#I'm supposed to be over the moon with Din

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Sarlacc: * Swallows Boba Fett * Me: *waits my turn*

[haruchi-slit]

JEALOUS, JEALOUS GIRL!

pairing: true form! sukuna x concubine! reader | synopsis: the king brings a girl and it just makes his favorite so jealous! | warnings: double penetration, sukuna 2pps, creampie (?), teasing, switch, lots of kissing, m receiving (blow job), biting (slight?), porn with plot (?), not proof read properly! chi-list

"I'm a jealous jealous jealous girl, if i can't have you baby, no one else in this world can."

you were trapped in this endless circles of boredom since the king left for a trip to China to meet its emperor, it's been months since he left and you missed him so much, you were left with uraume, they're fine to be with, but they're too busy to talk to you, too busy to make small talks. you were completely bored to death, until one day uraume happily announced that the king is coming back, "really he is?" you asked happily shaking uraume's shoulders. your endless circles of boredom will finally come to an end!

"yes, how many times would i have to repeat it for you?" uraume responds with a frown, removing your hands from them.

you were over the moon! you twirled around like you were a teenager getting her allowance

"the kinggg's finally baackk~" you hummed skipping towards your room.

evening rolls by faster than light, you heard the temples heavy doors creeping open, and the king's sorcerer murmuring "Sukunaa!" you yelp, running carelessly to the main entrance. you saw sukuna being escorted by the gaurds, sorceres and servants, you and uraume bowed your heads as soon as you saw him after passing the two of you, you looked up, with your eyes shining as bright as the northern star, smiling from ear to ear. until, you noticed a unfamiliar face, walking behind sukuna a woman who's about your height, brunette hair tickling down her shoulders, wearing a black and red kimono just like yours, but yours were adorned with gold roses and the red fabrics of your kimono were much more bolder than hers, your smile completely dropped as you saw sukuna's hand resting on her head, ruffling her hair, and she seems to love it, your eyebrows were quick to frown as you saw this gesture, you glared at sukuna and the girl with full of...jealousy. you knew that you weren't in the place to feel this, but still.

you learned that her name was qika, of course from uraume, they know everything about the lord's activities. qika is from China, she used to be the emperor's main whore, but the emperor gifted her to sukuna, because she is the only one who knows how to speak Japanese.

"it's pronounced as: i-ka" uraume says, carrying scrolls full of jujutsu in their hands, "anyways, why are you asking and aren't you supposed to be at the dinning room now?"

you rolled your eyes "I don't want to.." you clicked your tongue, "the lord's gonna be upset if you're-" "i do not care uraume" they raised a brow hearing you raise your voice, "are you jealous?" you rolled your eyes and walked out, striding straight to your bedroom, you didn't ate dinner that night you were too upset that the lord brought a concubine even though he could've just declined the offer.

"bullshit" you sighed softly laying in your bed, as you realized that the lord hasn't called you to get to his chambers. you let out a heavy, heavy breath as you rolled over to the other side of your bed, grabbing the soft pillow close to your chest hugging it tightly with a sour look in your face, when you were about to fall asleep, you heard lewd moans and squelchs from the other room, sukuna's room; your eyes shot open as soon as you heard it, 'fuckkk!', you could only thought to yourself as you sit up leaning on your bed's headboard, while you hear them fucking non-stop. "aaa my-my lord!" the woman yelps, you could only roll your eyes and do nothing about it,

you clicked your tongue; pulling your blanket on top of your body, then falling asleep eventually.

after that you were avoiding him the next day, depriving him even from your glance and presence always occupying your schedule with tons of other activities, you were lonely and fucking jealous, as he spends time with his "new favorite concubine", you could only clench your fist and frown your eyebrows, giving qika and sukuna dirty looks, sometimes even mocking qika for her forced voice while working with uraume "awh thaynk kyu my lowrd" you cursed under your breath, "did you said something?" uraume inquired "huh? no what did i say?" you respond with a defensive tone.

sukuna noticed that you were avoiding him. avoiding him in the hallways, dinning room, throne room literally every where, not batting a care for his presence. though, even if you were a brat, he let's you slide, you're still his favorite after all.

"let's see how long that brat's gonna take it. " he thought to himself. and boy oh boy he didn't expect to see you this fucking desperate. maybe he should make you jealous more often.

you're now on top of his lap, with his half naked body, his broad muscles flexing, as you stare at him intently, you just wanna smack that stupidly handsome smirk he has on his face, for fuck's sake you to do that immediately.

"trying to top me? hah...go on princess, I'd like to see you fail, yeah?" he chuckles leaning on the bed's headboard, as you stare at him with lust and desperation in your eyes, he laughed, "did you heard me and that girl yesterday, are you jealous?", he doesn't even know her name... "were you thinking of me while you were fucking her?" you spat back, grinding on his clothed shaft, he paused, in fact, he was thinking of you- , you glide the tips of your fingers on his markings tracing it gracefully you tilted your head to your left, "I'll take that as a yes. can she take you whole? can she grip your needy cock like i do?", you spoke. "cocky aren't you?" he grunts in respond while clenching his jaw, his lower set of hands creeped to your hips, squeezing it like it depends on his life, you continued to tease him, peppering his chest with sweet kisses, he threw his head back as your kisses travelled down to the mouth on his belly, you gave him a quick kiss as you proceed to his clothed cocks, you rubbed his cock slowly with his undergarment on, you held his clothed cocks on your tiny hands while locating the tip of his cocks, he lets out another grunt, placing one of his upper set of arms on your back as the other covered his face, he might not last long, letting you top him, but he loved seeing you on top of him with your alluring demeanor and dominant side it's just different, he threw his head back once more as you took one of his clothed cock into your mouth, as you circled the tip of the other cock with your thumb.

the king lets out heavy, silent grunts as you gave him an unbearable pleasure- to make it worst the fabric on his dick gave so much friction, enough for him to cum sooner, even though he tried his best to deny his climax, he failed miserably as he paints your pretty mouth with his thick cum, while his other cock spurted cum all over his mattress and yakuta, you snickred "what a mess" you glanced at sukuna with flushed face with his hand on top of his lips "bet she can't do that huh?" , his hands still lingering on your body, you smirked before untying your kimono, letting it pool down on the mattress, "you're such a fucking tease aren't you?" he grumbled, while you took his soaked yakuta off his body throwing it across the room, his cock is still hard, even after cumming, "f-fuck" he murmurs as you aligned his cock on your entrance, while you align his other cock on your ass, "you sure you can take all of me?" he let's out a whimpy chuckle, cupping your waist with his large hands, you didn't respond, you were too focused on proving him wrong and that you're better than qika. she was never better than you. you slowly put his cocks in you, your lips gapped as you take him whole, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you whimpered, your gummy walls swallowing him instantly as you collide your hips to his taking him full, from base to tip sukuna swore you almost made him whimper, you paused for a moment before moving your hips- you placed your hands on his chest as you bounced lightly on his cock, with every bounce sukuna tries his hardest to not let a single whimper out off his mouth, he bit his lips so hard it started to bleed, you watched his blood drip down to his chin, you sucked your lips between your teeth before licking sukuna's blood and latcing your lips to his, before letting out a giggle "ooo c'mon cursed king, don't hide those pretty moans, pleasee. for me?" you teased "s-shut up" he babbled as his hands support your hips from bouncing, you'd giggle on his grumped scowl while he throws his head back on the headboard, you could feel his pre-cum dripping from your pussy mixed with your arousal. you continued to bounce on his dick, you'd whimper every time his dick hits your g-spot you nuzzled on the crook of his neck bitting it, out of pleasure, while his cocks penetrate your tight holes...you can feel your climax brewing in your adomen, your bounce getting sloppier as your cunt drip uncontrollably, "hah-mm fuckk..!" you moan as you feel your climax creeping closer, sukuna's cocks throbs with every whimper that came out off your mouth. "fucking woman," sukuna growled, before pinning you down to the mattress "i should make you jealous more often, huh? "he adds putting you in a missionary before tucking your hair to the side so he could see your beautiful face, "you're so fuckin' gorgeous when your jealous, turns m-me on s-so damn much" sukuna grunts without missing a beat as he feels his climax near.

your gummy walls sucking him in with every thrust, your nails scratching his biceps and back, knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets of the mattress, while sukuna buries his cocks in you- "mfmmgh-" you whined before cumming all over his cocks-

"that's right, fucking cum on my cocks...h-hah-"

sukuna moans softly before nuzzling to the crevice of your boobs, snapping his hips to yours once more before reaching his climax, you could feel his cum oozing out off your pussy and ass, the both of you were catching breaths while sukuna's cocks is still intact, he does his final thrust fucking back the cum that oozed out off your cunt and ass, your toes curled while your eyes rolled to the depths of your skull, goodness...

"I'm getting rid of that girl, I'll get uraume to get rid of her... jealous brat."

a/n: idk lmaoo... Don't ask me why i named the other concubine "qika" i just want it to be different and unique haha, i kinda have a neutral feeling abt this cause whenever i proof read it, it sounds cringe and yuckie I'm not good at writing... anyways does anyone wants to be my anon/mutual?

[oneglass-zinfandel]

Movie Night, Cuddle Night

Mammon x nb!reader

Rating: fluff

Length: one-shot

Summary: you watch a horror movie with Mammon but he gets to scared and makes a mess so you switch plans and you fall asleep together

Warnings: None

Note: I was supposed to post part 1 of Buddy Daddies Rei x Babysitter!reader today but I had a bit of a block so maybe tomorrow, also don't question why a movies is online right after it has been made instead of being in the cinema first I don't know either

It was a usual day in Devildom, except you woke up to a notification. It was a reminder you set yourself around a month ago about the new movie coming out today! It was a horror movie called "The Walking Bread" (let me have fun with the name). You were excited to see it because you loved horror movies.

Soon you got up and got ready for the day going the dinning room to meet for breakfast with everyone.

Everyone sat at the table, conversations happening left and right until you spoke your head turning to Levi. "Hey Levi we still watching that movie tonight?" He looked at you confused for a second panicking once he realized what you were talking about. "Oh! Right,.. I forgot about that, i was stayed up to see it the second it came out"

Lucifer looking at Levi shaking his head to himself hearing he stayed up late.

Mammon looked at Levi and spoke loudly as usual "HUH?! You made movie plans with the human? Their supposed to be spendin' time with THE Great Mammon"

Levi looked at Mammon annoyed. You spoke looking at them both "well since Levi already watched it we can watch it together Mammon, although this IS a Horror movie so I'm not sure you could handle it" a small giggle leaving your lips.

Mammon waved his hands around sounding offended " Of course I can handle it! The Great Mammon is not scared of some movie! I'm comin' to your room later and provin' it!"

--time skip--

The night fell as the moon stood proud and bright. You were putting on your Pyjamas, a white two piece with golden bears on it. While you were patently waiting he wasent showing up, instead of texting him you went to get drinks as well as some popcorn.

You came back a few minutes later to see Mammon in your room looking thru your drawers. "Your finally here! What took you so long huh? You dare keep me waiting human?" He said trying to sound annoyed. "I was waiting for YOU, but you weren't showing up so I went to go get some food and drinks, and I got your favorite, your welcome oh great Mammon" You said walking past him to sit on the bed. He looked at your hands noticing the drink you mentioned blushing very lightly by the fact your remembered.

"Whatever, let's start already"

--small time skip-

You two sat the the bed shoulder to shoulder with your laptop on your lap and the food on his. Your drink on the bedside table and his on the bed because he swore "I won't spill it".

The movie was only 20min in but Mammon already got shaken a bit by the light scares.

30minutes passed, the popcorn long gone.

40minutes, you saw a spoiler before watching about a big jumpscare happening some time soon moving the mouse to "check how much is left" but looking at how much longer till it happens. 30 seconds, a small smile crept on your face. "If your Scares Mammon you can cling to me, I will protect you little Demon"

He looked at you for a second with a loud "HUH" and back at the screen saying " I'm not scared, if anything you should cling to me because this is way to Scary for a hum-" He was cut off by a jumpscare as he let out a girlish scream, even you flinched.

You heard a glass fall. Pausing the movie you looked at Mammon's side, the drink got knocked over by his jump on to your bed.

Great.

Mammon looked at the drink and back at you "oops.." You simply sighed putting the laptop down from your legs onto the other side of the bed getting off yourself.

"Yeah this movie is way to scary for you" you said looking for a new blanket in one of your drawers. "…" He didn't try to deny it this time feeling about about spilling the drink.

You cleaned up the mess putting on the new blanket leaving the dirty one on a desk to put to wash tomorrow.

"You know I can watch this alone later, if you want to spend time together so bad we can watch something more your style and maybe you can sleep here for the night" you say hopping to make him feel better about the situation.

"…can we watch that one action movie with the racing you were talking about some time ago?"

"Yeah of course" you said, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Putting your arm around him you petted his hair.

Sure he was a tsundere all the time but he has his soft moments, moments where he stops the act and shoes you how much he truly loves you.

He put his arms around you leaning in,his eyes focusing on the show, but the feeling of tour touch never leaving his mind. 'Warm' he thought to himself.

Somehow he feel asleep even thru the loud sounds of the movie he picked. You noticed eventually, carefully closing your laptop as you moved him to lay in bed with you, spooning him while petting his head.

Your head was on top of his, his face meeting g your chest he brought you closer even in his sleep.

You mean a lot to him.

Anyone else would have yelled at him for that accident but you didn't, you even offered to watch something you probably weren't interested in. You were to kind for him.

A mere human.

His human.

[sunlightbabe]

Hi Emily 💕

Congrats on the 1000 followers, you deserve every one of them.

I won't annoy you with my terrible taste in music ... But I love the idea <3

And I'm torn between please make me laugh and break my heart .... So ....

List 1, number 15 and with Thomas. Please and thank you 🥺💕

hi foxy 💛 this is super late but i've always promised to write all the things i have asks for hehe. i hope you enjoy the angst <3

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

It's quieter out here on the back porch. Behind you, back inside the house, you can only faintly hear the ongoing party- the din of people talking, people laughing, music blasting on the speakers, too faint to know what song but loud enough that you can still hear the bass through the glass sliding door separating you from all the noise. The view out here isn't so bad, you suppose. The grass is a little overgrown and it looks like the flower beds could use a watering, but from here you get a decent view of the night sky. The stars are nearly twinkling and there's a story-book-esque wispy cloud drifting in front of the full moon. It's relaxing. You're grateful that you're alone-

But as soon as the thought enters your head, you hear the door slide open behind you and the relative quietness of the moment is ruined as the noises from inside filter out and disturb your peace.

