your couch and listen with undivided attention while you explained your creative process more. While most J-Pop performers would be thrilled to have outside writers create the work and easy into a performance schedule with pre-set work to learn, you loved to have a hand in the writing process too. As an art form, it’s personal when you have to perform season after season. 

You’ve chatted quite a bit here and there over these last several days, though not this extensively. He was interested in so much about this whole operation, to the point where you wondered if he’d ever met any of the performers who you knew presented at some of those hero galas he went to. Apparently not, by the way he’d lock onto your every word when you spoke. Either your timekeepers (or his) would inevitably interrupt you, so back to work you two would fly off to.. though you’d seem to circle back to one another and chat about anything and everything if given the chance- little spurts of talk that always left you wanting more.

He’d commiserate with you on that front as well– the balance of stardom and freedom. Bogged down by meetings and public appearances wore on him just as much as you. With every roadblock you described about your recent album development, Hawks nodded along with expected understanding. 

The revolving issue of personal safety might have brought him into your employ, but you know more and more cases like yours filled up his day-to-day life in ways you couldn’t imagine… but he even shed some light on that as well to you. He’d burst the bubble on hero work as an industry through little asides with you offstage: comments he’d likely get reprimanded for if he ever spoke them in a public statement. 

But you’d keep his secrets safe. What happens on set stays on set.

So even now, as he’s tucked himself into your dressing room while you puttered around chatting about your true dreams of getting a new concept album wrapped by the end of the year, Hawks tuned in with genuine interest that only made your heart skip a beat for him more.

“I haven’t always gotten the time to work on it lately… though this week, I’ve had a clearer head to be in here rather than under lock and key with a security force breathing down my neck– which is largely thanks to you, Mr. Hawks.”

“Oh please,” Hawks scrunches his nose and teases, “Mr. Hawks is what the lawyers call me. Just Hawks is fine!”

You exhale, squishing back any girlish outburst from your voice at how fussy he looked. 

“All the same, thank you for your help this week,” you pressed, “It’s -uhm- not often I get to meet my favorite Pro Hero on the job…”

A pleased smirk lifts Hawks’ cheeks, though you spot a funny kind of shyness in them when he studies your sleeve rather than look you in the eye-

“Favorite, huh?” Hawks smiles, “ n’here I thought I was the lucky one, sweet’eart-” he taps his headphones for emphasis, “One day I’m listening to you on repeat on my morning commute– and the next, I’m standing two feet from you!”

“--You’re kidding.”

From his pocketed phone, Hawks challenges you with a press and hold on the speakers to boost the volume as high as it could go. Faintly, you caught your own pop vocals from your second ever album casting from Hawks’ headphones. 

You can’t believe your luck– he’s really a fan? Of yours?

The mix of sentimentality and surprise must be palpable on your face as you grasp exactly which song has Hawks spellbound before he cocks his head with a sheepish grin of his own, 

“Believe me now?”

Words fail you, but you shudder out a little giggle that speaks volumes. He tests with a smile,

“Soooo guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked a horribly stereotypical favor and snagged a selfie while I’m here?” 

Eyebrows shot up to the sky as Hawks dangled his phone between you, you immediately pause. No one on your Communications team is still backstage (to your knowledge), but the engrained warning about checking your professional list of partnerships before posting comes to mind… annoying as it is. All you want is a pic with him, too!

“Nothing for socials-” Hawks assures you with a gloved hand, “If your handlers are just as pesky as mine, they’d never let me live it down. Just– something to keep me grounded, on the hard days.”

That reasoning… it almost broke your heart just as quickly as your potential disappointment had been earlier. 

With a knowing smile, you nodded sweetly to Hawks- he’s charming in a whole new light to you.

“Only if you send it to me too, hm? Favor for a favor?”

“ ‘Course!”

Sliding up into his open space, Hawks clearly knows his best side but keeps you right in the center of his shot. That smile he makes… you are going to keep this proud glint in his eye and sight of his hand around you locked into your mind forever– even if he forgets to send it to your insta handle after this. 

It’s too brief of a moment, watching his wing curl around you though the phone’s front-facing camera burgeoning you close, head tilting gently against yours. Keeping a close-lipped smile seared into your mind when you think of him now.

Then in an even more lightning fast moment, while he’s fussing with a weird flip of his bangs, you reach to tap the shutter as you sneak a kiss onto his cheek. 

He’s stunned by the move, but by the even brighter muted smile, you stand by with pride double checking his photo gallery that the shot made it. It surely did. 

“You have a hard job, Hawks; harder and more dangerous than anyone I know,” 

You step away casually.. Though the need for distance is more for your sake than just optics of your forwardness. 

“... Thought you deserved more than one lil selfie. Hope that’s ok?”

“H-okay?” Hawks breathes out, studying his camera roll with reverence, “Better’n ok..”

Outside a muted feedback from the PA system is calling for Exit team to assemble– get staged for your departure from the venue at last.

“That’s me. Better bounce-” Hawks piped up after a small clearing of his throat. You’re nearly too shy to look at him after this-

-but when a kiss greets your hand, lifted imperceptibly fast and squeezed just as fleeting as his words grace your ears- you couldn’t look away if you tried.

“- a pleasure, dear.”

And before you can utter any further word of thanks or manage something other than a shocked smile, Hawks slips out of the room and off to hand the reins back to your team. You can barely hear from the still-live walkie talkies that your security detail is back at their regular stations, and your Pro-Hero is off for his final step of his hired work. Soon he’d be relieved of his station and off to save someone else from an unsavory fate.

He doesn’t forget to send you the photos; and you now have his private insta handle.

The photo where you snuck a peck onto his cheek would be set as your internal screenshot if it weren’t for your niece’s constant borrowing of your phone when she visits you on set… 

But now, you’re back for a month-long stay at the studio– your reward for a successful first half of the Tour.

Encouraged by your protective muse’s spark at the thought of your new music, you decide to take that energy back to Chichibu. Your headphones might as well be glued to your head, with how much you’ve head-dived into your sound mixing apps and sampling library. In fact, it’s that unwavering attention to your music that you nearly miss the most obvious sight walking through the lobby of the unassuming recording studio. Almost.

But how could you really– when the largest floral arrangement you’d ever seen is gracing the reception table? That stunning piece looks like it costs more than the linoleum flooring the desk sits on. 

A few aides have been distracted by the sight, studying the typed message attached and racking their brains for any sign of a calling card. One of your cutting room techs was currently rounding the base of the standing arrangement for some tucked note, which made you giggle how intently she was studying the thing. 

You know the sound booth manager best out of this group of other visiting accompanists,

“Lucky, lucky girl~” she reels you in excitedly, plucking the card from the other’s sights and handing to you directly. “Sorry to say there’s no hint who it’s from… but it’s for you, little bird!”

You hedge at the pet name once again– the nickname stuck unwillingly not only for your melodic talent, but the association with your clear celebrity (heroic) crush. 

However, as you read the note, the immediate assumption that this may have been another gift from a venue host was thrown right out the window…

This was a personal gift:

To keep my genius company while she makes her magic~ No one can give us the stories you can; don’t ever  let them take your voice. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. Can’t wait to hear the new demo!

“No matter how high or low I am.. a piece of me will be here with you. It’s- where I'd rather be... Till next time…”

“Next time? Wait, who sent these again?!”

“It was just the delivery guy, from that really flouncy place downtown~” the receptionist answers with interest.

“Nooo, I mean on the card! Who signed the card?

“There's nothing– no initials, nothing..” you confirmed, still reeling over the message. But as you trail off over the cascade of tropical flowers, the flecks of red blooms catch your eye and bring you to study harder. 

Then- tucked under some deep green curls- a spot of red hides. A quill amongst the mossy padding of the arrangement- not unlike a surprise found in a nest.