Sitting on the steps of the back porch, you close your eyes and inhale slowly. Maybe it's just someone out here for a quick smoke. Maybe soon you'll be alone again-

"Got a light?"

Who knew three simply words would jolt down your spine like an electric shock, stomach dropping. You would recognize that voice anywhere. You've spent enough nights falling asleep to it's late night ramblings, a familiar warmth pressed along your back, a wandering hand trailing lightly down your side and easing you into sleep.

Ignoring the sudden ache in your chest, you turn to look over your shoulder. Thomas is standing there in the moonlight, his slightly too large shirt slipping a little off one shoulder, his fingers nervously tapping against his thigh where his arm hangs loosely by his side. His back is to the door and so it's hard to see his face, to see what he looks like. Maybe it's better this way.

"No, sorry." You can feel the weight of your lighter in your pocket.

You turn your head and focus back on the yard, on the wilting flowers around the porch, on the scattering of trees and bushes at the end of the yard. A moment passes. You don't hear the door open again.

You do hear the creak of wood as Thomas walks towards you and sits beside you- a respectable distance away, as if you were strangers. As if you didn't know how nasally his voice got when he was sick, as if you didn't know his comfort foods or how engrossed in his work he could get, as if you didn't know he was so laughably bad at directions but it didn't matter because no matter where you went, there was always fun to be had, always an adventure waiting for you, always something new and exciting and-

You stop your rambling brain. There's no point in treading such familiar paths, not when you know what lays at the end.

You sit on the steps. Thomas sits on the steps. No one makes a move until-

Until.

".. how have you been?" he asks, voice a little quiet, a little unsure. As if he maybe shouldn't be asking you this. You wish he wouldn't, truthfully, but just hearing him against makes you shift a little more towards him. There's always been something within you pulling you to him and you fucking hate it.

"I'm alright," you lie. "You?"

A moment of hesitation. You refuse to look at him but from the corner of your eye, you see Thomas slump a little, elbows against his knees. You want to reach out and smooth your hand against his back, maybe scratch a little at the back of his neck and into his hairline just like you know he likes.

Your hands clench in your lap instead.

"I'm... busy," he says with a shallow chuckle. "Feels like I can't catch my breath, you know?"

You do and you don't. You haven't been in his place, but you've traveled alongside him. You remember the jetlag and visiting places you can't actually see before heading off somewhere else. You remember the late nights and early mornings and all the work between them both.

Thomas continues.

"I'm grateful, of course. For the chance to... to live out my dreams. I can't imagine me doing anything else- can you?" he asks with a little scoff. He fiddles with the rings on his fingers and you watch him. "It can just be a lot, at times. It's thrilling and I never want it to end but..."

He trails off. He doesn't finish the thought, but he doesn't have to.

It's stressful. You remember the nights where he couldn't sleep, working too hard, putting himself so fully into the music. The closer the deadline, the more stressed he would get. You remember arguments, harsh little comments thrown at each other- Thomas stressed about the music, you stressed about juggling your own life while juggling his, making sure you went to work on time and called your mother and paid your bills while making sure Thomas ate and got enough sleep and-

In the end, it hadn't felt much like a relationship. You had become a burden to each other and resentment had blossomed between you. Neither of you addressed it, not until it was too late, and you wondered how things would have turned out if you had. If you had taken a moment to talk about your feelings, taken a chance to hear each other out, to listen and grow.

There's a cricket somewhere in the backyard, chirping quietly. The song inside changes and you ca hear the party whoop excitedly at whatever song is now playing.

The silence between you grows.

"I shouldn't be here," Thomas says after a moment. "I should be sleeping. We're flying out first thing tomorrow, so..." He shrugs a little and you fight the urge to shift closer, to rest your head on his shoulder.

Things had fallen apart at the end but looking at him still hurts. Being so close to him makes your chest ache and you remember all the laughter and smiles, all the kisses and touches, all the joy between you two.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"Just another thing to regret, yeah?" he asks with a sad little laugh.

You bite your cheek harder. What else do you regret? Do you regret letting us end? Do you regret letting me go?

So many things you wish you had said, when you could have said them. But that was months ago and you should know better than to dig up the past.

Thomas looks at you, and you look at him. He's waiting for you to say something, you know it. It almost looks like he's desperate for it, desperate for you to actually talk to him, to hear your voice, for you to open yourself up to him, even if it's just small talk at someone's party.

You look away and stand up, wiping your sweaty palms against your thighs.

"... go home, Thomas," you say, fighting the urge to look at him. "Go home, get some sleep."

He says your name, hardly louder than a whisper, and you can feel his fingers brush against yours. You take a step back, then another, distancing yourself from him.

"Leave. Leave before you have something else to add to your list of regrets."

The noise he makes, small and wounded, follows after you as you head back inside. Even the music blasting from inside isn't enough to drown out the way it echoes in your head.

[vellhighbandi]

what is your favourite poem (yours or someone else's)?

also guess whoo!!!

Like how am I supposed to choose one from these awesomely amazing poems I have read over time... Maybe if I hadn't come on Tumblr and my world was confined to books and irl friends I might have a had a favourite. But like. Nikamma Bhai ke baare me to hum bol hi nhi rhe vo alag league me hai apni. And Lilac, Nyx aur Simran sabdo ka kya trishul chala ke ghayal kar jaati mere paas sabd hi nhi bachte. Aur humare kavishab bhaiiiii have you read something from her. Agar inna kaafi nhi tha, to randomly koi aur mutual kuch Aisa likh jayega ki phir chaar din Tak dimaag me kuch sujhe hi na. Favorite kaise chunu yaar main. Okay so there's this child. Like adorable baby (almost 17) that wrote a poem about me. Like she wrote it on my shirt (last da jo shirt pe likhate hai) and it's bloody emotional. Like I know it is not a literary masterpiece, but emotionally that broke me. She barely.knows anything about me outside of school but that girl wrote such a beautiful journey of my school life. Imma have to give it her that poem has to be one of my favourites.

And then one of mine, me konsa mera favourite. Bhai mere saare poems meri zindagi ke kisi na kisi part se inspired hote hai. Like till now all of them have a part of me in them. Slight exaggeration, thora change in story telling but the fact of matter is everything in these poems is me. Like I wrote उमीदें when even with 98% no one in my house was happy. I wrote Lost Soul about the time in 2019 where I honestly was so lost that nothing felt right. किलकारियां was about leaving friends behind andthe friends I had made a long the way. There are like pieces I wrote about when I was suicidal and didn't see a way out, but had to persevere cause I couldn't justify my selfishness in quitting. Ghastly Men was written about an experience almost every female goes through unfortunately. Pain My Partner is a pretty self explanatory title. The Single Leaf was the story of how everyone actually goes through a similar life told in metaphor. Destiny is about my childhood dream of being an adventuring protagonist. Beautiful Right was just me simping over the idea of love. My heart shattered glass was about realising I might never be loved again. And then there was two pieces I wrote about a friend being in a toxic relationship forgetting and worth and finding it all over again. (I'm proud of that one, she cries reading that) Perfect Child is just he Burnt out kid in me venting wishing for something I'd never have. Scars are beautiful is again about scars physical or metaphorical changing how everyone perceives you as. अपना पाओगे the pessimistic in me revealing itself. Kubool ho was a collection of couplets I wrote on demand. Choices is about friendship and the worth of relationships in a world where the concept of it is foreign again a metaphors representation of a part of my life. My Beloved Moon is just be thanking all my people for inspiring me everyday in ways they didn't even know... And Crimson Mistake and The Lunar Loon was all thanks to these two kiddoes I have sort of adopted on here. So all my poems have something about them and I can't exactly choose from them all. Although I gink the first ones I wrote will always be special in some way.

(PS I'm a dunderhead at guessing. Please tell me who are you enough though I wrote a whole damn novel in lieu of a simple question)

[ooops-i-arted]

whichever question you most want to answer for each of them: Alanne, Brizsa, Ika’ika

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Alanne grew up in a reclaimed Mandalore, safe and happy without knowing the loss of culture or fear of genocide that her parents and Grogu experienced. To them, Mandalore was won with blood sweat and tears, a precious treasure to be protected and uplifted. But to her, it's just home. She doesn't have the baggage they do: Cara seeing the garden of lost Aldereaanian flora attempting to be regrown, Din seeing statues and art honoring former heroes, Grogu participating in a Jedi outreach program - to them, all of that is something that was hard-earned and could so easily be taken away again because they've experienced it. She sees it all with unfettered eyes; she's not unaware, but she didn't experience the loss like they did. She just sees beautiful flowers and pretty art and a cool place for her big brother to show off his skills. It makes her feel warm and happy and safe inside with no tinge of bittersweet feelings. She's the kid that always calls home or scrolls the HoloNet for updates on her favorite places when she's been away for too long.

26. What is their preferred mode of transportation?

Once Brizsa got a jetpack she was never going to put her feet on the ground or a train or anything else EVER AGAIN. It doesn't matter she was supposed to accompany Mom and Dad to a Senate hearing and look extra nice and presentable, JETPACK. Grogu has an upset stomach and needs a quick trip to a medic? JETPACK and don't you DARE throw up! Point A to Point B are less than fifty yards away? JETPACK. Mom and Dad grounded me? LOL, JETPACK. Finally got a proper suit for under the armor that seals and is safe for space? I'M GONNA JETPACK TO THE MOON, LEWZERS

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Ika'ika's most favorite way to go to sleep is nestled in a scarf at Dad's neck, soothed by the sounds and physical vibrations of Dad humming. (Din does not mind the tiny claws that leave the tiniest barest scratches all over his neck.) If that is not an option, a vibrating toy and the noise it makes in his crib will also help. He will also accept being curled up in Dad's palm or nestled in blankets (though Din is so afraid of him being smothered this only happens when Ika'ika can run away and find his own blanket nest).

[odetodilfs]

What I write for:

This post is supposed to be for my masterlist, but it needed remaking and the link stopped working anyway.

I will write:

Male reader (and characters obviously) Gender neutral reader Ftm reader (and characters)

I write smut, angst, fluff and drabbles!! (I'll write hispanic reader as well, but 99% of my works don't mention reader's race, but if you wanna request hispanic reader go ahead, I'm hispanic myself :) ) Fem readers can I guess see the fics as long as you don't fetishize the.... though I doubt why you'd wanna read them anyway? (This stops with Silva fics... please don't go on those!!)

Requests:

I'll signal if they're open or closed, but I'll prioritize my own ideas over them.

Please, I beg you on my knees that you say who tops and who bottoms if you do smut, I'll also write switching.

And PLEASE reblog my fics!! It takes two clicks, thank you.

PLEASE use your common logic and don't request disgusting kinks like piss, shit, etc

Kink list here

Fandoms:

Finally, onto what characters and fandoms I'll write for...

Joel Miller (TLOU) (No longer writing for) Agent Whiskey (Kingsman) Javier Peña (Narcos) Javi Gutiérrez (TUWOMT) Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier)

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble) Pero Tovar (The Great Wall) Dio Morissey (NYPD blue)

Marcus Moreno (We can be heroes) Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones) Ezra (Prospect)

Silva (SWOL) Steve Murphy (Narcos) Namor (Wakanda forever) Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Santiago García (triple frontier) Steven Grant (Moon knight) Marc Spector (Moon knight) Jake Lockley (Moon knight)

Miguel O'Hara (ATSV)

Jake (SWOL)

Non reader Pairings

Silva/Jake (Strange Way of Life) Poe Dameron/Finn (Star Wars) Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth (The Mandalorian) Frankie Morales/Santiago García (Triple Frontier)

[shirozora-draws]

Round 2 of the weekly sketchdump! God, I feel so incomplete if I don't draw Din at least once every 7 days.

I feel so bad to myself because I'm not bothering to attempt polished art pieces, and then I have to remind myself I'm not even supposed to be drawing right now. These sketches are a compromise, and by golly I need to keep doing sketches in this style. The thought of doodling Mando and OFMD things in grayscale with splishsplash colors is making me feral and I'm supposed to be writing right now.

I've been going feral all day over the helmeted Din with the red scarf doodle, like jfc I love this character way too much. Also, this is the best Luke face I ever drew and I'm so angry because that happens just once in a blue moon.

[townofcrosshollow]

COAGULA - CHAPTER 2

Genre: Post apocalyptic, queer horror

Content warnings: Body horror, PTSD, violence, sexual content

Word count: 1,333

CLICK HERE TO START AT THE BEGINNING

Sloane gathered her meager posessions and told her landlord to fuck off. It was time to enter the city market for hopefully the last time to stock up on supplies with this stranger.

In the harsh light of the desert sun, she finally got a good look at them. Their skin was pale beneath the layers of black fabric that pooled over their bony body. They had these long, well maintained fingernails painted a bright white with black lines down the center, and those lines continued down the fingers as tattoos before meeting at a crescent moon on the back of their hand. Their cracked lips were curled into an almost imperceptible smile- not a sinister one, although it was hard to tell with black cloth draped over their eyes. Layered over the loose mask was a beaded cord with dangling threads along its length, wrapped through holes punched in old world coins. There was a slight jingle while they walked. Like change in a pocket.

Walking down a rickety staircase from the precariously perched building with the stranger in tow, Sloane set off towards the market. The stranger followed her as she weaved between scrap metal buildings and groups of people, climbing up sets of concrete steps and jumping down from platforms. They didn't struggle to keep up despite their unweildy robes. The bullet wound in her side probably didn't help. She could have lost this person in a heartbeat before, but now she was only barely maintaining a pace ahead of them.

As the two ventured through the city, the person shrouded in dark clothing proffered a question. "What is your name?"

"Couldn't figure that one out?" Sloane slowed down a bit, allowing the stranger to overtake her so they could speak more easily. "It's Sloane, no last name. You?"

"I am called Whisper." The stranger paused for a moment, and the rustling of coins clicking together rose over the din of the streets. "I also have no last name, I suppose."

"That a nickname? Or did your mama really name you Whisper?"

"Yes." Whisper did not clarify further, and Sloane did not bother to ask.

The market in here was often crowded, perhaps because it was the only place within half a day's travel to get food and water. Sunlight beat down on the exhausted people, only shielded from it by clouds of dust kicked up in their wake and tattered cloth stretched between tall poles. It shaded the outdoor stalls where folks stood but did little to protect crates full of sub-par looking produce and salted meat from the intense heat. They were all arranged on raised platforms that descended into the center like a bullseye, and Sloane made her way around the outside of the uppermost ring to one store in particular.

The vendor here was a little better protected than the average, his counter formed from a window cut into one of the wooden buildings on this level. An awning in red and white striped cloth stretched out beyond it to shield him when the sun rose. Inside, it was hard to see the stock through the relative darkness, but Sloane knew what it was- all sorts of supplies, everything from fabric to food to weaponry.

Tom was leaning out over the wood counter, giving her a nonchalant stare and barely glancing at the person she had in tow. "About time you showed back up, beautiful. Missed me?"

She rolled her eyes. Every week, this song and dance. It was sarcastic, of course- with her dark skin cracked and mottled with scars and her body stocky and functional, Sloane wasn't winning any beauty contests. Not that she particularly minded. And he was well aware that he wasn't her type, so to speak. "Don't be a smartass. You know I'm not here because of your personality."

The man put on an exaggerated frown. "You only want me for my body?"

Flipping him off, Sloane gestured with her head to her confused companion. "I've got a charge who's in need of some supplies for a pretty long trip. Hoping you can convince us not to shop elsewhere."

"Hello, stranger," Tom called over to Whisper with a salute and a nod. "I am at your service. Your wish is my command. Depending on the wish, of course."

"Do you take shiny objects as payment?" Whisper asked, their head cocked to one side.

Before Tom had a chance to respond, Sloane cut in, shooting him a knowing look. "Yeah, he does."

Tom knew well enough to trust Sloane not to screw him over. "I take whatever's worth money. Whatever I can resell, of course." That didn't stop him from raising an eyebrow at his customer, unsure what exactly her payment was meant to be.

"It'll take a couple days worth of rations to get down to the next reliable market," leaning against the wooden counter to sneak a better look behind the shopkeep. Sure enough, it was still there- gleaming bright in the sun and left in a place of honour on a high shelf, a mahogany and gunmetal sniper rifle. The adjustable bipod, the incredible scope, the suppressor that wasn't shoddily put together out of scrap metal. It was untarnished, like it had been manufactured yesterday and placed up there to be admired. She knew how much Tom was asking for it, because Lord knows she'd asked about it more times than she could count. "How much for the rifle," she muttered again.

He didn't even bother to answer, instead countering it with a fair question. "How much is that charge of yours paying you?"

"They are paying what I charge," she responded. Not inaccurate, but certainly not truthful.

Whisper, hearing this, walked up a little closer to join the conversation. Standing at that counter right across from him they were altogether too close to the shopkeeper for comfort, prompting him to take a step or two back. They reached beneath their robes again to demonstrate the riches they were sitting on- that flickering cracked screen prompted a wide eyed expression from Tom as the stranger muttered, "I am paying her with these. I can do the same for you. They are of no use to me."

Sloane raised her eyebrows at Tom, proposing a sort of 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' arrangement. Get her that rifle, and she'd ensure he got paid adequately. After a moment he piped up, waving the woman back into his shop. "C'mon, show me what you're looking to get and we'll discuss the price once I've got it all together for you." It was a transceparent farce, although Whisper didn't seem to notice. They had started fiddling with a pendant hanging around their neck, ignoring Tom and Sloane completely.

As soon as she stepped through the door back into the shop and out of earshot of the client, Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her close. He hissed in her ear, "What are you doing, taking a job for just a couple? They don't even know what those things are worth. Let's just take 'em all."

There was a long pause, long enough to get awkward and step back and eye each other up. Sloane finally responded. "That's a little fucked up."

"If we don't take them, somebody else is going to."

"Yeah, that's fucked up, man." She eyed the rifle again, stepping a bit closer. "You don't just steal shit from people. Even if they're... weird."

"How is it any different from what you were going to do? Charge them double or triple or who knows how much extra? Is it fairer because you're lying to their face?"

Sloane pursed her lips. She reached up and plucked the rifle from the shelf, hefting it over her shoulder with a defiant glare. "I'll get you one. For this." Turning to walk out, she muttered, "You ain't doing a very good job convincing me not to shop elsewhere."

[idjitlili]

W-wait you kidnapped, Jareth?

Obi-wan x reader

(Not my image)

Summary: Dropped into a strange world, pretty much on to a Obi-wan's lap, only for him to take pity on you. What a pity...

Word count:6237

Warnings: Kidnapping of a non-starwars character, tight pants wearing person.../ tight pants/ references to something under tight pants. Post Padme and Anakin reuniting. Some language. Age gap.

Okay, so maybe you had been in another dimension, with no intention,with a bit of a mind flip, you're into the time slip. You don't know how it happened one minute you was  sleeping, having one of those dreams when you are falling but you couldn't wake up, until you had shot awake from painful landing.

Well, the landing wasn't painful, two points of impact, under your legs and on your shoulder blades. Opening your eyes suddenly, to see a auburn haired man, his eyes bright, as they starred into yours, yes he was handsome. Some sort of cream wrap tunic, dark brown shirt underneath, hiding his chest. It was hot, very hot, how was his face no sweating, your arm now around his shoulders to prevent you from falling. No doubt your face showed shock.

"Who are you?!"

What else was you supposed to say, other than 'where am I?' It was not long at all before 'Obi- wan' the man who had caught you had taken you to some green guy called Yoda. Aliens, you would not have guessed it, well most people know there are actually aliens, there are so many galaxies. There was no earth in the place, so they had concluded it be some sort of bigger power had brought you were.

Yoda seemed nice enough, basically the Lady Galadriel of this place, insuring you that no harm would come to you. Of course, he had put the top Jedi on the job, Obi-wan, why did you have to put with the handsome ones, you'd end up red faced even if he looked at you. If he wasn't a nice person then he would've just dropped you.

In the short time you had been in this place, you had wondered why you had fallen in this place in your shoes. However, that is irrelevant, you had learnt about Jedi and siths, typical good guys versus bad boys. Not bad boys...not yet, of course I'm thinking about Din Djarin,well he's not evil.

Yoda did have a lot to say, except oh yes just so you know you've just been dumped into a foreign universe and now you are going on a space ship. You had been given a bag, with sets of clothing for you as well as some other supplies. Obi-wan being himself, not that you knew his regular behaviour, took your bag, when you were both walking towards the ship. Not that it was in view not yet.

"W-wait, so we are going into space?" Your voice laced with panic, as you speed walked next to Obi-wan to keep up.  He had let out a deep chuckle.

"Where else would we go, little one?"

"Uhm, literally anywhere else, do I not get food before we leave? I just got here! I'm starving."

The ship, now in view, was it floating? Was it just on a platform? Nope it was floating, did you just the force to do that, like an elevator? Looking at the Jedi, grinning as you both got closer and closer to the ship.

"It's not that bad, I won't let anything happen to you, nothing will if I am the one steering it anyways..." Obi-wan whispering last bit, but you still heard him, brows scrunching toward, who else would be piloting the ship? You? Never.  That when you saw him, stood on  ramp of the ship, assuming he was waiting for you and Obi-wan. His hair short, light brown and spiked. Was that a rat tail? Oh gosh. He was cute, but you could tell he was trouble.

"Oooh, Master, I thought you said no attachments." Obi-wan had scoffed at the boy, as you both got dangerously close, the boy looked at you with a smirk, his cheeks bunching up like a clown. That he was indeed.

"This is Anakin, Anakin, Y/n, she will be coming with us,"  Obi-wan looked at Anakin who still was looking at you, only at his master briefly. When he did Obi-wan's face could only be described as that face off Zoolander, Blue steel. Why was he pursing his lips, was he expecting a peck or was that just his stern face?

Of course when you held your hand out to shake his, he had took your hand in his pressing his lips to your knuckles. You looked at Obi-wan wide eyes, was this legal? Was Anakin even an adult? Only just, but still, he was not your type.

"Anakin, that's enough, what have I told you?" Pulling Anakin from you , pushing him into the ship, Anakin turns his face to you sending a cheeky grin. Only for Obi-wan to give him another shove out the ship. Obi-wan gesturing you for you to get on before him, with a small smile. "Thank you."

You weren't sure where you were going, hell, you didn't even know what planet you had just been was, but now you say in a seat gripping it, as Obi-wan began to pilot the ship, is that what it was called? Was called something different? You weren't sure, all you knew is this was scary. If you crashed there was little chance of survival, there's no oxygen in space.

Anakin sat next to Obi-wan, both focused on the darkness in front of them. You sat on seat that you could only describe as one of those joint seats at the back of a bus, an British bus. Maybe it's the same for different countries? The chair against the wall, you had strapped your bag down in the seat next you , as well yourself.

You had completely forgotten that you were wearing a baggy t-shirt with trousers, and shoes. That night you must've been so tired that you didn't change, you don't know what happened that night.  You must've looked very out of place, especially with what you had seen everyone else was wearing. Why were they all dressed as Jesus? You were surprised they were surprised they weren't wearing sandals.

"So, where are you from?"  Anakin had spoken gently not taking his face from his position, had made you snap out of thoughts.

"Y/h/c." You weren't sure if he meant planet, you had just stuck with your home country. Anakin had clicked his tongue, thinking, before he could say anymore Obi-wan had stopped him.

"She's not from this galaxy, Anakin." Obi-wan spoke like Anakin was supposed to know that, well you was wearing a shirt that literally had Keanu reeves face on it.

"Well then, how did you get here?"

"I was sleeping in my bed, and then I was falling somehow, whoa Obi-wan happened to be standing below me, and caught me, the end." Anakin had let out a loud snort turning to his master.

"No attachments, well, Master, if I didn't know better, I would say this was the beginning of something that was meant to be."  You swear you saw Anakin raise his eyebrows at Obi-wan, though you couldn't see properly from sitting behind.

"Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth." Why did that sound so familiar... Obi-wan was harsh to his Padawan, he didn't seem to be repulsed by you, maybe he felt uncomfortable by the tone of Anakins voice. W-wait did he just quote Gandalf?

After that everything was silent, for a while anyways, Obi-wan soon told you to go to the bathroom thing in the ship, you had already forgotten what he called it. Informing you that you should change into a set of clothes you were given; so that you would not stick out.

Clothing choice was good considering; you didn't know where you were going but you were glad you were given trousers for walking. Especially what you had been heard, you did not fancy being killed because you had tripped on the dress you were wearing.

The only reason they had took you to this planet was for them to negotiate with someone,  you could swear you saw one of them talking to someone on a hologram, why didn't they just do that. When you did arrive, you had to walk far into town. Security reasons, but the ship stood out more on it's own.

You were definitely not expecting to end up in pub, where else would they find a bad guy. It wasn't high tech like you had thought, it was a tavern, old fashioned. For a hot climate the bar was quite cool.

Strange that Obi-wan had made you sat at a table alone, there was a open space, you assumed for dancing, sat at a booth, you had perfect view to the little stage. Though there was no one there. Obi-wan and Anakin had went searching in the bar for the man or woman , or them, you weren't sure. You didn't understand how it was safer for you to be alone.

Twiddling your thumbs bored, the chat of bar was considerably low, it had already began to get dark. Soon enough the pub would be packed. You hadn't seen the man make his way on stage, standing in front of a microphone, while a couple of other people set up behind him. He did not look the band sort, but those other men were there to play the instruments, since there was only one mic.

It was only when the music began to play did you look up, a skinny man, stood at the microphone, his eyes the brightest blue, though his left pupil bigger than the right. His eyebrows had no ends, eyeshadow flicked up into an wing , the end facing his hairline, his cheekbones clearly highlighted. His hair huge , blond, long as well as being a mullet.

His shirt crisp white,with a leather brown vest, his sleeves puffy. The vest only went above his hip bones, beneath that was some very tight pants. They were almost leggings, the grey clearly presented his package. The boots what a slight heel on them reaching up his calves.

This man was clearly handsome, but he reminded you so much of Bowie, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

"There's such a sad love

Deep in your eyes a kind of pale jewel

Open and closed

Within your eyes

I'll place the sky

Within your eyes."

His gloved hands on the microphone, as your eyes were glued to him, his eyes gliding over the bar before meeting yours. His eyes eyes latching onto y/c ones, a grin spread across his face, showing his slightly croaked teeth. You quickly looked around making sure he was looking at you, glancing at Obi-wan and Anakin who were busy arguing.

"There's such a fooled heart

Beatin' so fast

In search of new dreams

A love that will last

Within your heart

I'll place the moon"

As your eyes went back to the man, his position now moved, instead of a microphone, he had a mouth piece, a few people waltzing together on the now on the empty space from earlier, but now it wasn't empty. Your heart raced as the man continued to sing, heading your way slowly, dancing with others as he did so.

"Within your heart

As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn't too much fun at all"

You don't what possessed you to stand up, but you did. Your feet pulling you towards the dance floor, a smirk upon the mans face as he saw you approaching him, you had blinked and with that he had disappeared. Your eyes searching the crowd, he was still singing.

"But I'll be there for you-ou-ou

As the world falls down

Falling

As the world falls down

Falling

Falling in love."

You were feeling embarrassed when you could not find the man, especially being on the dance floor alone. You had almost had a heart attack when someone had placed their hand on your arm. Turning around you were face to face to the grinning man, offering you his hand. Your hand in his gloved one, the other on his shoulder, his on your waist.

"I'll paint you mornings of gold

I'll spin you Valentine evenings though we're strangers 'til now

We're choosing the path

Between the stars"

Smiling up at the man, you felt like nothing else matter, as you waltzed with him, your movements so smooth that his hair didn't even know. Maybe he wore a lot of hairspray. Your eyes never leaving his, you couldn't remember knowing how to waltz.

"I'll leave my love

Between the stars

As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn't too much fun at all

But I'll be there for you-ou-ou

As the world falls down

Falling-"

What you did not notice was the two Jedi's calling your name, as they searched for you, only for Obi-wan to lock eyes onto you, getting Anakins attention, as he sighed. One rumb of the moustache and both of them started heading your way.

Jareth at eyes finally left yours, he had stopped singing, he had not let you go though.

"What are you doing, Y/n?" You had instantly unlaced your hand from the man, turning to face Obi-wan's disapproving glare, Anakin sniffled under his hand, glad he wasn't getting in trouble...again.

"Dancing?" You had even had a second to react when Anakin had stroked his moustache again, and the man was cuffed. Pulling you gently by the arm, you all made your way out of the bar, no doubt that was embarrassing. You had accidentally gotten the guy captured because you danced with him. Then again, Obi-wan would've spotted him singing as well, so maybe it wasn't your fault. Little nervous to why they wanted him, hopefully not for murder.