Sifting through under the guise of feeling tender petals, you grasp the soft, downy feather which bears a small post-it flag on the underside with a sequence of numbers on it. 

“Do you have any idea who?”

Balling it carefully in your fist just as quickly, you answer, “Couldn't tell ya. But the pop of red sure is pretty, isn't it?”

In your booth -set up with your sticker-laden laptop and butterflies in your stomach- you hold the sticky note in one hand, pinching the crimson feather precariously in the other. 

Face warmed and unbelieving of your luck, you think on what to send first to your mic-stealer…

To be continued?

[respectthepetty]

Unknown the series……I’ve not seen anyone else talk about this but I’m sure you will have noticed.

Yuans cactus. Qian looked after this while he was away we know and it was small and dying before he started to take care of it.

In the scene with Yuan and Lilly now Yuan is back - there is now 2 cactus in the pot….the single “dying” cactus has now grown into two healthy cactus and Yuan keeps playing with it during his conversation with Lilly.

this is significant right?? Or am I now to far into your feed that I now focus on cactuses for symbolism during key plot lines?! 😬

If you came in my inbox thinking I was going to somehow deter you from this thought process, obviously you haven't gone deep enough in my feed because I'm obsessed with Qian taking care of all the plants! Like this little green gal in the white pot? I call her Sheila.

When Yuan was gone, Sheila was sad.

But look at her grow!

LOOK AT HER!

Sis was living her best life under Qian's gentle thumb.

So while everyone was busy paying attention to Care Bear Cactus, Sheila has just be thriving in the background.

And it makes sense that Care Bear Cactus is important enough to get all the attention since he is doing exactly what you wrote - telling a story.

The story of one little abandoned and unloved item

That Qian decided to take care of

And watch over

And gave a place where it could thrive

So that little cactus could one day use all that love it was given

And create its own love to extend to others

So, yeah, I think what you wrote about the little green guys is significant since green represents growth and new beginnings and this is a story of growth and new beginnings.

But never forget my girl Sheila has had her dark days too!

Growth!

[c-kiddo]

got to tha episode/scene in which the gals go get tattoos while caleb and fjord eat fish and chips and also caduceus tells them about green beans and destiny and how they're the same and just absolutely drenches some chips in vinegar

[sludge-wizard]

List of my headcanons that are real from the movie:

-Luigi struggles to keep up with Mario for health reasons (He states he has bad knees in the opening) -Luigi is scared of big dogs -Luigi 100% swears ("That HELLhound is gonna escape!") -Luigi was a gifted kid ("You're bringing your brother down with you", the refusal to talk back at dinner, the block castle) -Luigi 100% eats whatever Mario doesn't like (Taking the mushrooms from his pasta, eating it when Mario doesn't want to) -Mario and Luigi are VERY SMALL GUYS -Mario was NOT a golden/perfect child -Luigi is a bit of a mama's boy, likely due to being shy and her needing to do things on his behalf (Giving him his soup directly after he struggled to get any bread or salad, THANKS UNCLE TONY) -The boys share a room -Mario sucks as video games but still plays them because he's stubborn -Large immigrant family living together -Mario is an INCREDIBLY stubborn person -Princess Peach is less of a ruler and more of a guardian/protector/spokesperson -King Boo and the presence of boos in Bowser's strongholds implies he's taken over their former spaces when they were alive ("the darklands. they're under Bowser's control") -The shell is NOT part of the Koopa's body (The dry bones had a separated spine from the shell) -Coins are pretty big -The blue shell is the highest ranking troop, with other shell colours indicating rank as well. -Power ups are as much a tool as a weapon -Cheep cheeps are just fish -There's an entire kingdom of Kongs, containing both monkeys and gorillas -Cranky Kong is Donkey Kong Senior, and Donkey Kong's father -Mario was not a natural at all, even if he was a sporty kid -Power-ups can actively transform the body and not JUST augment it (The super-bell giving mario cat reflexes and adjusting his joints to operate like a cat's. also a plus, he purrs when grooming himself and makes biscuits on DK's back briefly) -Shortcuts to skip worlds are real (The cannons, rainbow road) -Anti grav can be toggled, but will auto enable under certain conditions -Bowser's green scales run down his back and under his shell (it's hard to see but noticeable in the fake proposal scene) -Mario is a kart guy and peach is a Bike gal -Koopas tend to greatly admire feats of strength and power, and sparing somebody is seen as very romantic. -bullet bills are sentient -all humans are cartoony -Bowser isn't just a bully, he's actually a sad and hurt person who grew up alone and likely fought for the throne

[the1northlanderprincess]

Return of the Green Dress....?

Behold, the green dress has made a triumphant comeback!

Ok, so, I was rather surprised when I first saw this gif floating around. I was really confused as to where it came from. Then I watched the "inside of" for episode 6, and saw the clips previewing the one for episode 7. I was like, huh. With all we know about the rest of the season, it confused me as to where it would fit in.

Scenario 1:

It could be a flashback. This is supposed to be a big Elrond episode. Perhaps, while worrying about Gal, he thinks back to a special moment between them. But it's also a defining episode for Celebrimbor, and he and Galadriel have an emotional scene. Maybe we will have a flashback featuring them.

Scenario 2:

The above scenario was actually not my first thought upon seeing this clip. No, it was very different. I thought about not posting on it because I thought I was becoming a little....scary. However, after seeing @rey-jake-therapist, I decided to give it a shot.

What if Sauron is so submerged into his obsession with Galadriel, we, as the audience, actually see him picturing Mirdania as Galadriel? I mean, she looks to be in a tower of some kind, looking down with a pensive expression. Is Sauron with her as Mirdania-as-Galadriel looking down at the destruction?

Scenario 3:

This is probably less likely, but what if this is actually from the finale, and is part of a vision? What if vision!Galadriel is in Numenor, or a fortress in Mordor?

Whatever the case, all I know is that this is a new location, and a new hairstyle that she has while in the dress. Plus, she looks extremely pretty and ethereal.

[gretavangroupie]

Burgundy

Word count: 5.7k+

Pairing: Daniel x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Attending a wedding alone can be kind of a drag, especially when you show up late and sit next to a stranger. Right?

A/N: This idea was born from the recent photos of Daniel attending a wedding looking extra delicious in his Burgundy suit. I hope you enjoy.

You pick up your phone on the bathroom vanity to check the time again. 4:24.

Why is it taking so long for this curling iron to heat up?

You run back into the main room to grab your phone charger out of your bag and quickly pad back into the brightly light hotel bathroom to plug your phone in, hoping that it will gain enough of a charge to last you through the night. Your flight arrived 2 hours ago, and it was questionable if you were even going to get on it to begin with.

You and Briley were great friends in college, but your communication dropped off after graduation. You were still friends, but not like you used to be. So when you received the invitation to her wedding you were a bit shocked. You immediately told yourself you weren't going but, over the next few weeks you wondered what it would be like if you did go. You wondered if you would see anyone else you knew from college, and you needed a little vacation. So you decided to go.

That is until yesterday. As you tore apart your closet looking for a dress, you were coming up empty. ‘What exactly is Nashville Formal?’ you thought to yourself. The invitation left nearly everything open to interpretation. You would find out later, exactly what that meant, but in the moment you were lost. You eventually decided on an emerald green chiffon spaghetti strap dress with a scooping neckline. Classy but still sexy. It hit about mid calf, and had a slit up the front, showing a little bit of leg. Now, typically you look for any excuse to dress up and go out, but this time you were dreading it. You knew you would more than likely not know anyone else at this wedding and the thought of socializing already had you sweating. Not to mention it would be half of the Nashville music scene in attendance thanks to Marcus. So when the time came to board the plane, you almost made a run for it, back to the safety of your apartment. 