Once you did make it back to the ship, Anakin was to fly the ship, while the strange man  sat next to your bag, and you next to Obi-wan across from him. 

"I don't understand, I'll did was dance with him, he didn't try to kill me, so what's the problem?"  Obi-wan scoffed, staring at the man, not turning to even look at you.

"The problem is that he kidnaps children."

"No, I take the unwanted ones, those that are wished away." That sounded familiar, the hair, the pants, the David Bowie everything, it was clear who this man was.

"Ben, you can't speak him like that, do you not know who you have captured? He's Jareth, the goblin king!"  Jareth had just smirked at Obi-wan, quite frankly the outburst had made Obi-wan jump. No one called him Ben.

"W-well, I've heard stories of The Labyrinth."

"I'm sorry, how did I not see it before, the hair, the music, the very tight pants , the-"

"Why were you looking at his trousers?" Obi-wan now had turned to face you, his eyes eyes searching your face for answer, his voice stern, your face blushed. You really needed to stop talking about pants all the time.

"Do you want her to look at yours instead,Master?"  Obi -wan had choked his bearded face reddening. His eyes now off your face.

"Oh, I've already looked, what about some tighter pants , I must say you have lovely arse though." Placing a hand on Obi-wan's lower thigh, if his face was red before it was now, he couldn't look at you. A gentle squeeze of his thigh, and he had to excuse himself.

Once Obi-wan was out of ear range, the three of you laughed, though Anakin hadn't seen nor knew what tipped Obi-wan over the edge. However, Jareth had smirked at you, he knew very well what you had done. You had barely had known Obi-wan for four days, and he already felt like he was breaking the rules.

It was very clear why Obi-wan actually left the room, his trouser were now tight on him.

"So, love.."  You were surprised, obi-wan had taken the cuffs off Jareth in the ship and left him with you.  One of his legs , thrown over the end on table, as if it was an arm of a chair.

"Stop that." Anakin's voice stopped Jareth saying anymore.

Before you knew it, you had been talking to to Jareth the whole journey back, Obi-wan had came back shortly after; sitting next to Anakin. 

It was not like you had anything better to do other than speaking to the fae, Obi-wan just criticising Anakin. 'He's overly critical.' What do you want Anakin, a kiss on your cheek, oh sweetie you are doing absolutely amazing at killing the guys on our side.

Stepping out of the ship, Jareth now singing another song, like he was in a movie or something. You had caught eyes with about her man in robes, another Jedi. Hold on, that couldn't be Samuel L Jackson?

"Hey, Jareth?"

"Yes, love."

"Can't you just magic yourself out of this situation back to the your castle?" Jareth's hands weren't cuffed still, he had turned his face towards you with a grin, looking back at him, you felt bad he was only helping he wasn't killing people or anything. He was a lovely guy.

"Yes, I can, I was just waiting for a kiss goodbye." Pointing to his cheek, your pinks slightly pink as your pressed a kiss to his soft skin. With that you had pulled away, one last smile, he had turned dramatically, spinning his cape with him, glitter flying everywhere. Off flew a a light brown owl. He was gone.

"Mother fucker." Your lips turned up slightly trying to prevent a grin, as you turned back to the Jedi's that did not look impressed. Well, Anakin he did not care he just smiled, knowing you were probably were going to get in trouble. You literally didn't even do anything, all you did was kiss the mans cheek.

"What did you do?" Obi-wan eyes on you , his words  like a sharpened butter knife, you could say unnatural...even supernatural. This hands on his hips, pushing his robes back.

"W-what? Me? I told you he was bloody magic ;but no, you didn't listen."

"Control yourself, now come, Master Yoda requests all of you." Did he just tell Obi-wan to calm himself , he just called Jareth a motherfucker. 

The meeting with Yoda, Windu  and the three of you, wasn't with the Jedi republic. According to Yoda, this matter wasn't of importance, he didn't expect You'd been able to hold Jareth for very long. Master Windu, didn't give no shits, he was disappointed.

It wasn't like he killed a bunch of kids, not like Anakin was going to. Not just the men, but the woman and the children too. Jareth basically had loads of Goblin children living their best life's in the goblin city, that wasn't threatening. So, the Goblin king got away, why don't you go kill bloody Palpatine.

The next few weeks were not as eventful, stuck in your room bored, it was awkward to go out you didn't know anyone. Especially not Obi-wan you were pretty sure he hated you at the moment. You did not want to have to get involved with him and Anakin training. Exercise...no thanks.

You really did feel bad for how you acted towards Obi-wan, he was a Jedi you couldn't touch him like that. So, when he turned up at your room in the evening, with your dinner, it was surprising. Normally you'd get brought to dinner by one of the younglings.

Obi-wan stood in front of you with a small smile as he held the tray. The tray with two plates of dinner.

"O-oh, hi," pulling the door open with the door handle allowing Obi-wan into your room, before shutting it behind him.

"I thought maybe you wanted someone to eat with you," He did not expand further. Obi-wan was a kind man, he took a pact basically to have no family no nothing, just to protect the galaxy. With a high chance of death, he was a noble man, you couldn't think of anyone you knew from back home that would do that. You should not have gave him a boner.

Placing the tray on the table within your room, but instead of sitting down, he had lifted the whole table towards the balcony. Obi-wan has , went to Yoda before coming to your room, stating this was strictly professional nothing more. Yoda had just laughed. "Dine with her , you will."

Seeing what Obi-wan was doing, you had grabbed a chair too, onto the the stone of the balcony. The view of the planet, Coruscant was not the best, but it was better than looking at a wall. Ten again you'd be eating in a moment so you wouldn't have to look at either. Fresh are was good though.

Sitting down at the round table with Obi-wan was weird, you really felt guilty for your behaviour it was eating you up, whilst you both ate your dinners up. Looking up to Obi-wan, his eyes fixed to his plate as he struggle to cut a potato, his golden hair tucked behind his eyes.  Orange light from the setting sun shined into his hair, as well as his cheeks, his eyes glistening.  

"The way I acted on the ship, was completely inappropriate, I am so sorry, there is no excuse for my behaviour.  I admit I'm glad you are here now. I don't expect you to forgive me."

Obi-wan's eyes now looking back into yours, his eyebrows frowning together slightly, his knife and fork on his plate, as he lent back in the chair. Rubbing your sweaty hands along your trousers roughly, a small laugh let his lips.

"I must have missed something, you complimented my behind and squeezed my knee. That's hardly anything to apologise for, if anything I would've expected an apology for not listening to my orders."  That guilt did seem to fade away, mostly. Your cheeks reddening, as Oni-wan continued to look at you.

"I'm sorry for not following your orders, especially when in a pub on a strange planet."

Smiling at each for a moment before going back to your dinners before they got cold.  Not speaking fully until you had both finished eating.  

This became a daily occurrence for weeks, then months. You were still not returned home, you were stuck. You didn't feel alone not like you did when you first arrived. You did miss home very much, but nothing could be done about that. 

Sometimes, sorry, every time Obi-wan went out of Coruscant you went with. Even if it was dangerous, either you'd stay in the ship or simply go wherever with him.  It wasn't hard to see how close you had gotten to Obi-wan, the Jedi council did not like it one bit, not that you knew that.  Obi-wan had insisted that he had been assigned to protecting you and that was what he was doing. Not that was far from the truth.

No attachments, Kenobi? Okay.

What makes matters worse you had no currency, it wasn't hard to guess who would supply you with clothing's such. Obi-wan would take you to the market to buy you anything you needed. In return, well, there wasn't much you could do, certainly wasn't safe for you to go off on your own, especially not being from this universe. So, you just kept him company.

Anakin being Obi-wan's padawan he came along too, not to the market but on missions, but that was obvious. You had felt like a burden , you really did,  being reassured you weren't, Obi-wan had given you a role. A purpose. You were their healer.

Not Obi-wan purposely getting small injuries, he'd argue wit himself and sometimes Anakin, that it wasn't on purpose and if it was it was only to make you feel like you part of their team. Not that Obi-wan longed for the soft touches of your skin on his.

However, he was not expecting you to get hurt, no he would not have, he had sworn to protect you and he had failed. You had arrived on this strange planet for 'negotiations' for this clan to basically team up with the republic, but Darth Maul had gotten there first. Of course, you had been kidnapped, since Obi-wan told you to stay in the ship.

Darth held you off the floor by the back of your neck, holding the lightsaber out ready to kill you, not really just leverage. Obi-wan and Anakin in front, they really had no plan. Well, Darth Maul almost stabbed you, but you had the higher air and took a blade from your pocket and stabbed yourself. Blood pouring out of your Abdomen, as your eyes watered, your throat blocked up.

Dropping you to the floor, Darth Maul had laughed. "Oh, I like her." Obi-wan did not like that at all, seeing you face down on the cold floor him an Anakin activated their lightsabers.I could describe the whole fight sequence, but you already know Darth Maul wiggled himself out of that situation back to the Sith, not surprising, you wouldn't remember anyways, you had passed out.

The clan now on the republics side,  only because the Jedi's had saved them and promised protection.

Obi-wan had carried you back to the ship with Anakin, who began to start the ship. He felt guilty to wake you up, he would rather stitch you up when you were unconscious.The thought of hurting you plagued his heart, maybe he should get Anakin to do it. No, he couldn't go through with someone else hurting you.

Grabbing the medical kit, Obi-wan had made his way back to the bed, your body still, he would've been happy if this was Anakin. The thought crossed his mind, to stab Anakin, so he'd bloody shut up. Our tunic now drenched with blood, he could clearly see the tear in your shirt. He was not going to wake you , deciding just to cut a square out of your shirt.

You wouldn't be surprised if that shirt wasn't fashion back home, you know people wearing bandanas as shirts, here's what hot now, reveal your hip and your abdomen with a square hole! Who knows, I don't know anything about fashion, except I dress like David Bowie. Shut up , no one cares.

Your face was already laced with cold beads sweat, like Obi-wan but he felt like furnace, his long hair pushed back, his lips squished together as he grabbed the anaesthesia, pulling up your sleeve carefully before injecting it quickly. Then he had gotten to work, soon enough, you was stitched up.

Only problem was, that Sith had damaged the ship, so Anakin only got the three of you so far before having to land on freezing planet. But, it gets better, Anakin being really great, and supposedly a great pilot had hit the side of a mountain. Snow had covered the ship, you were trapped by an ocean of snow.

Of course, R2 hadn't came in this trip, just luck, only thing that was working was the heating and lights, the signal had gone. No way to contact anyone, however, someone was bound to notice in a few days something had gone wrong.

This was not going to be like without a paddle, where you'd all be in your underwear and spoon. We do not shaggy here, um? Get it before Shaggy is in that movie? 

Eventually, you had woken up, a little dizzy, probably would not have if Anakin wasn't having a tantrum. You didn't even question how you got back to the ship, your shoes tapped quietly against the floor , as you made your way to the cockpit.  Both Obi-wan and Anakin were stood in the centre of the room, Anakin point and clenching his fists, Obi-wan just stood there.

You got a feeling that Anakin was not good at keeping his emotions in check, why was he always so emotional. Obi-wan was now sipping juice, no blue milk, yuck, Anakin still shouting.

"You're jealous, master. You're afraid I am getting too powerful, you want me to fail!"  Placing his drink down, Obi-wan had caught your eyes,  his face lightened into a smile from his frown. "Mum,  you think I am ready to be a Jedi Master, right?"  His eyes soft on the sight of you, coughing slightly, you had looked back at Obi-wan who turned to you in a swing, now amused by his Padawan.

"I'm sorry, aren't I a similar age to you?" The cold temperatures from the snow, had transferred into the ship, but Anakins cheeks still burned. He just stood looking at you unable to speak, Obi-wan had laughed patting his Padawan on the back once.

"Don't worry about it; he does it to everyone. When he was younger, it was difficult to convince him to stop calling me father. Sometimes, he still does." 

"Liar, I do not. You treat me like a whore ; calling everyone my father. I do not, it was mistake!"  Anakin was overwhelmed, his voice defensive and loud as he left the room, leaving you with Obi-wan, who's lips were twitched into a large smile , as he stroked his moustache.

For a few moments you both stood in silence, before you had looked down to the ache and coldness on your lower abdomen. A hole on in your shirt where you we're stabbed, now stitched up.

"Oh yes, sorry about your shirt." Your finger tips tracing the fabric, then touching the wound, pain shot through your body, letting out a welp. Obi-wan eyes had widened, stepping close to inspect the wound again, why would you poke it?

"It's just a shirt, it's not like you don't buy them all anyways, thank you for that again, also thank you for stitching me up ,  that was you?"  Your voice quiet, under his gaze, a deep chuckle had left his mouth.

"Yes, I did, I hardly trust Anakin's flying, how are you feeling? That was very well done back there, but I do recommend you don't do it again." You had scoffed, letting out a short laugh after, Obi-wan looked at you rising his eyebrows, to warning you.

“Oh, yes, I plan on stabbing myself again, who do you think I am? Loki? Okay, maybe I’ll fake my death for attention too.” Obi-wan’s hands gently placed on your shoulders, squeezing lightly , as he looked into your eyes. His blue orbs intensely on yours, his hair neatly tucked back.

“I wouldn’t allow that, from now on you don’t stay in the ship alone, If something happens to you I’d never forgive myself, and I believe that you were sent here for a reason. Not to die.” His hands had left you , smiling at you once more, before leaving the cockpit.

Not only after that you had retired to your bed, in clothes without holes, your now many blankets covered you. Thanks to Obi-wan again, since you all spent so much time on the ship, it was necessary for situations like this. Of course, as long as the ship wasn’t blown up again.

Though the heating was working, it didn’t stop the cold from the outside. Curled up so tight in your blankets, trying to retain heat, you could not get comfortable to sleep. The cold nipping at your feet and cheeks, your nose was probably red too.

Only an hour or two from when you first got into bed, sighing , all your blankets wrapped around you, stepping out of bed. Quietly, making your way around the ship, just to tire yourself out, or to make yourself really cold. So, when you would get back into bed you’d be like ‘oooh warm’ and fall asleep.

You had meant to wake in on Obi-wan sat in his chair in the cockpit, wrapped up in his robes, seemingly fast asleep. His arms crossed, his auburn hair covering his face , neck cranked forward. He was going to have a sore neck in the morning.

Turning on your feet, slowing walking out of the room, pulling your blankets tighter. A sigh had left Obi-wan’s mouth, not loud but you heard it. Your movement now softened, you continued with tiny steps.

“I know you are there, Y/n, come back.” No doubt you almost peed yourself, hearing Obi-wand raspy voice, he had been a sleep, you felt horrible. Walking back from the door way, Obi-wan had turned to chair to look at you.

“I didn’t mean to wake, I didn’t know you was even in here.” Obi-wan opened his mouth yawning loudly, before looking back at you, snorting a laugh, at your choice of clothes.

“What are doing up?” Shifting on your feet, covered with socks, the icy floor numbing them.

“Can’t sleep, aren’t you cold?” You wondered if Anakin was having trouble sleeping too, he must’ve been fine, since he left Obi-wan in here. Obi-wan probably never meant to fall asleep, waiting for anyone to contact. Shaking his head, he had opening his arms up gesturing you over.

“Come here, darling.” Not sure on what he was going to do, yet you still walked towards him, you trusted him. You were glad if you were stuck you was stuck with the Jedi. Pressing his palm around your clenched hand that held tightly onto your blanket. His hands were really warm, like had them between his thighs. His lips moulded into a circle shape, inhaling sharply.

“Oh, I should’ve brought you more blankets.” His hand still on yours, looking up at you, a small smile on your face, your teeth felt like ice cubes, a few moments went by, you weren’t sure what he was waiting for or what you were waiting for.

“ Do you think I could stay here...with you?” Your cheeks now felt hot, the words barely a whisper, you shouldn’t have asked, it’s completely inappropriate. “I-I can go back to bed-“

“Nonsense.” Obi-wan had pulling you into his lap, okay, so maybe you thought he would’ve been like yeah and you would’ve sat in the chair next to him. You head resting against his chest, his stubble tickling upon your head. Obi-wan’s arms wrapped around you tightly, sealing the blankets. Yours around his waist, feet tucked up on the chair, as well. Obi-wan warmth surrounded you with his scent, the soft touch of his lips against your temple.

“Am I allowed to love you, Ben?” Your eyes fluttered closed, your voice barely above a whisper, Obi-wan’s heart hitched into his throat. He flirted too often and he knew it, and he knew that his feelings weren’t platonic either, he wouldn’t have spent dinner every night alone with just anybody.

“No, I suppose you’re not.” What would the council feel about this, he wished he could blame Yoda for making him guardian over you and that first dinner with you.

“If you aren’t supposed to have attachments, then what am I? You promised Master Yoda to protect me, isn’t that an attachment. Would anyone be able to tell? You have to be with me pretty sure all day anyways.”

Your words made him ponder for a moment, he knew you were right, you had already acting like you were together for a long time, not directly in front of council though. It was clear Anakin saw it too, he wouldn’t have called you mum, that was weird though. Maybe he has a kink think because he hasn’t seen his mum since he was 9.

Obi-wan looked over you all the time, brought you everything you needed, ate dinner with you, kept you warm, stitched you up, protected you from strange people. There were times where you’d turn up to his room crying, or upset or missing home, he’d comfort you. Similarly to this situation, you’d end up in his bed, not like that, you in his arms stroking your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple as you fell asleep. It was not new.

“You are right, I love you.” Looking up to the Jedi, as he smiled down at you.

“You do?”

“I do.” He may not have kissed you then, but you had time, you weren’t about to let Anakin take him from you. What mattered was you were together, even being away from your home, you had another. With Ben and a ‘son’ that was older than you.

Oh , Anakin was so cheeky when he had awoken in the morning seen you against his masters chest.

“I knew it.”

[chaoticgeminate]

*flails wildly at all your wips*

What to pick?!

*flails again*

Okay-

Dreamwalker Dio?

Omega Din?

💚

Hazel I love you so much, you always make me smile huge. Here's what I got and they're kind of long because I'm feeling stupid excited about them both.

Dreamwalker Nico (Iridescence-verse obviously 😘):

He was almost ethereal, a slow grace to his movements like he was drifting, and you couldn't help but keep glancing at him while gathering the pieces of his order. Dried lavender, silver powder, and sage sachets for protection in sleep were set carefully into the custom wooden chest; the locking mechanism was a puzzle style lock that only he and you knew how to open.

Tucked beside the sachets were the braided cords of winter widow silk, in a variety of pastel blues and violets, and lastly were a half-dozen candles made of dwarvish glowfly wax. You glanced at the name on the top of the order form.

"Nico? Your order is ready."

His smile set your heart thundering in your chest as the man drifted his way toward you, it wasn't too wide or too shallow and looked so sincere. His hands skated over the box you'd left open, carved to his exact specifications by hand during the full moon, and his voice was somehow firm and soft at the same time.

"Such quality and beauty."

"You designed the chest."

"I wasn't talking about the box, sweet thing."

Omega Din:

"I didn't realize you were an Alpha."

Din's voice was gentle and you turned your head to glance at the armored warrior, his tall and broad frame with muted colors screamed Omega louder than his protective and nurturing instincts for Grogu did. You supposed he wasn't actively trying to hide his nature, it wasn't like anyone would be stupid enough to challenge an Omega with a child to a fight and expect to win.

"You weren't supposed to find out."

Admitting it out loud felt strange and you hastened to make sure he didn't think the wrong thing. Didn't think that you were hiding it from him for any reason other than the truth.

"I was raised to blend into the crowd, to go unnoticed, so aggressive posturing and wearing bright colors were sort of counter-productive to that. I spent basically my entire childhood having any of the instinctive Alpha reactions to posturing and challenges beaten out of me. Until you came and bought my freedom I wasn't allowed to be an Alpha."

A large hand settled on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing right over your scent gland under the high-collar armored vest you wore and you knew he could feel the suppression chip embedded under your skin.

He moved behind you and covered your eyes with his hand, making you raise your brow carefully, but the soft hiss of the pneumatic pressure being released followed by the flood of his scent shot a ripple of something down your spine.

WIP Title Game

[dindjarindiaries]

Am I don't know am "I'm sorry but... who are you?" "I'm sorry if I give you the wrong impression" and "I've got you" with Din? Maybe something like Din finding out he has a lost child?... I'm sentimental with fathers and children relationships ok?

character: Din Djarin

prompts: “I’m sorry, but... who are you?”, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression,” and “I’ve got you” from a prompt list that’s since been deleted!

warnings: mentions of death

rating: PG

masterlist

It’s been many moons since he last saw you. Din tries not to think about you anymore—but sometimes, he can’t help it. He wants to know what happened to you. If you ever made it out safe. If you were living a happier life now, like he wanted you to. He never wanted to force you out of his life, but it was too dangerous. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but at least he knew that you were going to be in a safer situation.

The thought of you came up when Din arrived to the marketplace here on Vallera, aiming to pick up some quick supplies for the Crest. He’s returned to his life of bounty hunting after he found the child’s home—as hard as it was to leave him. He only works for Greef, who he knows is reliable and won’t mess with any other Imperial warlords. Din’s still not used to having to cut the amount of supplies down, now only having to fend for himself like he used to. He wishes it felt more natural. Instead, he finds himself feeling as if he’s always missing something, like he’s never quite complete no matter where he goes or what he does.

Din left you here on Vallera, which is why you’ve come to mind. He wonders if you’re still around. He won’t let his hopes get up—he never does. He knows you probably wouldn’t want to see him anyway. The decision for you to be left here wasn’t a well-received one by any means, and Din will never forgive himself for not trying to leave on better terms. But in the moment, his care and concern for you conquered all else, and he was able to get away fast. He knows there were still tears running down your cheeks as he turned on his heel and left. Din wanted more than anything to run back to you and wipe them away, to tell you that everything’s okay and that he’d never really leave you. Instead, he did just that. It was the best option for you and your safety.

Din lets out a soft sigh, hoping the noise doesn’t pass through his modulator as he walks through the various booths. He can hardly remember what he’s supposed to be getting, now. The thoughts of you have consumed him whole. He curses to himself, attempting to swallow back the painful feelings as he presses on. Din observes the booths as he passes them, trying to get his focus back on track. Fruits. Meats. Cloths. Health—

Suddenly, there’s a tugging on his cape. Din immediately stops, his hand brushing over his holster as he turns around to face whoever’s standing there. He sees a young girl cowering away at his rash actions. She can’t be older than eight, and instantly Din softens as he releases his hand from his blaster. He’s blown away by how familiar she looks—and his heart aches upon realizing that he’s recognizing you. It’s almost as if her face is yours but with more childlike features. Now I’m seeing her everywhere, Din thinks to himself. It’s gone too far.

“Can I help you?” Din asks the child, trying not to let his voice be too harsh nor too soft.

The child’s hands clasp nervously behind her back as she looks up at him, and Din’s heart softens upon seeing her innocence. He’s always had a soft spot for children, knowing how he ended up himself—alone. After he took the child under his wing, that softness only grew. “Are you a Mandalorian?” she asks, keeping her voice gentle. Din’s once again reminded of how much she sounds like you.

“Yes,” Din answers simply.

The little girl smiles, her dark eyes lighting up. “It’s you!” her small voice exclaims, almost cracking a bit in her joy. “Mommy told me to find you.”

Din feels confusion fill him immediately, and he bends down closer to her level as he tilts his helmet at her. “I’m sorry, but... who are you?” he questions softly.

The girl’s face falls, and Din’s heart almost shatters upon seeing her evident disappointment. “Oh,” her voice says, sounding distant. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Mommy must’ve been talking about a different one.”

Din knows there wouldn’t be another Mandalorian, and so before the little girl can turn to leave, Din reaches forward to place his hands on her shoulders. His visor meets her eyes as he addresses her firmly. “Who’s your mother?”

When the little girl says your name, Din feels his heart practically launch into his throat. This is your daughter. Having a piece of you in his hands again makes him want to collapse with relief on the spot, but he knows he has to continue his investigation if he wants to find anything out.

“Where is she? Is she safe—are you safe?”

The little girl’s eyes start to tear up already, and Din’s heart begins to crumble inside his chest. “No.” Her small voice is a ghostly whisper, and Din’s protectiveness instantly starts to kick in. “Mommy is... gone.”

“Gone?” Din can barely recognize his own voice through its sheer emptiness.

“There were bad people,” the little girl starts to explain, swallowing back her tears. “Mommy told me to go. She said they were going to hurt us. She told me to find you.” She stops, her dark gaze looking at Din with sadness and desperation. “I’ve looked for you here everyday.” Her gaze falls again when she adds her last bit. “I went home once, but Mommy was...” She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to.

Din hadn’t saved her. He swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check for the sake of the last piece of you he has left: your daughter. “Why did she ask you to find me?”

The little girl’s gaze goes back to Din, and he sees a warmth there as she answers. “She said you’d help me find my Daddy.”

Din furrows his brow beneath the helmet. How could he help her find the father? Unless... Din freezes completely. The last time he was here was all those years ago. Nine years ago. He remembers that night before he left you. He remembers all the other ones just like it before that.

He can see it clearly now. The fact that this girl’s gaze looks just like his own. The brown locks that match his own untamed mane underneath his helmet. It makes sense. He’s the father.

Din feels as if he can’t breathe, but at the same time, he’s never felt so full of life before. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Ad’ika?”

His daughter’s eyes start to fill with tears again. “That’s what Mommy used to call me.” She then stops, her eyes widening as realization fills them. A smile grows on her lips as she looks at him. “D-Daddy?”

Din nods, kneeling down and opening his arms to her as she practically runs into them. She starts to cry with joy into the cloth of his shoulder, and Din holds her as close as he can manage. He closes his eyes and feels them tearing up, thankful for the helmet that hides such an emotional reaction from the people around them. “I’ve got you,” Din coos to his daughter. He feels a tear escape his eye. “You’re safe now, ad’ika.”

“I missed you, Daddy.” She grips the cloth beneath his armor tighter.

Din swallows back his emotions, instead pulling her even closer. “I missed you too.” Both of you, he wants to add—but somehow, he knows you’re here, even if he can’t see you.

[melancholicillusions]

How you two meet.

Tuesday, January 13 2018

"We are expecting a rather violent snow storm this evening. Its suspected to last a good three days. Infact its suppose to drop below freezing tonight and its expected to stay that way leading into tomorrow morning..." The women on the small television exclaimed.

"Ugh.. Of all days She could have made me work..." Y/n sighed, looking out the window which reflected no other color but white.

"Well what can you do about it?" You coworker Dokyeom chuckled, mixing the batter.

Rolling your eyes you walked over to the oven placing the empty pan inside and pulling out the cooked bach, setting it on the table turning off the oven.

"Well I could go home b-"

"Then go home, ill cover for you."

You smiled. "..but! You didn't let me finish. I was going to say.. I need this job."

Cocking his brows he reminded you, "y/n you dads a billionaire, you said it yourself he's given you more than enough to buy a nice car, house, and then just sit on your ass all day, for the rest of your life."

"Yes but he's also only a billionaire because of his father and his fathers, father. Should i go on?"

Dokyeom quickly declined your offer waving you off with his towel. "Blah blah blah."

"Haha very funny. Hey can you go tell them they need to leave? Its a minute till closing time."

"What?! Why can't you do it?" Dokyeom complained.

"Because, one I have to stay late anyways remember? Im on clean up duty. Also I dont like kicking people out.. Besides, I think they're homeless.." You trailed off.

Dokyeom sighed. "Fine. But you owe me.."

"대박! 감사해요." (Awesome! Thank you.)

"I see you've been practicing." He commented.

You smiled.

He made his way to the simi-empty dinning room where a young man and a child sat. The man had a smile on his face as he listened to the small child, who from what I could understand was telling him about her day at daycare. I couldn't help but feel guilty. Trying not to think about it, I began throwing out old samples and displays that once sat in the display case, though I over heard Dk politely tell them they had to leave.

"Excuse me, sir.." He started.

Trying my best to make it seem like I wasn't there I slouched down behind the case. Listening to the small conversation between the two men, peaking around the corner. The male looked up at Dk, worry on his face as he pulled the small girl closer. she looked to be around three while the male looked to be in his late twenties. He had short brown hair and what looked to be a faint beard growing. He was wearing an old torn-up off white sweater, ripped black jeans, and a gray scarf. The girl on the other hand had oily black hair that was pulled into a ponytail. She was wearing a hoodie that was three sizes too large for her, an ankle length navy blue skirt, and a red bennie.