Ultimately you did board the plane, taking the short flight into BNA, giving you roughly two hours to get checked in, and get ready for the wedding. That's where you find yourself now, curling your hair as quickly as possible, and touching up your makeup. You slide on the dress, and fasten the straps on your heels, praying your feet will last the night in these things. 

You pull your phone from the charger in the bathroom, giving yourself one last spritz of perfume, and shoving your phone into your clutch as you head out the door, hearing it slam shut behind you. You call an Uber and see that you will arrive within 5 minutes of when the ceremony is supposed to start. You’ve never really been great with being on time.

As the Uber pulls up outside of the Symphony Hall, you follow the signs and the smell of florals to find people gathering waiting for the ceremony to begin. You quickly rush into the doors and scan the crowd for an open seat. You see a few open seats towards the front, but you are more of a middle, or back type of gal. Needing to make a decision quickly you spot an open chair near the middle, next to a guy in a burgundy suit. 

“Hi, is this seat taken?” you ask in a hushed tone, hearing music beginning to play. 

His eyes flick up to yours, covered by a pair of amber lenses, “No, it's all yours.” he smiles.

You quickly sit as the music gets louder, and groomsmen begin to enter. You look around the room and have yet to see a face that you recognize, as expected. As you turn back to face forward you catch the scent of the cologne the man sitting next to you is wearing, as he continues to peer down the aisle. 

Well that is…a nice smell.

You turn to look at him briefly, and then look to the other guests in the row behind you, that you saw him chatting with when you walked in. One of the girls flashes you a quick side smile before you both turn your attention back to the doors shutting, indicating that the bride is coming. 

You all stand and turn towards the doors as Briley makes her grand entrance. She is even more beautiful than you remember. Of course she is. She was the crush of every guy on campus back then, but she finally found her prince. Her 'King' if you will.

As her father walks her down the aisle past you, you hear clicking behind you and turn to see a tall guy in a red suit snapping photos on his vintage camera. He makes eye contact with you through his sunglasses, ‘did I miss the sunglasses memo?’ and flashes you a toothy grin as you all take your seats. The man next to you turns to whisper something to another guy behind you and you put the pieces together that this must be his group of friends. You try not to eavesdrop but you can't help it when you are sitting directly next to them. 

“Did you see Josh?” the man says.

“Yeah, he was in the middle, they both were.” the man behind you answers. 

“Okay, good.” the man replies. 

You turn your attention back to the front and watch as Briley and Marcus commit themselves to each other for life in a beautiful ceremony. As Marcus reads his vows to Briley you find yourself starting to feel choked up, a small sniffle leaving your nose. But to be fair, you weren’t the only one. 

The man next to you leans over and pulls something out of his pocket, holding it up slightly to you in question, as you try to dry your eyes with the side of your finger. 

He leans to you and offers you a white handkerchief, and you accept with a gracious tight lipped smile. Your fingers brush his hand and a swirl of something flutters through your chest, you think he must have felt it too by the way his eyebrows raised subconsciously. 

You take it from his hand and notice the embroidered initials adorning the corner in beautiful navy blue letters.

DRW

Fancy… Who is this guy?

You quickly dab the white linen at your waterline, collecting your tears and clutching it back in your grip, hoping you wont need it again. As the ceremony concludes you feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. 

Gosh he probably thinks I am some emotional nut case…

The officiant has everyone stand as they have their first kiss and everyone cheers in congratulations. As they make their way back down the aisle as everyone claps, the guys behind you hooting and hollering for their friend. A smile crosses your face as you make eye contact with Briley, and you can tell she is glad you came. 

They walk out the double doors and the officiant invites everyone to join cocktail hour in the great hall. 

As you gather your clutch from under the seat you turn back to the guy next to you and wait for him to finish his conversation. He stops when he sees you waiting. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but thanks for letting me borrow this, I was not expecting to cry.” you giggle.

He takes off his sunglasses and folds them up, sliding them into his pocket, and it's only then that you get a good look at his deep chocolate brown eyes that practically suck you into them. Your eyes glance up to the tendrils of curls hanging loosely around his face, the rest of his clearly long and curly locks, pulled tightly into a claw clip. You find your eyes diverting down to his lips as he responds.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us, why do you think I had it?” he says with a wink.

You can feel the crimson blush washing over your face.

Why are you blushing, you don’t even know this man…

“You are very kind.” you say handing him the monogrammed square of fabric. 

He grabs it from your hand and pushes it into his coat pocket. You nod your head and go to turn away, when his hand stops you by resting on your bicep.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

You turn to face him as guests begin to file out of the space.

“Yeah, I am. I knew Briley in college and decided at the last minute to come. I don’t think I know anyone else here. I was actually planning my escape during the ceremony.” you laugh.

He flashes you a quick smile, as he responds. “Well, I’m Daniel and now you know me. Don’t leave just yet. Come hang out with us, we don't really know anyone here either. Plus I’m the only one in my group without a date, so we can be stag together if you want. I hear it's an open bar...” he says with a laugh.

You bite your lips inwardly, as you turn to look at his group, each one of them with a date, just like he said. You purse your lips and squint your eyes, “Okay… I’ll stay a little longer, but only because I feel bad that you are the only one without a date.” you say playfully.

He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head as it's your turn to exit the seating area. He places his hand on your lower back, the warmth from his large hand radiating up your spine as he guides you out of the row and into the aisle.

You don’t hate this…

He follows behind you and stops you as you wait for the rest of his friends to join you.

He points everyone out, to give you a quick introduction before actually meeting them.

“Red suit is Sam, his girlfriend Hannah in the green dress. Jake, in black, his girlfriend Jita in Blue. I’m Daniel, obviously, and….. Josh…. Is around here somewhere. We will find him later.” he says.

“I think I may remember that, but don’t quiz me later.” you laugh. You quickly tell him your name, just as the group approaches. 

You all make your way to Cocktail Hour and the drinks are already flowing. You all gather around a tall table and the guys decide to go grab drinks.

“What would you like?” Daniel asks you.

“Mmmm maybe a red wine? I’m not picky, whatever they have.” you reply.

“You got it.” he says with a smile.

You and the girls chat at the table as the guys get the drinks. They introduce themselves and ask you how you know the bride. You give them the quick run down on your history with Briley and they tell you theirs. Apparently you are hanging out with a band? Just as you find that out, the guys are returning with drinks. 

“They had Burgundy and Merlot, and to be honest I don’t know the difference. I picked Burgundy.” he says nervously, handing you the glass.

“Seems you have an affinity for Burgundy.” you say pointing at his suit up and down.

“Seems I do.” he says with a smirk, sipping his cocktail.

You all begin to chat with the group, introducing yourself to the rest of the guys and meeting the mysterious Josh they kept mentioning.

Turns out he and Jake are twins, Sam is their younger brother and Daniel is their best friend. They are all in a band together and apparently Daniel is a drummer?

You aren't sure if it's the wine, but your head is spinning with new information. 

“You want another?” he asks, taking your empty glass.

“I don’t know if I should. I do have to make my escape…” you tease.

He slides his hand across your lower back, “You can't leave me yet…” he whispers as he walks away to the bar, shooting you a look over his shoulder. You shake your head and smirk.

How has this man convinced you to stay at this wedding?

A few minutes later he is returning with fresh drinks, and you accept with a whispered thanks.

“Daniel, are we going to see you on the dance floor this evening?” Sam laughs.

“Depends on if I have a good partner…” he says, and all eyes shoot to you.

“Ohhhh, no… no no. I do not dance.” you says waving your hands in front of you.

“Everyone dances if they have had enough to drink.” Jake jokes, and everyone laughs as a small smirk crosses his face.