"...I'm sorry to say that's its closing time and you'll have to leave." Dk finished.

"Ah, I'm sorry. We hadn't realized what time it was. haha!" The man said. Standing up to pick up the small child only to sit her down and begun putting her winter attire on.

"Okay. Stay safe." Dk smiled and started walking back to the kitchen putting the freshly made batter into the fridge for early shift staff tomorrow and begun washing the dishes.

"Daddy, are we gonna sleep under the bridge again?"

My breath hitched, and i slowly stood up looking at the child who was now putting on gloves while he wrapped the scarf around her neck. As she looked up to him warmly.

"N-no sweetheart we'll find somewhere."

Once his stuff was on he picked her up and made their way out into the harsh weather with one last glance into the kitchen, making eye contact with me for the first time.

_________________________

"Welp that concludes our shift.. I owe you one Dk. Again."

Dokyeom chuckled putting his coat on. "You sure do. Now if you'll excuse me I have a wife and daughter that are waiting for me. The wife especially." He winked.

"Gross, really Dokyeom? Really."

He smiled before clocking out, telling you to drive safe and walking out the door. I followed his steps only there was no one to tell drive safe and I had the extra step that included locking the doors.

"Shit, it really is cold out here... Doesn't help that my car is halfway down the fuckn' street." I muttered to myself.

Sitting in my car I couldn't help but think back to the man and his child. What she said to him specifically.

'Daddy, are we gonna sleep under the bridge again?'

Resting my head on the steering wheel I sighed. "Why didn't i say anything..."

Once I was done pondering and beating myself up about the past I started on my way home. Though the road I usually take was blocked off so I had to take the Sketchy way, through the alley and under the bridge. When it was in sight I calmed my nerves with some low-fi music my friend Yoongi produced. As I was driving through I saw someone- no someones. A familiar red bennie was huddled into something. I couldn't help but pull up next to them, driving slowly. Rolling my window down only to be greeted by snow and cold air assaulting my face.

"Excuse me. Do you need somewhere to stay?" I had to yell just to be heard over the yelps and roars of the winter air.

Man stopped and so did I, the little girls grip remained tight on her fathers arm.

"Uh. No, thank you we'll be fine.." He responded looking down.

"Daddy I'm cold.." She said and as a response he begun taking off his coat only to wrap it around her small frame, because she had one of his arms he could only use one to keep himself warm.

"Come on, its suppose to drop below freezing tonight, and if she's gonna have your coat.. You'll freeze... You'll both freeze."

He sniffled before telling her to get in the car.

"Come one Haru, get in the car... Hurry sweetie."

You smiled unlocking the doors, he sat in the back with her.

"You can get in the front."

"No, its fine." He quickly responded.

_________________________

"Here, I'll go make you two some hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate! Yay!" The child now known as Haru yelled in excitement.

"Here let me help you princess.." He said taking her shoes and wet clothes off.

When you came back you set the three cups on the table and warmed up some left over egg soup.

"Do you have some dry clothes? Haru's are wet.." He said sounding timid and a bit hesitant.

"Uh ya.. Um, can you keep an eye on the food? You know to make sure it doesn't boil over."

"Sure.. Come here haru, and stop bouncing around on her furniture." He said sternly.

You chuckled walking to your room looking through your night gowns looking for one that was, shall we say appropriate for someone of her age.

"Finally..." You sighed.

'to the moon and back.' It read.

You started looking through the stuff your late husband left behind, and came up with a shirt that said 'proud husband of a kick ass military wife!' And some sweats. Quickly folding them you made you way into the kitchen where Haru and her father waited.

"Oh you could have made yourselves a bowl.."

"Oh, sorry we didn't want to touch anything..."

Making your way to the cabinet s to get them a bowl. "No no its fine im sure you two are starving anyways.. Here are the clothes. I found some for you to..."

He smiled slightly, "I'm Jeonghan by the way.."

"Im y/n. So that's your daughter?" You smiled as he picked Haru up and begun to dress her.

"Y-yes, her mother died at birth and things went down hill from there.."

"Oh, I'm so sorry.."

Jeonghan looked at you "I saw a picture of a man.. Assuming by the shirt you cave me your married?"

You cleared your throat. "Um no he died 2 years ago.."

He stared at you before apologising profusely.

"Heh.. No its fine, I guess I'm over it anyway.. I didn't stop and cry when going through his stuff.." You chuckled.

"No one ever truly gets over the loss of a loved one..."

He looks at you. You shake your head. "That makes two of us.."

[vercopaanir]

This is probably a silly question 🥺 but do you ever get writer's block and if so, how do you deal with it? I feel like I struggle so much with focusing and pressuring myself into writing that it doesn't come out the way I would like for it to. Do you listen to music or just prefer a silent background? I'm just genuinely curious since TLM is written so beautifully and you're constantly updating it. It literally takes me a week to write a 5K chapter.

This is not a silly question at all.

Unfortunately, I have a lot of thoughts about this, so they’ll be under a cut!

I get writer’s block in various forms. Typically, it’s one of two kinds.

The first (and rarest for me) kind is when there is just a complete blank as to what I want to do with the story. This can be really frustrating if you don’t know your personal rhythm in the creative process, but it can also be really fun to discover what inspires you. I call it letting the story “steep.” 

Usually, I need to flush it out with more when this happens. The character needs to want something, the conflict doesn’t have high enough stakes, etc. The Lovely Moons didn’t happen on a whim, trust me. I spent nearly a month thinking on it, developing the character, gathering bits and pieces of lore, and doing general research. 

Recently, @di-kut and I compared how we prep our stories. She is very visual because she’s also an artist, so she told me she likes to make mood boards, finds pictures, and even makes art! I’m not as visual, because everything is in my head so I’ll never really find the pictures I’m wanting. So I end up frustrated. I personally prefer making playlists for my stories like it’s a movie soundtrack, and I tend to only listen to those songs when I write. The Lovely Moons has a lot of empowering and dystopian inspired songs on it, because the main character was a slave and overcomes a lot as a person.

If you’re into visuals, I say make a folder and save some images that inspire you. Costumes or clothes your characters might where, scenery where certain plot points happen, pictures of people you envision for different characters. If you want to make a playlist, start with some movies or TV show soundtracks that move you and pick through there. 

The second kind of writer’s block, and the one I most often fight with, is when a scene just isn’t coming together the way I want it to. I know that I want to get the story from Point A to Point B, but it just doesn’t feel right, or it’s like pulling teeth.

There are several ways to deal with this.

-Write a few sentences, even if you don’t think they’re good. Just get them into the document, as much as you can manage, and save and close it. Go back to it later, or even the next day. Sometimes you can’t force it to happen, and that’s natural and completely okay! What two sentences you can manage today might help spark you tomorrow to write 5k out of nowhere. 

-Accept that what you’re writing down is your first draft, and if you’re worried it might suck, it probably does. This is also okay. It’s supposed to suck and be imperfect. Editing yourself will always stop you from writing. That isn’t writer’s block, it’s fear of failure. Don’t listen to it! Just write. Honestly, this is probably the most important thing that has gotten me through writing TLM. Just getting it down and writing a little bit each day. There have been some days I can only manage a sentence, but it’s the best sentence I’ve written in a while. The more you do it, the easier it comes, and the less often you’ll find your blocked.

-So, you’ve done the previous two steps, and the scene still isn’t working. Well, friend, you are a real writer and are now in the arena of the story trying to tell YOU where it needs to go. And you should listen to it! I know that sounds super cheesy, but it’s true. There have been several times in writing TLM that I expected a scene to go a certain way, and it’s not working because my gut is trying to tell me “Yeah, this isn’t natural” or in character, or flowing. Those are your instincts, and you need to listen to them.

What I’ve done is sometimes open a new document and say to myself, “Self, what would happen if instead of Din shooting Toro Calican, Cyare did it instead?” And then I write that, and boom. It works, it flows, it makes narrative sense.

Sometimes you have to throw yourself a curve ball and be open to having your plans be changed for you. It can suck at first, but when you feel that rhythm take over, it’s worth it. And if you’re not sure what to change or tinker with, try a few things. Does the scene start in the woods and you need to be at the ocean? Try starting the scene somewhere else. Does your character need to go from peaceful to yelling? Start the scene with the character already yelling.

I’ve had several chapters be born from what I only expected to be a sentence, and I’ve had several chapters become a paragraph. And it ends up working out to the story’s benefit, because if something needs to be longer, the words will come. If you’re finding you’re struggling to find the words for something, it probably doesn’t need to be as long as you think it does.

And, two of the biggest weapons to combat writer’s block are this: read and befriend writers!

Read the kinds of stories you’re trying to write! We will only ever grow as writers if we continue to write and continue to read. Reading and supporting other peoples’ art will inspire you and it will also help you carve out your own style.

Being able to talk about your stories and ask for feedback from other writers is imperative to becoming a better author. You’ll never change, never grow, never get better without someone you can count on that you feel comfortable with discussing ideas. Sometimes they’ll be GOLDEN ideas, and sometimes you’ll be talking about Paz Vizla sipping a capri sun and going by in heelies. But it’s a huge confidence boost when you can befriend awesome people by supporting each other’s work, and it helps sometimes to talk out the kinks with someone else.

I hope something in this long, long answer was helpful for you, my love. Be kind to yourself, don’t beat yourself up, and just keep writing! ❤️❤️❤️

[feynites]

for prompts, I'm sure this goes without saying but some of that good good Dirthalene stuff would be great if you're up for it

I did a Mo Dao Zu Shi AU.

Well, to be accurate, I borrowed the basic plot of the first two episodes, because I watched it recently and I wanted to. X3 But knowledge of the series shouldn’t be required, so here! Enjoy some Dirthalene stuffs!

Did you hear? Did you hear about it all?

 What?

 Lord Dirthamen, that evil master of black magic, has died!

 No! Truly? How?

 He was killed, of course! His evil lair was destroyed and he was shattered into a thousand pieces.

 Who struck the killing blow? Who could have managed it?

 His brother, of course! Lord Falon’Din led the march on the lair himself.

 Weren’t those two allies? I thought they opposed the mad Keepers together…

 They did. But Lord Dirthamen went too far. His magic turned too dark. Lord Falon’Din had to put a stop to him, before he razed the world! They say he’s been left near to death himself by the whole ordeal, too. A real hero.

 Well. I suppose we ought to drink to Lord Falon’Din, in that case…

 To Lord Falon’Din! Liberator of the people, destroyer of evil!

 Here here!

 ~

 Dirthamen blinks his eyes open.

…Odd.

He shouldn’t have those anymore.

His vision swims a little. Disjointed images crossing it, and equally disjointed thoughts spilling from his mind. But he is not unaware of what has transpired. He was dead. He recalls it quite clearly. It had been… peaceful, actually. Though recollecting the particulars is proving more and more impossible, the knowledge slipping from his grasp, like water between his fingers. He was absolutely dead, though. For a long while.

And now he isn’t. The difference is too stark for him to doubt it. For the first time in a long while, he feels pain. Sunlight streams in through the slats of some kind of ramshackle roof. His limbs ache; his ribs hurt. He stumbles over remembering how to breathe, and ends up in a coughing fit that makes white sparks dance across his vision.

How has this happened?

The coughing fit prompts him to sit up. His head swims. He presses a palm to his brow, and sees red.

Long, deep slashes of red, running down pale wrists. He regards them blearily for a long moment, flexing the fingers of the hand in front of himself, before looking at his other arm. It, too, has been mutilated. His chest is bare; bruised, but not cut. Dirthamen regards the purple blotches on a torso that looks thinner than the one he recollects having - when he was in an elven shape, anyway.

His inspection draws his gaze down to the ground he’s sitting on.

It, too, is covered in red.

Runes. Written in blood. As he stares around himself, Dirthamen realizes that he is sitting atop a summon circle, infused with copious amounts of blood magic. Blood from the body he is in, it would seem, and also from a pair of headless chickens, lying slaughtered in a corner of the… stable? It looks like it might be, some sort of pen for an animal. He swallows down past a dry throat, and turns a more critical gaze to the summoning circle.

Hmm.

That would explain some things, at least.

A self-sacrifice ritual.

Dirthamen has never seen one outside of a book before. It is a rare ritual, primarily because it is fatal to the caster. Where most resurrection spells involve binding a spirit to an unwilling host body, allowing them to be performed by casters who can still live to benefit from making some kind of pack with a demonic spirit, a self-sacrifice ritual invites a spirit to enter the body of a willing victim. One who has spilled their own blood, one whose own spirit will die the moment their body is taken possession of.

It is almost exclusively the purview of zealots, and generally used to summon spirits of great havoc and destruction. The intent, generally, is to die destroying one’s enemies. A suicide attack; infiltrate a camp or stronghold, or even gain vengeance on a home or work place, by summoning an entity of pure chaos into your body, and letting it lash out and attack until either it or everything around it has been destroyed.

But… Dirthamen is not an entity of pure chaos.

The runes in place specifically invoke him. Which explains why he is here. Yet he has no recollection of bargaining with any would-be petitioner… not in this regard, at least. There have been attempts to summon him before, but he simply refused them.

Apparently, this type of summoning does not leave such options.

It is an interesting thing to learn, and not information that one could probably glean without having been subjected to the particulars of this process. Dirthamen files it away, before he finally manages to get up onto his feet. The runes beneath him flicker once, and then burn away. Leaving behind the scent of blood, but nothing else, as the magical energy in them finally dissipates. It makes him feel even heavier, in his new shape.

He may be alive again, but judging by the state of this body, there is a chance he will not remain that way for long. Perhaps it would be wise to simply sit down and wait for death to claim him again. He is still undecided on that front when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps.

The stable he is in does not provide much cover; the walls are fairly open. Dirthamen hears someone mutter an oath, and can only turn and watch in growing astonishment as a pair of teenagers suddenly begin running down an overgrown path towards him.

“Sir!” one of them calls. “Sir, are you injured? Were you attacked?”

Dirthamen blinks.

He is taken aback, of course, because of how the teenagers are dressed. Though he has been dead for a long time, he still recognizes the uniform of the Lunar Disciples. His mother was once head of their order, after all. The two teenagers look like pictures drawn from his past; dressed in crisp white uniforms, with their hair neatly tied back, each of them holding a staff topped with a transparent quartz crystal. The left breasts of their uniforms are emblazoned with symbols of the moon in the First Quarter phase; that, along with their age, leads Dirthamen to conclude that they are Junior Disciples.

They have a similar look to one another. Probably, they are related; though one has a streak of white in his otherwise dark hair.

“Sir?” the other asks him, looking him over in turn. “You’re bleeding…”

Dirthamen watches as the Junior Disciple takes off his overcoat, and begins to gently settle it over his shoulders.

“Careful,” his companion says, standing some ways away, and observing their surroundings more intently. “This could be a trick.”

“I think he’s in shock,” the other replies, apparently heedless of the warning. His youthful face is twisted in concern, as he begins to prod Dirthamen towards one of the stable posts, and urges him to sit down. It is only as he begins to feel some warmth seep into him from the enchanted coat that Dirthamen realizes how cold he must have been. Likely, blood loss had not helped matters much.

After a moment, the other Junior Disciple comes over to look at him as well.

“Do you have a name?” he asks.

Dirthamen blinks. He does. But he probably should not say it.

The two teens share a look.

“Give me the healing kit,” says the one who offered Dirthamen his overcoat. The other narrows his eyes, but then lowers his pack, and retrieves a smaller bag from inside of it. Dirthamen finds himself simply sitting in place, observing as a pair of Junior Lunar Disciples tend to his wounds. He realizes that he has no idea what he looks like; but that is not so strange for him. Towards the end of his life, maintaining a consistent form had been difficult. The teenagers frown at the slashes on his arms; the one with the streak in his hair catches Dirthamen’s eye for a moment, before pointedly averting his gaze.

“I’ll keep a look out,” he says, and moves a few steps away.

The other nods, but then offers Dirthamen a reassuring smile. An expression that falters as he observes what seems to be a boot-shaped mark on Dirthamen’s ribs.

“Well… perhaps we should start with our own introductions, instead,” he says. “My name is Darevas. That cheerful fellow over there is my brother, Felasel. We are both Disciples of the Lunar Order.”

Dirthamen blinks.

Darevas smiles at him again, and waits a moment. Then he carries on.

“We’ve come to the region to investigate claims of dangerous magical activity,” he says. “People say there are undead monsters roving about, attacking travelers in the night. Felasel and I have never been on such an assignment alone before, but we’ve gone along on similar ones many times. If you saw something strange - something that you might not think an ordinary person would believe… we’ll definitely take it seriously. We’ve seen a lot of bizarre things.”

Dirthamen looks down as Darevas begins bandaging his arms. He supposes that, to these two teenagers, the situation must look very strange. Even for himself, the situation is very strange. He doesn’t have an answer for them. So he remains silent; but somehow, the cheerful teenager trying to help him only seems a little discouraged about it.

It is only after the worst of his injuries have been attended to, that it occurs to him that he should probably not have accepted the help. It is a waste of resources for the two young disciples, in the end, if he only means to sit down and die. And yet… it seems like such a striking twist of fate, that he should be found by Junior Disciples from his own mother’s order.

The last time he knew of it, the Lunar Order was being headed by Lady Selene, instead. Someone Dirthamen had once fought alongside, facing challenges during their own years as Junior Disciples. Before the Evanuris ancestral home was destroyed by Sariandi’s armies, and Dirthamen’s soul was split, and he began down the road to mastering dark magic in order to help his brother on his quest for vengeance and dominion.

Then they had been uneasy allies, for a time, fighting against Sariandi’s forces; before finally becoming enemies. Not that they had ever met on a battlefield. The Lunar Order had mainly contested with Falon’Din’s forces, before his brother had claimed that Dirthamen had ensorceled him for the past several years, and killed him to forestall his defeat at the hands of their former allies.

Dirthamen harbored no desire for vengeance, however. He had not become a malevolent spirit or wrathful demon. In the end, he had been able to make a sort of amends to his brother for failing him so profoundly; Falon’Din was able to start anew, to try again, and the only cost was Dirthamen’s life.

Which had never been worth very much to begin with.

Yet, somehow he finds himself keeping quiet as Darevas tugs him along, and insists that they must take him into town with them. Felasel offers no objections, but seems more uneasy with the situation all the same.

“Do you live around here?” Darevas tries asking, as he finally gets Dirthamen to walk down the road between himself and his brother. “Do you have any family? Anyone looking after you?”

Dirthamen blinks.

“Leave him be,” Felasel says, to his brother. “When we get to town we can ask around.”

Darevas subsides, and the pair fall into silence. Dirthamen suspects his presence is to blame. After a few minutes, they begin to let him lag behind them on the path somewhat. Though if he falls too far behind, then Darevas will slow down until he has caught up again. Although in truth, he is not trying to shake them; he has not made up his mind enough to do such a thing. Rather, he is simply very tired, and his body does not want to move without pain.

As the afternoon sun stretches on, the teenagers stop for a break. Darevas produces some food from his pack, and offers Dirthamen a sweet-tasting travel bar, and a small flask of water. He puts some herbs into the water, first.

“Medicine,” he says. But Dirthamen recognizes the scent; herbs that are good at staving off infections. He takes the tiny flask, and then hesitates, before offering it back.

“You shouldn’t waste it,” he says.

His voice rasps in his throat.

Darevas looks shocked to hear him speak; Felasel’s gaze narrows, and his lips purse in what seems to be disapproval.

“He speaks!” Darevas exclaims. “It’s not a waste, friend. Disciples like ourselves are supposed to help people. It’s what we do. And I have plenty of herbs; so drink up!”

Dirthamen can see that the young man has no intention of taking the flask back. And his throat hurts. So after a moment, he does drink, and he does eat.

Felasel’s gaze slips towards the bandages on his arms.

“Those wounds on your arms,” he says. “That angle… self-inflicted?”

Dirthamen blinks.

Darevas freezes for a moment, taken aback. But it seems it less the assertion that bothers him, than the fact that it was made, as he lowers his voice to address his brother.

“Fel,” he hisses. “Leave it alone.”

“Well. If he thinks it’s a waste, then he’s probably planning to try again,” Felasel counters. “If that’s the situation, we can’t just leave him with anybody.”

Darevas glances at Dirthamen, who finds himself largely unbothered. The observation is true enough; the wounds on his current body were self-inflicted. The cutting marks, at least. Not the bruises, he doesn’t think; it would be difficult for him to boot himself in the chest. He is not suicidal, or at least, he had not been in life. Willing to die, perhaps, but apt to take his own life. Though he supposes that deciding to simply wait for death, in this situation, would amount to the same thing.

Isn’t a form of suicidal thought to simply opt to return to one’s natural state of death after forced resurrection?

He supposes that is the sort of thing that would be debated among more scholarly disciples in the Lunar Order’s celestial halls.

“We’re not going to just ‘leave him with anybody’ anyway. Those boot marks weren’t self-inflicted…” Darevas says. He looks very young, Dirthamen notices. How old are these teenagers? It can be hard to tell, but definitely not more than eighteen. To be sent on a mission alone, either the Lunar Order is sorely strapped for resources, or else there is some senior member not far away from these events. Waiting to see if an emergency signal goes up; to record how well the pair handled their first ‘solo’ assignment.

Both youths look at Dirthamen, as if waiting to see whether he will respond to any of this.

He finishes the small bar of oats and nuts that Darevas had offered him, and, again, find himself too indecisive to do anything but blink.

The brothers sigh in unison.

Despite the signs of exasperation, though, they do not leave Dirthamen behind. Instead he fins himself following them into a town he does not recognize in particular, and yet finds nebulously familiar. There are many places like this scattered throughout the territories, though. Tiny towns, with small local ruling families, old but limited in their growth by the amount of resources available to them. The arrival of the Junior Disciples seems to stir up some interest; their staves and uniforms are noteworthy. But then a few eyes seem to land on Dirthamen, and twist towards shock, disgust, confusion, and surprise. As near as he can tell, at least.

The teenagers decide to ask for directions, and end up stopping at a local merchant booth. Darevas is the one who bows politely.

“Excuse me, miss,” he greets. The girl at the booth looks uncertain; but also blushes, a bit, as she looks at the two boys who cannot be much older than her.

“Yes, Sir Sorcerer?” she replies.

“My brother and I have come at the request of your local lord to investigate some of the disturbance,” Darevas says. “Could you tell me where I might find this lord’s home?”

The girl blinks, and glances uncertainly at Dirthamen.

“Why don’t you ask him? He lives there,” she says, gesturing towards him.

Felasel and Darevas glance at him, and then share a look.

“Oh?” Felasel says, folding his arms. “Our friend seems to be having troubles locating his voice at the moment. He hasn’t even given us his name, I fear.”

The merchant girl ducks his.

“It’s not my business,” she says, glancing at Dirthamen again. “But everyone knows that the young master is… a bit prone to addled senses. That’s the lady’s bastard nephew, sirs. You’ll find his family up at the big green house, close to the mountain side of town, but they probably won’t thank you for bringing him back.”

“Won’t they have been worried?” Darevas asks.

The girl shifts uncertainly, and then shrugs.

“I wouldn’t want to gossip,” she says.

“But…?” Felasel invites, leaning in a little closer. He pulls a pouch of coins out of the front of his overcoat. The girl’s eyes widen, and her blush darkens a little. She seems resolutely determined to avoid looking at Dirthamen, now, as she closes a hand over the parcel of coins.

“Everyone’s been blaming the young master for the dark magic,” she explains. “His father was one of those rogue sorcerer types. He left an ‘inheritance’ behind, all kinds of things. The lady of the house found the young master trying to call up evil magic, after some of the villagers reported seeing dead wolves hunting in the woods, and trees trying to grab men off the paths, and serpents lunging out of their shadows. She ran him out.”

Again, the twins exchange looks.

Dirthamen finds the information interesting, at least. Perhaps this is where the former owner of the body he is in managed to obtain the information on his summoning spell. Did he even realize what he was doing, in that case? It seems even more tragic to contemplate that he did not.

At least this is something closer to an answer; though Dirthamen is not certain that he is seeking one, in the end.

“Thank you, that’s very helpful,” Felasel says.

“Of course,” the merchant girl says. “Happy to help, sirs.”

The brothers share another look, before they begin heading towards the mountain side of town. Darevas turns to regard Dirthamen critically, but they do not tell him to leave, or attempt to turn their staves on him.

“Were you really trying to summon something evil?” he asks, plainly.

“…I don’t know,” Dirthamen finds the voice to say.

The answer seems to surprise both of the teens. Felasel’s expression turns contemplative, while Darevas looks uncomfortable. But again, they do not run him off. They seem to reach some unspoken agreement with one another, and bring Dirthamen with them to what is obviously the nicest household in the immediate area.

There is a servant who looks alarmed as he sees them all. Another who runs off, and then finally, they are approached by yet another servant, who looks stiff and uncomfortable as Darevas introduces himself and his brother, and requests to see the master of the house. They are brought in without trouble, though. Dirthamen is still wearing Darevas’ coat, so it seems to take people a few glances to recognize him.

They are lead into a reception room with a few mirrors on the wall. He takes a moment to observe his own reflection.

…Oh.

To his surprise, Dirthamen realizes that he doesn’t not look like he could be much older than the two Junior Disciples beside him right now. There are bruises on his face, too, yellow and purple, but not swollen enough to disguise his features. He is not bad-looking, as youths go. His hair is short and dark, and looks at though it wants to curl. His eyes are blue, again. His nose looks as though it has been broken and improperly set at least once before in his life, and there are bruises shaped like fingers on his neck. An old scar splits through his left eyebrow.

Hm.

He looks like the aftermath of one of his brother’s rages.

Their small group is not left waiting for long before a very refined-looking woman enters the reception room. She makes a face at the sight of Dirthamen, but manages to retain her composure as she politely greets Felasel and Darevas.

“We’ve come by request,” Darevas says.

“The Lunar Order sends children to protect our town?” the woman asks.

“It may seem worrying, but my brother and I have been trained since birth,” Darevas assures her, with a polite bow. “We can at the very least assess your situation.”

“Can you?”

With a sharp motion, the woman gestures towards Dirthamen.

“Then what is he doing here? That wretch is the cause of all these disturbances! We never had anything like this going on in these parts until he gained that cursed ‘inheritance’, and started using the tools of dark magic. If you know what you are about, then you should have left him wherever you found him.”

Felasel raises an eyebrow, and folds his arms.

“Madame, with all due respect, the events you have been describing are not the work of a dark magic practitioner.”

There is a moment of silence, as the lady of the household seems taken aback by that response.

Dirthamen nods in agreement, however.

The merchant girl had described undead wolves, shadow serpents, and moving trees. While dark magic can accomplish many things, even at the height of his power, Dirthamen would have struggled to control or manifest so many natural elements on his own. He could command an entire army of walking corpses, or summon his raven spirit companions, but to perform elemental magic while controlling a pack of undead wolves and summoning shadow beasts?

Either there are many practitioners of dark magic foolishly targeting random villagers, or there is some kind of corrupting influence in the woods. Most likely a corrupted Nature Spirit. A strong one, to create such anomalies.

Felasel states precisely that.

“Well, if there’s some kind of thing in the woods, then he probably put it there,” the lady of the house insists. “You think it’s a coincidence that all of this just started happening?”

“Good lady, when did your nephew receive his inheritance? Your request for aid reached the celestial halls three weeks ago,” Darevas says.

“And that loathsome package came for the boy just a few days before that!” she snaps.

“So you’re saying that your nephew managed to master dark magic in a few days?” Felasel drawls, straightening his sleeves. He glances back towards Dirthamen. “I am impressed, young master. Your aptitude must be astounding.”

Dirthamen blinks.

For him to have managed the self-sacrificial summoning, it could not have been terrible. But it is true; pulling off a ritual generally only requires knowledge of the ritual and the requirements to fulfill it. Mastering spells, however, is another matter entirely. And sustaining them for more than a few seconds is something else again.

The lady of the house does not look pleased.

“…I think, perhaps, it would be best if you were to summon a senior member of your order,” she says. “I believe the Lunar Order has underestimated the severity of this matter, and on behalf of my community, I am offended at this lackluster response.”

The Junior Disciples look somewhat annoyed, at that. Though they maintain their composure.

“Your thoughts are noted, madame,” Darevas says. “We will conduct our investigation. Rest assured, if something beyond the bounds of our training should come to light, we’ll seek further guidance. In the meanwhile, I will have to advise you to keep the villagers away from the forest. Our investigations may stir up activity.”

The lady does not seem pleased with this. But after some tension, she does offer to let the brothers stay in the guest lodgings of her home. The two decline, however, citing a preference to work at night, and remain largely outside the boundaries of the village. A guard arrives before they are leaving, and attempts to escort Dirthamen to the local jail house.