“I’d have to switch to the hard stuff for that to happen.” you say.

“Can be arranged.” Sam says.

You shake your head and let Josh steer the conversation in a different direction.

Daniel leans over to whisper in your ear, “Sit at our table.” his hand finding its place on your lower back. 

“We have assigned seats…” you whisper back. 

“I know, but when I RSVP’d I had a plus one, the seat was accounted for. Now… it's an empty seat, and I have a new date.” he says, his velvety voice traveling the length of your spine. 

“Is that so…” you reply.

“Sit with me.” he says again, eyes peering into yours. 

You nod slowly, and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping to stifle the smile that wants to spread across his face.

Forgetting where you two were, you both look back to see the group staring at you suspiciously. 

You both laugh and are perfectly interrupted from an explanation, by the doors to the reception space opening. The space is beautifully lit in pink and green tones, large tables with flowers line the length of the grand ballroom. 

“I think we are up front.” he says, leading you to the table. You are near the dance floor, the looming thought of yourself dancing in the back of your mind sends a shiver through your body.

As you all take your seats you gush over how beautiful the venue is and the choice in colors and design of everything. It’s perfectly Briley and you expected nothing less. She always did love to be vibrant in every aspect of her life. 

A waiter comes by your table, depositing plates of food at each place setting, and taking drink orders. 

As he returns the drinks are served in plastic cups with a caricature of Briley and Marcus, and you know you have to take one of these home. You have switched to vodka tonic and you already know you’ll be at this wedding longer than you ever intended thanks to the beautiful man in the burgundy suit sitting next to you.

The group is fun, someone is always cracking a joke, or telling a funny story. You have been in stitches for over an hour. You make a mental note to look up their band when you get home and see what they sound like. 

The bride and groom enter and immediately go into their first dance, and again there isn’t a dry eye around. Daniel notices your tears and chuckles, shaking his head. Both of you laughing at your emotional state. He places his hand on your thigh, a soothing gesture, but one that heats your body from the inside out. You bite your lip and glance at him, his eyes locking with yours. He looks down to his hand, watching his fingers rub small circles into the soft skin, before he looks back to you and then back to the dance floor. You don’t want his hand to ever leave that spot, but inevitably the dance ends and everyone claps, Daniel included. 

You are having a way better time than you expected and a few drinks later you do find yourself on the dance floor. The glow sticks have been passed out and everyone has had way too much to drink. It is rowdy on the dance floor and you see Josh across the way absolutely tearing it up with strangers. Everyone around him, joining in on his fun. Just from your 10 minutes of conversation with him, you are pretty sure he has never met a stranger in his life. He is a ball of sunshine and everyone around him feels his warmth. 

You turn back to see Daniel approaching you, sliding his hand over your waist and pulling you into him as a slow song begins to play. 

“Oh are we slow dancing Daniel?” you ask playfully.

“Call me Danny, and yes, if you want to that is.” he answers. 

“I do.” you answer.

He smiles, “I think that's the bride's line.” he winks.

You smack his chest playfully and lace your fingers around his neck, letting him lead. 

“I’m glad you don’t have a date.” you say, into his shoulder nervously.

“What do you mean? I have the prettiest date here.” he smiles, sweeping the hair off of your neck.  

You slide your hands under his suit jacket and feel his torso through his black shirt, before running them down his abs and sliding them back up around his neck. 

“You’re warm, you should take the jacket off.” you say playfully.

“Already trying to get me undressed… tsk tsk tsk.” he says jokingly, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.” you say looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Careful what you wish for.” he says, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

“Are you a genie? Do I need to rub your magic lamp three times?” you reply.

“Not the lamp, baby...” he says, as he pulls away and heads back to the table, smirking at you over his shoulder.

You find yourself wanting to follow after him, but deciding to keep a bit of distance, mingle a little, get another drink… Make him wait.

As you approach the bar you order yourself a new drink, and make conversation with the people next to you. You are approached by a striking looking blonde man in a black suit. You can tell he is looking to get lucky tonight by his approach.

“What are ya drinkin’” he asks.

You casually look him up and down before answering, “Vodka Tonic” you say.

“Need a new one?” he asks.

“Nah, just got one.” you answer, grabbing a cocktail napkin. 

“Friends with the bride?” he asks, leaning on his elbow.

“Yep, college friends. What about you?” you ask.

“I work with Marcus. Well with his management company.” he answers smugly.

“Oh so you’re a suit.” you reply.

He reaches his hand out and places it on your arm, his ice cold hand sending a shiver through you. “You could say I know people.” 

Okay, what a prick…

A voice comes up behind you, and a hand slides around your waist. “You good, baby? You get your drink?” Danny says, marking his territory. 

“Yeah, I did. Thanks babe.” you say playing into it. His grip on your waist tightening. 

He liked that.

“You trying to steal my girl John?” he playfully asks the other guy.

“My bad dude, didn’t know she was with you.” he replies.

He knows him?

“All good, but yeah, she's with me.” he says, placing a kiss on your cheek.

They shake hands, his other hand never leaving your waist, as John walks away.

He releases you, and you spin to face him. “You know him?” you ask.

“Oh yeah, everyone knows him. He’s kind of a douche.” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“I kinda noticed, thanks for rescuing me.” you say flirty.

“You don't strike me as the kind of girl who needs rescuing. I bet you could have handled him all on your own. However, I couldn’t watch him continue to touch all over my girl.” he says, tracing his pointer finger down the length of your jaw.

“Your girl, huh?” you ask, seductively. 

“Definitely.” he replies in your ear.

You lace your fingers with his and pull him behind you back to the dance floor. They are passing out hats and you both get one, yours reading “This Wedding Sucks” and his reading “Shitty Advice for $1”. You both laugh hysterically at all the funny hats and begin to dance to the music playing. His hands are all over you, and yours all over his. After a few minutes you face him and pull him closer to you, feeling him pressing up against the thin material of your dress. His lips graze the side of your neck, and you lean into it. 

You pull back but lean into his ear, “Wanna go get some air?” you say with a devilish look.

“I thought you’d never ask.” he says, guiding you off the dance floor and through the crowd. You see Sam on the way out, and Danny stops to tell him something, before rejoining you.

You look at him with a smirk.

“Just told him we are stepping outside to get some air…” he says playfully.

You walk out of the ballroom and into the beautiful corridor from earlier. He pulls your hand to the side and you follow after him, walking down a long winding hallway that's dimly lit and practically a ghost town. 

“I found this earlier while looking for the bathroom.” he says, backing you up against a large wooden door. His hands have caged in your head, and you slide your hands around his waist, locking your fingers through the belt loops of his Burgundy suit pants.

His eyes search yours for a few seconds before you answer by pressing your lips to his, feeling all of the pent up tension from the night releasing from you. His hands come down to cup your face as he kisses you again, this time running his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission. You open your lips allowing him to slide in. Your tongues dance together in a way that you could never replicate on a real dance floor. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, and you are sliding your hand up and onto the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you. As your lips continue to explore each other your other hand wanders down his waist, gliding gently over his belt buckle and resting on the hardened bulge pressing against you. A groan falls from his lips into your mouth and you swallow it down like fine wine. 

He pulls away from you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of contact. He looks at you, and looks both ways down the hallway before twisting the door handle.

The door opens behind you and he pushes you in, closing it quickly behind you, twisting the lock and flicking the light switch. 

It's a very small room, just a chair, a small table and a piano. You look around the room puzzled, as Danny smiles and answers your silent question.

“It’s a practice room. This hallway is lined with them. I told you I couldn’t find the bathroom.” he laughs.

You slide his coat over his arms and he throws it onto the chair. He takes the clip out of his hair, and lets his curls hang freely on his shoulders.

Holy shit, he is hot.

He pulls his black turtleneck over his head, revealing his chiseled tan torso. Your hands instantly reach out to touch his skin, hot and flushed. His hands reach for your face, pulling you up to meet his lips as he kisses you over and over. 

Your hands reach his belt buckle and begin to unfasten the metal and leather. Your fingers shakily unbutton the buttons on his slacks and glide the zipper down. Your hand slides into the front of his pants over his boxers and you can feel the magnitude of what he was hiding under the pants. 

He slides his hands over your shoulders pushing the thin green straps over the curve of your shoulders letting them fall to your arms. His finger traces the dipping neckline of the dress, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your chest. 

“So responsive…” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You reach behind you and pull the zipper down on your dress, letting it fall around your ankles, leaving you in just your thong. You feel his rough fingers come up to meet your hardened nipple and roll it beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

You hook your fingers into his boxers and tug downward, pushing them and his pants down his legs, letting his dick spring free. You place a kiss on his collarbone, just like he did to you, but you don’t stop there, you continue down his chest, placing soft kisses as you make your descent. 

“Now what was it about my wishes?” you ask in a flirty tone.

When you reach his groin you push him backwards to sit in the club chair. Crawling up to meet him, you take his length into your hand and a groan leaves his lips. You look directly into his eyes as you lick from his base to the tip, his hands clawing into the leather chair.

“Don’t you rub the magic lamp three times to get your wish?” you say, pressing a kiss to his tip.

You take him into your mouth and begin to bob your head slowly up and down his length until you have worked him up to a good speed. You know you have hit that point when he is unable to stop the string of groans and curses falling from his mouth. He refocuses and looks at you, grabbing your head and pressing you closer to him and further down your throat. You moan around him as he grazes the back of your throat. 

“Fuck…” he says, releasing his grip on your hair, and letting you pull back and releasing him from your lips.

“Keep going, do it harder.” you say, placing your mouth back around him.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod in response. You begin to suck him back into your mouth and he replaces his hand on your head, this time forcing himself further down your throat with a little more pressure. As he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, you suppress the gag by gripping your hand into his legs. 

“God you’re so gorgeous…fuck me…” he says, in a breathy pant.

The wet noises coming from your throat are obviously doing something for him as you feel his dick begin to twitch in your mouth. Tears are pooling in your eyes slowly leaking out of the corners. 

Swirling your tongue as you work his tip, he starts to thrust his hips into your mouth. 

“I’m close baby, do you want to…” he starts before you pull away and cut him off.

“In my mouth.” you say and he groans. 

With a few more thrusts into the back of your mouth you feel him tense up and the warm rush of his release spills down the back of your throat. You swallow him down and pull off of him with a kiss above his base, watching him as he quickly grabs his coat from behind him, pulling out his handkerchief from earlier.

“How many times are you going to cry tonight, baby?” he says, wiping the tears from your face, and the spit from your lips. “The only thing I want you to cry, is my name.”

You stand up and push him back in the chair. You make a show out of sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto his lap. Straddling his still hard length, you press a kiss to his lips. His fingers run slowly through your folds, collecting the wetness on his fingertips.

“Oh, you’re ready aren’t you baby... I think you earned your wish.” he says, grabbing his dick and lining it up with your center.

He places his hands on your hips and you slowly sink down onto him, with a groan. You wrap your hands around his neck and lean forward to kiss him, his tongue swirling with yours. You lift your hips off of him slowly before crashing back down into him. A moan leaves his chest as you clench around him at the sound. 

“Oh you feel so good, so tight… Jesus…” he pants.

His hands are guiding your hips up and down his length, and you are enjoying the constant pressure on your g spot. His mouth connects with your nipple, his tongue swirling around the tight flesh. You start to roll your hips in a wave pattern as he groans into your chest. He pulls back from you and locks eyes with you.

“Stand up.” he demands.

You slide off of his lap and stand, he stands to meet you and pulls the chair from behind him.

“Lean over the back.” he says, and you follow his instruction.

He positions himself behind you and grabs both of your hips in his hands, guiding you to meet his length. He presses into you at a new angle and you both cry out at the feeling.

He begins to furiously pound into you, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves in just the right way, that you can feel the tension growing in your stomach.

The sounds of your skin slapping together so loud, you are positive anyone who walks by will know exactly what is happening. 

“Say it. Say my name baby. Tell me who is making you feel good.” he says punctuating each sentence with a deep thrust.

“Daniel! Fuck, you are. You make me feel so good Danny. Keep going.” you cry out.

“That’s right.” he grunts into you. “You’re my girl. I make my girl fucking feel good.” he says, twitching inside of you.

“Danny please…” you beg.

“I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me.” he says, reaching around the front of your hips, and placing his fingers on your clit. 

You moan at the sensation, as he swirls perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“I’m there Danny, I’m there, fucking cum…” you beg him.

“God damn….” he says, with one final thrust, both of you reaching your release simultaneously, his hot ropes of cum painting your insides. You’re glad the chair is supporting your weight because you would have surely collapsed with the sheer force of the orgasm washing over you. 

As he pulls out of you, his release threatens to spill down your thigh.

You feel the soft familiar feeling of the handkerchief begin to wipe away the evidence. Danny cleaning you up the best he could with the small piece of fabric.

You stand back up and turn to face him, his free arm snaking around your waist and pulling you into him for a desperate and passionate kiss. Your hands find his curls, and scratch against his scalp as the kiss grows deeper. You feel his hands gripping to your back like life or death and you still don't feel close enough.  

He pulls away quickly, scooping up your panties and handing them to you. You smile and slide them back on, before stepping back into your dress. You know the party is winding down and you have to get back before anyone gets suspicious. Danny quickly redresses himself and fixes his hair the best he can without a mirror. He slides his coat back on, shoving the soiled handkerchief into his pocket with a smirk.

He is so gorgeous...

He zips the back of your dress and places a soft kiss on the back of your neck, before spreading your hair over your shoulders.

“Beautiful.” he whispers, looking at you before unlocking the door. 

He pokes his head out to see if there is anyone coming, and he quickly rushes both of you out, turning off the light and quietly shutting the door. 

“I should stop by the bathroom….” you say.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re gonna keep that right where I left it. I am going to check on it later.” he says with a kiss on your shoulder. Your face flames bright red at the thought of a repeat later.

As you walk back into the ballroom you search for the group and find them all sitting at the table, talking and being rowdy.

“Daniel! You have returned brother!” Sam says playfully in his drunken state.

“Yeah where have you been Daniel?” Jake asks with a smug look.

“We were just getting some air....” he says with a smile.

Jake turns to his girlfriend, “Remember when we got air at your cousin's wedding?” he says with a devilish laugh.

The table erupts with laughter and you both know your cover is blown. 

“Jake!” she says smacking his arm. She turns to you and apologizes, “I’m sorry, he has clearly had too much to drink.” she laughs.

You grab your trucker hats from the table and put them on, to fit in with everyone else proudly displaying theirs. 

You both sit down and talk for a little bit longer until the Newlyweds decide to make their grand exit. The reception was fantastic and you couldn’t imagine this night without Daniel. You are so glad you chose to stay. 

As you make your way out of the reception hall, you are arm in arm with Daniel. He has invited you to come with him to the after party and you have graciously accepted. You walk through the front door of the Symphony Hall, and around the side of the building, he stops you and spins you around, dipping you down dramatically for a kiss. He pulls you back up and places his hand on your cheek.

Looking at his hat again you quickly dig a dollar bill out of your clutch and extend it to him.

“What's this?” he asks.

“Your hat. It says shitty advice for $1… but how about you give me good advice instead.” you say leaning into him.

“Hmmm… good advice?” he asks, as you continue the walk to his car.

“Mhmm…” you say, stepping into the car, as he closes the door behind you. 

He slides into the driver's seat, and starts the car. He turns to face you, and places his hand on your thigh.

He smirks and laughs to himself before he finally says, “My grandpa always told me, 'never leave home without a handkerchief'. Now I know why.”

.

.

.

.

[buffyfan145]

I keep going back to the two little elf girls in Annatar-Sauron's vision and how they looked like Haladriel's future daughters. The blonde looked like how we imagine Celebrian would look like as a child. The (younger?) redhead elfing had hair similar to what Halbrand's auburn hair looked like in the Post-Reveal Raft Scene and the ginger hair of Sauron before Adar killed him. They were also both wearing dresses in different shades of green. I think Sauron strongly associates that color with Galadriel. She wore an emerald/teal dress the last time he saw her; Mirdania always wears green and he sees her as discount version of the woman he truly wants; Also, in Medieval History, we know that brides usually wore green wedding dresses because the color represented fertility.

I think it's interesting that Sauron specifically wants daughters with Gal. He doesn't dream of having sons like many men do. Instead, he wants two beautiful and spirited little girls that will probably be much Little Galadriel was as a child. I also wonder if have two Half-Maiar daughters wouldn't be a dig at Melian? We tend to see them as being brother and sister with a big rivalry. I can just see Sauron feeling immense pride over the fact he had not one, but TWO, lovely and powerful Half-Maiar daughters, and she only had Luthien.

I really loved all of that too and those girls do looks like they could be their daughters!!! 😀 Love the green dresses repeating too not just for what you said, but also since Arwen's wedding dress was green in the movies and that's my favorite color too. And I thought about him wanting daughters and again at that rivalry he seems to have with Melian, which fits that theory about them being siblings (and that old song "Anything you can do I can do better" LOL), and having 2 half-Maiar children would one up her having one. LOL It just seems to fit with him being like that, and also both of the siblings falling for elves.

[csphire]

Updated Dammon Build Guide!

Sad because you need more Dammon? Here is an updated guide on how to make him into your player character or dream guardian.

First, let's discuss the mods you'll need if you want to get your player character as close as possible to Dammon's long-lost twin or evil clone. Are you on a console or don't want to mod? No worries, alternative suggestions will be provided in this guide too.

Clothing:

This is only needed if you wish for him to wear the same outfit and for it to be the right color. If you want to keep the number of mods on the low side, you can use Basket Full of Equipment instead. It does have a blacksmith outfit, scarf and his boots too. (The boots are called: Black Leather Footwear D, just dye them brown. The scarf dye Swamp Green.)

Just know as of posting this, there is no dye in the game to match Dammon's existing choice of colors on his blacksmithing outfit perfectly. I would recommend when using Basket Full of Equipment to go with the scarf-free version and dye it Faewild Green and Dun Dye. Then you'll find his scarf in the cloak bag and dye that Swamp Green. If you can't get your hands on that rare dye Swamp Green works great too.

Eyes (and a jump start with the dream guardian):

What do I mean by jumpstart? Well... the modder here made a great start of what Dammon looks like. But I suspect the way the mod and/or game functions, some of Dammon's coloring is a little off. His horns are nearly white, and his eyes are brown, that is if you're trying to make the dream guardian look like him. This might be corrected in the future.

What's important about this mod is that it unlocks Dammon's unique eye color for not only the Guardian but also the Player Character. It's the only one I've found so far that does this. If there are other mods that come along that just unlock his eyes, I'll be happy to include them here too.

Don't want to install mods or can't? Try the Blue 3 or Sapphire 4 eyes. Or if you want them to glow more then have central heterochromia Elf Blue 1 and 2 are nice options as well.

Fun fact: Dammon's eyes are blue with central heterochromia.

Oh, and there is also the option to go with his Early-Access eye color Elf-Gold 3 if you're feeling particularly nostalgic.

The Quick and Easy Way: Use: Transform into companions and NPCs - Ring of Metamorph (Last I checked Born to be Anyone is not compatible with Patch 7 still ;_;)

Want to make the player character and every companion in your party look like Dammon? Well, this is the mod for you. There is however a caveat. He's stuck in that blacksmith outfit. As in not even for love scenes will he get naked. Alas, the real Dammon model doesn't have a nude character model option-at least not yet. Any who...

Onwards to the rest of character creation!

But first, a few quick side-by-side final comparisons to confirm the appearance you should get when following this guide.

Head, Skintone, and Horn Color:

Head 4

Blush Tone 5

Malbolge Spires with Dusty 6 for both base and tip color.

Hair:

Style - Arabel Ribbon Hair Color - Blonde 3 Highlight - Red 6 Intensity 80.

Makeup (optional):

Eye Makeup - Butterscotch (Intensity 40, Metallic Tint 10, and Glossy 10) Limp Tint - Red 1 (Intensity 10, Metallic Tint 10, and Glossy 10) For makeup, I'm unsure if Dammon wears any but in all the images here I did add a subtle amount to try to make his eyes stand out a little. This might be helpful if you're stuck using Blue 3 or Sapphire 4. I thought to also add a tiny bit of gloss to his lips since he's not hanging out by his forge so much. This is just a personal preference.

In fact, Makeup 12 comes in handy for guys or gals in general at a 10 to 50 tint level to make their eyes look a little deeper set, tired even and um... more broody? Play around with this and other make-ups and have fun.

Scar (optional):

Dammon does have a scar over the bridge of his nose, under his right eye, and on his lower left lip. But on him, as seen below, it's faded. Scar 3 comes sorta close but it's rather distracting. Until we can get a scar depth or age slidder from Larian (or a mod) I would skip it entirely for now.

Class, Race, Voice, and Stats (optional):

According to the Wiki Dammon is an Asmodeus Tiefling but you could subrace him into Mephistopheles or Zariel as head 4 is available to all subraces. Changing his subrace might prove advantageous depending upon what class you wish to play.

For voice, nothing can replace Frazer Blaxland's, but... I found Voice 3, out of all of them, is similar in depth and warmth.

If playing as Dammon and you want to get as close to his abilities, and fighting style as possible, it's all an educated guess. This is only mine on one class example: Druid.

To start, I made sure that all his stats were at least 10 in everything just like his original. For the extra points left over, I put them into upping his Dexterity as it helps with dodging damage. After all, you don't need a lot of hp if you can dodge damage. I also put a few extra points into the main stat for his class and a bit in Charisma just to make conversation rolls easier. For background, I went with Guild Artisan to further help him with persuasion, give him some insight, and for roleplaying purposes since he was a blacksmith. For cantrips, I would highly recommend picking Guidance if available to further aid all conversation rolls.

I went with Druid because it lets him wield a scimitar right at the start. On the Nautolid you can usually find two of these weapons. "Who uses wooden tools!" Dammon shouts as he throws that ugly staff overboard into the fires of Avernus. The second reason is perhaps while he was in the grove he learned a thing or two. He did after all pick up a few skills while in Avernus, why not at the Druid Grove too? It's just one level and you could multi-class him into anything later on.

The third reason I went with Druid for class is your doppelganger gets a discount from Arron, the other merchant to be found there.

But of course, you can make him any other class you wish or multi-class him. I did so myself by adding dragon sorcerer and bard to him later on. This is just an idea, but one could use his playthrough to try and get the Jack-of-all-Trades achievement.

If I had to go with an official class for him, my money would be on Artificer with a subclass of a Battle Smith, to be precise. The video down below explains what they are, and as early as Act II Dammon can literally craft us some bombs and free armor if you bring him the right things. He would be the perfect Artificer companion if we in the future get that class in a DLC. (And romance option-yes while keeping most of his mystery too, Frazer. This will explain just one example of how it's possible.)

Sadly, no official Artificer class yet but there are a few mods you can try out by just searching the term Artificer on the Nexus. But this mod looks so far the most polished and fleshed out called:

Hope all this info helps you have some fun. Please feel free to tag and share with me your Dammon creations! Need any help feel free to reach out, I'd be happy to help. Looking for my old guide? It's here.

*Full Disclosure: In the previous versions of my guide, I was mistaken about his skin tone being Blush 4. After a near-unhealthy amount of scrutiny of Dammon's model, I apologize for this mistake. It's Blush 5, and the majority of the screenshots, ones that focus on his appearance, have been corrected accordingly. I apologize for this mistake and any inconvenience it has caused.

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Thought I'd take a break from fandom and post one of my original designs for once! I call this gal "Hayley," after the lead singer of Paramore. She was originally a Barbie Fashionista #140 "Kira" doll (before photo is a stock photo from Amazon).

If you're like me and like knowing the components of a custom and the story behind them, here they are under the cut:

Base doll: Fashionista 140 Kira Hair: rerooted in 12 inch Kanekalon in a blend of pink, purple, light green, and blue Face: partially repainted with acrylic paint for both makeup and piercings Clothes: skirt from Looks Model 10, sweater from Ken Fashionista 191, stockings made from scrap fabric by me Shoes: her original boots, repainted Necklace: an actual random necklace I had

Ever had a design go from least favorite to one of your favorites with a makeover? Fashionista 140 Kira sat in my "stock box" for a long time...the awful proportions, the ugly dress, the glue seepage hair, the pixilated face screening that couldn't even be removed with acetone...I disliked her so much that I ended up using her as a test dummy for different paints and sealants! Likewise, I ended up with some kanekalon hair that had a truly fried texture that I needed to use up.

So, I needed a design that could hide a LOT of issues with the doll and the materials. One that could involve hair that looked bleach-fried, a hair style that could cover holes and bald patches, grungy/messy makeup, and random questionably-fitting fashion. Then, I remembered the mid-2000s, and with it, scene fashion! Or is it emo? Alas, in high school I was not cool/uncool (depending on your POV) to ever be informed of the difference no matter how much I admired the fashion.

Thus, this girl emerged! I'm so happy with how she turned out; she really went from one of my least favorite designs to one of my favorite original designs of my own.

Tagging those that may want to see my OC designs: @serenityspiral @violetoftheendless (who helped with the name!) and @tryan-a-bex

[blackbloodteeth]

Drink swirls in his hand, other arm propping up his head against the balcony railing before he perks up, the sound of the door behind him sliding open until it soon pauses, the gal – blonde, green eyes, and the prettiest dress he's ever seen – hovering in the doorway like a timid cat before he just waves her in (or out, he guesses). He takes another swig of saccharine hubris-juice concoction as he lazily eyes her slow approach to the edge, one gander at her nearly full drink in hand, and another at her trying not to stare telling him all he needs to get his smirk goin'.

"Not much for the party scene, eh?"

The gal sighs, but then smiles a little. "Guess not; Think I could say the same for you?"

He bellows a good chuckle.

"Yeah, 'spose so. Booze is questionable at best." Granted, he had to be the one in question to have even drunken half of it.

"Yeeeah…" she laughs, seeming to debate pouring it off the balcony before she just slips some of it into his cup, giving him another good snort. "Guess the 'best' was me trying to fit in."

A glance gets caught on how the sunset casts shades of low orange on the corners of her mouth, taking half-witted notes on her eyeliner and the way it really draws out the green of her eyes. He feels really drawn to them for some reason…

"So what you drew you here," he starts again, trying to distract himself, who knows.

It's enough to finally pull him away, though. "Guess I just… wanted to get out more, I think. So many people out there and sometimes I forget I'm part of that."

"House party's one way to do it."

"Well it was different!" Man, that laugh's kinda infectious. "What about you, Mr. House Party on the Balcony?"

"Eh, 'bout the same. Too much same-old-same-old, gotta shake it up, y'know—"

Everything freezes when he turns to look at her again, face immediately dropping as her brilliant, mossy eyes drag all of him in, almost like she were a whirlpool until – Click. All of it falls into place.

Suddenly they're both blinking, dazed as their thoughts start back up, the slow feeling of the alcohol in his system gently swirling with… curiosity? Something really interesting? Damn it he's too tipsy for life-changing experiences-

Dread drops on him just as quickly as a fear, primal and like prey, seeps through the cracks of something he can't fully grasp, yet she reaches for him anyway, their hands slowly fitting together: Perfectly. Connected. Right.

He now feels extremely sober, quiet horror emanating into his hand and from her hushed voice. "You're… you're a weapon, aren't you…"

A specific kind of pain – one that isn't so easily described to those who've never felt it – makes his grip tense, desperately grappling onto wishing he could say it's okay and it doesn't matter. "Y…Yeah," he swallows. "I am…"

He can't bring himself to meet those eyes again. Feeling it through her hand was already strong enough.

"…This isn't allowed, you know." But somehow he still can't stop himself, the ball of thread winding up through her only pulling, drawing him in. "God, we're going to have to report this – I was just doing well in my classes, they'll have to move one of us across the country, or worse we'll end up –"

"What if we don't report it."

"…What?"

"What if… we don't report it," he speaks up a little stronger, growing bold. "City's big enough; Chances are we won't meet again, right? No one has to know if we don't know each other."

The hesitation tugs at her lower lip, meeting at their thumbs as a spark ignites an even braver flame.

"If we don't know each other and we never see each other again, then there's no connection, right?"

After the threads keep turning and then finally slack, her breath lets go all at once, forcing herself to look away. "We can't see each other whatsoever after this…"

"I know. Can't go lookin' either."

"Promise me."

He almost startles at how fast she looks back at him again, dimming sunlight painting her in a brilliant blaze of conviction that leaves him more dumbfounded than usual. "…What?"

"Promise me that we're just strangers who talked once."

Her stare burns right into him, straight to the palpable beating inside his ribcage, (eventually) surfacing as one of his trademark smirks, lightly shaking her hand just to jumpstart his thoughts.

"Promise. Just a weirdo you met at a house party, nothin' more than that." It feels both so right and so emptying when she considers the deal satisfactory and their hands part, leaving just the lump in his throat as he returns to leaning away. "And I'm a weirdo who keeps his promises."

"Just don't make me regret this," she laughs. It doesn't have the same life to it as before.

"Well I don't regret it…"

He hastily coughs just to get the stiff atmosphere outta his throat. "The party. I kinda hoarded the balcony, but it was nice to share it for a bit."

"Ah. Same."

The sun's already fallen well beyond the other buildings and streets all lit up with humanity's little makeshift stars, giving it those fading warms that turn the blues a nice gradient, complimenting the stray clouds from earlier today and really bringing out the nightly air. The party music and shouting booming through the walls felt like just background noise to a great sunset, especially as the gal's voice returns softly.

"Hey, um…" Somehow even with him looking into his leftover drink, he still gets what she's about to say.

"It's probably better if we didn't call each other anything."

"…Right."

Maybe it would've been better if it was louder than background noise.

"Well, stranger; It was nice sharing the balcony for a bit too."

He tries not to look up, not notice the cup is no longer in his peripheral, not think about the way he can almost feel her footsteps walk back to the door behind him. And yet he can never, ever, seem to stop himself from peeking at the door pausing halfway open, a gal's mossy green eyes glancing back at him as his voice barely leaves his heart. "You too."

[wantondoe]

Pearls

Alastor x female reader

"Hello you wayward sinner! Do you enjoy hurting your own emotions? Spectacular! My old pal, you've come to the right place! Now, stay tuned..."

Warnings: heavy angst, violence, blood, death, suicide, pregnancy, talks about miscarriage, guns

11 months ago:

You took a shot at the plastic deer dummy across the field. The bullet soaring through the air, making a quiet sound. You then moved the rifle to the side.

"My my! That was an extraordinary shot, my love! You're so precise! You'd make an excellent hunter!" Alastor praised her from the bench, clapping his hands in a theatrical way. "My gal is so talented!"

"Well thank you my dear", you wink an eye to him. Your is face full of confidence as you take another shot.

Your husband sat on the bench, admiring the way you set your eyes on the aim once again.

BAM!

Alastor stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. Crimson flames flared around the hotel lobby as his most beloved wife was spitting fire around, rioting in her demonic form. Her usually soft hair was now spiky and long, just like her tail. The spikes of her tail ripped pieces of Alastor's coat as she flew past him, the black leather wings flapping, spreading the flames around.

"Darling! You need to calm down!" Alastor yelled through the sound of flames burning and the hotel staff screaming.

"Don't you call me that! I am not your darling! I haven't been your darling for a long time!" You growl back, your usually cheerful voice now a low grumble.

You land on the chandelier, the long claws and demonic fingers and toes wrapping around the golden parts,

"You're out of control! You need to calm down!" Alastor yelled back with a stern voice.

The rest of the staff stood behind Alastor, their eyes wide as you spat fire in their direction once again.

Alastor raised his radio staff and formed a protective aura around them. The flames hugged the aura shield before dying out. "That's it!" Alastor yelled. He summoned a glowing green chain in his hands. With an effortless movement, he threw the chains around your neck. You felt the harsh metal nibbling your skin as you were dragged down from the chandelier. You fought back the chain, but failed miserably. You fell on the carpet along with some crystals from the chandelier, the delicate pearls falling on your hair.

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!" you managed to shout at Alastor. You got up on your knees as you fought against the chain.

"You need to calm down darling! I love you, don't make me use my powers against you!" Alastor pleaded. At the moment, he didn't care about looking vulnerable in front of the others. He only cared about you. He hated seeing you like this, as if you had lost your sanity.

Your deep red eyes sparkled dangerously as you spoke with a low, primal voice: "Don't you dare to talk to me about love. You haven't loved me for months now! All you care about is this stupid hotel and conquering Hell!"

Alastor flinches at your words. Is that really how you felt like?

"No no darling! I do care about you-"

"DO NOT LIE TO ME", you attempted to spit fire at him again.

"I wanted to keep you safe! I wanted you to have a better life with me!" his tone desperate. "I love y-"

"LIES!" you roar as you try to attack him. Alastor dodged you and yanked on the chain, making you lose your balance. "YOU NEVER LISTENED TO ME! I DID NOT WANT THIS! I WANTED TO STAY AT CANNIBAL TOWN! BUT YOU INSISTED THIS-"

"You weren't safe in Cannibal Town and you know it!"

"DO NOT ACT LIKE YOU CARED ABOUT ME! I WAS NEVER THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO YOU! YOU ARE DRUNK WITH POWER! I WAS NEVER ENOUGH FOR YOU-"

"Darling, don't say that-" Alastor felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. "I love-"

"If you loved me..." your voice dropped to a low snarling, "then where were you when I had that miscarriage?"

Alastor gulped. The memory of their dead little fawn was too overpowering to him.

"Because if I remember correct, you were singing a stupid little song with Charlie in Cannibal Town when I had to give birth to our dead fawn!" you spit out, each word like a stab to Alastor's heart.

"I was... It was important too-"

"You never talked about it with me! You were not there for me... And now I'm going to make you pay for it..." you take slow steps towards Alastor.

"I was dealing with it in my own way-"

"YOU STARTED AVOIDING ME!" you roared, correcting him. "You treated me like air!"

"Okay!" he snapped. "I avoided you! I wasn't there for you! But you can't just start rioting around here like a... like a..."

"Like a monster, that's what you're trying to say, right?" you finish his sentence. "I HATE YOU! YOU ARE THE MONSTER, NOT ME!"

You take a leap towards him and land on top of his chest, sinking your long fangs in his neck.

Alastor lets our a pained whimper. "P-please... You don't mean that. Please... You're hurting me."

"I was the one who had to cradle our dead fawn and bury her! The coffin was the size of a shoe box!" you yell as you lift your fangs from his neck, the blood trailing under his shirt.

"Please, stop..." he closed his eyes, the thought of the coffin making him feel ill.

"Oh you're the one who's crying? PATHETIC!"

"I love yo-"

"YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME! NOTHING!" you yell. You got ready to tear him apart, your heart heavy with bitterness and sorrow.

However, before you could even lift up your clawed hand, Nifty hit you on the head with a frying pan, knocking you out.

Alastor stared at your form with horror. His lovely doe had completely lost it... He looked around, the wallpapers were drooping, the chandelier had lost half of it's lovely crystals and pearls, the furniture was shattered. His tear stained eyes gaze back at you. You had finally turned back into your usual doe form. He looked at those fluffy ears he had rubbed so many times, that lovely cotton ball-like tail he had seen wagging countless times. Now she was completely unresponsive, and worst of all, you had made it clear that you despised him.

He knew why. He had always knows that he was messing things up, dragging you to the hotel and forcing you to be part of his projects. But he couldn't help it. He didn't want to let you go, yet he couldn't give you the loving you needed.

He summoned men to clean up the mess you've made and carried you to his room. With care and love, he placed you on his bed and cleaned you. As she washed you with the wet cloth, he imagined swiping all the negative feelings away. He couldn't bare to see you like this.

Alastor took a seat next to you and patiently waited for you to wake up. He longed to see those doe-like eyes flutter open. He saw memories flashing in front of his eyes. He took your hand and squeezed, as if hoping that would wake you up. He massaged your knuckles only to realize that you weren't even wearing the ring anymore... How did he not notice before?

Alastor sighed. His sweet mate, his doe, his darling. He had been confident to never hurt her, to never disappoint her like this, yet there they were now. The dark room and cold floor were a perfect mirror to the turmoil in his heart at the moment. He had made her so bitter, so hostile.

Alastor sat there, deep in his own hurt. Nothing could keep his mind from wandering to the image of their dead fawn. Their little girl... Or your pained face when you were rushed to the hospital while he was elsewhere doing "business". Shame washed over him like a harsh winter wind. He felt himself fall asleep on the chair, his exhaustion taking over.

BAM!

Alastor yanked his body up as he heard the sound of a bullet being shot. He immediately noticed your absence. His eyes widened as his mind drifted to the worst possibility. Where did she keep her guns? WHERE? He grabbed his staff and made his teleportation to the shed in the back yard.

"Darling? DARLING!"

You were laying there with your face in the dirt, the nearly composed leaves mixing with your... Your...

He gulped, knowing what you had just done.

He panicked as he saw the blood, dark and thick, staining your beautiful hair and clothes. He quickly but carefully turned you around, not expecting to see your face so disfigured.

He immediately closed his eyes as he had seen the sight. His heart was pounding its way of of his chest as he tried to erase the sight out of his mind. He just held your lifeless body in his arms, wishing he could bring you back. If he had just been there a little earlier, if he hadn't fallen asleep...

He felt hot tears stream down his cheeks as he trembled. Taking a deep sigh, he slowly opened his eyes. He had to see you. His eyes fixated on your face. You had shot yourself, he thought. You had felt so desperate that you had shot yourself, he repeated to himself.

You had taken your own life, something he couldn't comprehend. You had stumbled and the bullet had gone through your cheek. The blood was now staining his clothes as he stared at you in his lap. The bullet whole revealed your pearly white teeth, now all shattered, glistening in the pool of blood. The reality of the situation crept into his heart. He clutched onto you, his screams echoing in the cold air, the feeling of your dead body ripping his soul apart.