He is surprised when the Junior Disciples intervene.

“He’s part of our investigation now,” Darevas says, cheerfully. “I think it would be better if he stayed with us.”

“We should get him his own coat,” Felasel mentions.

“Does he have any belongings left in the main house?” Darevas asks. And after politely pressing the matter, Dirthamen is giving a sack of ‘his’ belongings. Mainly clothing. He dutifully returns Darevas’ jacket, or attempts to; but the teenager refuses, making a shooing motion when he tries to hand it back after changing into a shirt from the bag.

“It has protective enchantments on it. You should keep it for now,” he insists.

Felasel does not look pleased, but after a moment only sighs, and shakes his head.

“What? He doesn’t know how to fight. I do. If we’re taking him along, we should offer some protection,” Darevas insists.

These two are very gallant children, Dirthamen thinks. He feels badly for causing them so many inconveniences.

Probably, he thinks, he should try and make sure they don’t die in the woods.

Then he can just die again afterwards.

 ~

 There is definitely something in the forest.

Dirthamen is having troubles deducing the specifics, but the energy in the air itself is telling enough to one who knows what to look for. The brothers grow quiet, as they begin laying down scrying runes, in order to attempt to deduce what has gone on in the area. It is a good idea, but it might not yield any useful information. There is too much ambient energy in the region; scrying spells can easily become ‘cluttered’, and, by the time evening has arrived, most of them have not yielded anything more coherent than a confirmation that something is going on.

Dirthamen is not sure either of the Junior Disciples notice the undead deer. Or rather, notice that several of the deer they pass are dead. If they do, they do not remark upon it; but the signs are subtle, and only Dirthamen seems to be watching when one turns so that its torn throat is plainly visible.

They notice the trees, however.

It is night, and they have set camp, and the air is quiet. The trees creak. Dirthamen watches as one begins to slowly encroach upon the campsite. Its roots move slowly, sifting through the earth as if it is loose sand rather than densely-packed soil. The leaves rustle. He is debating whether or not he should draw attention to the movement when the brothers notice it themselves, and stiffen.

They observe for several minutes, and then move camp.

“Definitely a nature spirit,” Darevas says, while they keep a look out. They have no fire this time, but Felasel had handed Dirthamen an enchanted warming rock. And the moon is full, so there is still light to see by. The brothers worried that the trees were drawn to put out the fire.

“I don’t know,” Felasel says. “You weren’t with me when I went with Uncle Des and Wonder to Riverfall Village. That was a corrupt nature spirit. It was old and mean, but… it tired out fast. This is sustained.”

“Maybe more than one?” Darevas suggests.

“If it’s more than one, we’re in trouble.”

Dirthamen is inclined to agree that they are in trouble, but he has his own suspicions. The brothers decide to take turns holding watch. They do not truly intend to investigate in the dark, he supposes; they were only claiming as such, to avoid staying with the lady of the town. That is good. Even Lunar Order disciples are courting a lot of disaster when they try and hunt monsters at night, especially if they are not using traps and lures, and do not even necessarily know what they are hunting.

Dirthamen waits until Darevas has fallen asleep, before he whispers a spell, and sends his brother tumbling gently down beside him. Then he gets up. He takes off Darevas’s coat, and lays it back over him, before laying down some simple spells to awaken both brothers if anything gets too close to their little camp site.

Then he sets off towards the treeline.

There are more signs to be found. Pockets of air where the temperature wavers from intense heat to inexplicable cold. Crops of dead trees, that look as though they have simply had the life energy sucked directly out of them. He hears the clacking of bones on the wind; skeletal things, most likely.

No spirits.

That is the trouble with it being a nature spirit. Or several. Where are all the other spirits?

This imbalance is not created by corruption, Dirthamen thinks, but by absence. Theft. The odd quality of the air is the brittle lack of normal spiritual energies, creating voids where other things are attempting to fill in the gaps. Ancient remnants of magics from generations ago; or echoes of things even beyond the Veil, that are ordinarily too weak to reach so far into the waking world.

It takes him an hour to find what he is looking for.

A black stone pillar, half as tall as most of the surrounding trees, marks an area of dead growth. Dirthamen can feel the pull of the black magic on it. Like a magnet, drawing nearby spiritual energy towards itself; even trying to draw Dirthamen’s own out through his flesh. Beyond it, he can see only ordinary-looking green trees; but he suspects that they are an illusion.

Past the pillar is a Spirit Vault.

Someone has built a Spirit Vault in these woods. A container that can trap spirits, and like a flytrap, gradually ‘digest’ them. Breaking them down into their component energy, which can be used to create powerful magic. Dirthamen himself was credited with their invention - an inaccuracy. It was another practitioner in the Black Skull Order who made the discovery; and Falon’Din himself who devised the idea of the spirit vaults.

His brother did not have much of a reputation for inventing, however.

Dirthamen observes the magic, but does not get any closer. They will be wards to safeguard such a place. Any interactions will likely alert its creator to its discovery.

He is debating what to do, still, when he sees a bright white signal flare go up in the distance. Bursting like fireworks, from the direction he just came up by.

The Junior Disciples.

Dirthamen turns and hurries back, and sure enough, finds that the brothers had apparently entered the woods of their own accord. The source of their distress is obvious, as Dirthamen hears the sounds of fighting, and makes his way down a small hill covered in dead growth to fight them both wielding their staves against a chimeric beast.

Something animated by the discordant energies, Dirthamen thinks. A confused and aggressive creature, part broken spirit, part wrathful remnant. It looks to be made from the body parts of a dozen dead animals; antlers and claws, hooves and two sets of sharp, snapping jaws, with patches of fur and bone and rotting flesh all jutting out of it. The aura surrounding it is intensely vile; Felasel’s bright cleansing spell simply rebounds off of it, and Darevas’ physical blows only give it an opportunity to swing its mismatched limbs back at him.

It lets out a horrific roar. Echoing and gruesome.

Dirthamen cannot see this fight favouring the teenagers.

He glances around himself. Fortunately, the dead growth affords him some opportunities. He searches for a moment, while the Junior Disciples attempt to deflect the monster’s attacks, and then finds an elderly tree, drained abruptly dry of its life-force. Black magic cleaves to the wood, steeped in the layers of a long existence, and the shock of the suddenness of its end. Dirthamen neatly breaks off one of the branches, and scrapes off the smaller twigs. He splits the skin on his hand - this body is very fragile - but the smear of blood he leaves behind only helps as he channels a rush of energy into the wood.

He checks on the brothers. It is not looking good. Darevas seems to be trying to redirect the water from a nearby stream into a purifying burst, to press back against the monster, but the energy is still rebounding and so he only seems to be impeding it a little; and Felasel is moving to attack its flank, but it has too many limbs for the usual weak points to apply.

The monster closes a human-like fist around Felasel’s throat.

Dirthamen slams the butt of his makeshift staff into the ground, and draws upon the discordant energy in the whispering shadows. Three whispers answer his call. He points at the monster with his staff, as he feels the dark energy lick against his ankles. Black fire lights at the end of the dead wood branch; too dark to see from a distance.

“Dismember the fiend,” he instructs.

Three massive shadow ravens erupt from the blackest segments of the night, and launch themselves at the monster. Crashing into it, so that it loses its grasp on Felasel. The boy gasps, and his brother races to him, immediately dragging him away. The brothers stare in consternation, as the shadow ravens rip at the undead chimera; attempting to tear its disjointed parts away from each other. That will be the weakness, of course. But even with the directed attack, Dirthamen can tell that it will not be enough. That aura is simply too profound to breach. The ravens’ beaks do a better job of piercing it than the disciples’ spells had, however, it will not be sufficient.

Dirthamen lowers his branch, and douses the black fire. The shadow ravens will follow his command until he has either moved out of range, or they have succeeded. It would be better to leave, especially since Felasel and Darevas seem to have concluded the same thing, and are hastily making their escape from the monster.

Dirthamen follows at a distance, attempting to keep an eye on the situation.

Unfortunately, they have less time than even he would have guessed. He hears the sound of shadows being rent, and another terrible roar breaks through the air; and then the monster begins to pursue the Junior Disciples, no longer impeded by the shadow ravens.

Inadequate.

If he had his proper tools…

But he does not. He is not even supposed to be here.

Besides which, the monster is not chasing the disciples in a random direction; the way they are running, the beast seems to be herding them. Dirthamen does not have to double-check the direction to guess where; it is drawing them towards the Spirit Vault.

Is this an accidental chimera? Or a deliberately constructed guardian?

He calls more shadows. Only one answers, as he runs, but he directs the new raven-shaped minion towards the monster all the same. It buys the brothers some more time to gain some distance, while Dirthamen tries to think of what he should do. He needs to get them to change course; with no other immediate recourse, he veers down off of the higher path he was taking, and nearly barrels into them.

Darevas has very quick reflexes. He almost smashes Dirthamen’s skull, before he realizes that they are not being attacked.

“Not this way,” Dirthamen says, sharply, and shoves both of them towards a different route between the trees. “Go.”

Fortunately, they do run in that direction.

“Where did you go?!” Darevas demands of him, however. And Felasel throws him a suspicious glance, before another bellowing roar has all three of them focusing on their escape again. Dirthamen is able to call another shadow, directing the raven backwards; the flash of black fire makes Darevas swear, in a manner typically frowned upon for Lunar Order disciples.

But then the monster seems to come into a renewed burst of strength, and with its most furious roar yet, charges clear through several lines of trees. Breaking wood and flinging itself towards them with feral intent. Dirthamen rushes to put himself between the monster and the Junior Disciples - better someone already dead than two boys who have barely had a chance to live - but before the snarling jaws can close on him, a bright burst of moonlight shoots down from the sky. Shaped like a white raven, as it collides with the monster, and encases it in a shimmering barrier.

The chimera flings itself wildly against the surface.

The brothers both let out sudden gasps of relief.

“Mama!” Darevas exclaims.

Dirthamen follows the line of his gaze, and stills.

A figure is standing, impossibly lightly, on top of one of the tallest nearby trees. Near a small clearing, that is right next to them - and likely where the chimera had hoped to corner them. She is dressed in the white robes of the Lunar Order, too, though the moon symbol on her breast is that of a full moon. A silver circled adorns the top of her head. White hair flows down like ribbons around her, and the staff in her hands is intricately carved; white wood, covered in thousands of tiny runes, wraps itself around a single large ruby.

Selene.

Dirthamen does not recall her having any children, before he perished. It has been a long time, then. His once ally, once enemy, is focusing her spell on containing the chimera. She looks over the Junior Disciples, but then her gaze moves towards Dirthamen.

Something in her expression shifts. He is not sure what to describe the look as, but it makes him feel… recognized.

“We need to help seal the barrier,” Felasel realizes, a moment later. And he is correct; Selene’s spell has captured the chimera, but unless it is fortified, it will break loose again. The two Junior Disciples determinedly plants their staves against the ground, and begin to cast their own spells to solidify the effect.

Dirthamen suspects this will be his only chance, now, to make a retreat. If Selene has recognized him, he is not certain what it will mean; and he finds himself increasingly caught off-balance. He does not know what to do with this situation. So after a moment, he turns and retreats. Fleeing back into the forest.

If that chimera is a guardian, then whoever created the Spirit Vault likely knows it has been compromised. Now, the wisest course of action would be to attempt to destroy it before its creator can harvest the spiritual energy, and then remove the evidence. For that is likely what they will do.

Dirthamen keeps hold of his dead wood branch as he makes haste back to the pillar.

He is tired. This body fatigues too quickly.

But time is of the essence. He has to accomplish then, and then retreat. Part of him is surprised to find the thought of retreat crossing his mind; hadn’t he already decided to simply return to death? Survival instincts are quite strong. Apparently, even just being alive for less than a day has already gotten him to start wanting to preserve this state; however inappropriate it may be.

It is still an adjacent concern, he decides.

Taking down the pillar will require something large. Fortunately, there seems to be a lot of energy to work with in the region. And he is beginning to think that he does know where they are, after all.

The forests surrounding the base of the Lunar Peak were frequent cites of battle, in the days of the war. Felasel said it took three weeks for the Lunar Order to answer the nearby town’s request. By the standards of such things, that is quick; particularly for an incident with, apparently, no confirmed human casualties. Selene’s response to the emergency beacon was also fast; and this mission was deemed suitable for two Junior Disciples. All implications leading to the logical conclusion that they are near Lunar Peak, and the halls of the order’s sorcerous training grounds.

If that is correct, then Dirthamen knows if something he can call.

He plants his staff before the pillar, and begins a familiar incantation, in ancient elvhen. A summons, but not the spiritual kind. He chants for several minutes. The sound of his voice carries through the trees, and reverberates where the pull of the Spirit Vault warps reality and attempts to draw all things inwards. It is, he has been told, a haunting sound on its own; but he had not anticipated the ringing of his voice to echo beyond the boundaries of the vault.

He is debating whether to cease, when he finally hears an answering cry.

So there is at least one still left in the region.

Dirthamen keeps going, calling it forward. The familiar sense of magical connection grows, as he hears the rustling of narrow legs speeding through the forest.

Come, guardian.

 Come to me.

The cries of the varterral split the night, as his spider-like minion finally emerges through the trees to his left. Dirthamen opens his eyes, and feels the black fire traveling all along his staff, and up his arms. The points of the flames aim towards the vault, as it pulls at him.

He steps back, and aims his staff towards the pillar.

“Destroy it.”

Without hesitation, the varterral charges the pillar. Its armored body is strong, but the important part is its aura, as it rams against the fortified magical energies of the structure. Dirthamen reaches out a hand, enhancing the vaterral’s energy with his own, until it, too, is wreathed in dark flame. Every charge it makes grows more effective, as it rears back, and strikes, and rears back, and strikes. Again and again, a terrible clanging filling the air. The pillar cracks. The top stone shifts. The illusion on the Spirit Vault falls, and Dirthamen finds himself staring at a deep chasm; like a mineshaft. Surrounded by magical lodestones, and sealed at the bottom, with a single stairwell leading downwards into the dark.

The varterral moves to smash against the cracked portion of the pillar again.

Dirthamen is so consumed by the amount of energy it takes to maintain the spells he is casting, that he is caught utterly unprepared when a black and golden spear streaks through the air, and skewers his guardian clean through.

The varterral screams. Dirthamen leaps back, and can only watch as the enchantments on the spear burn like acid; and dissolve the poor creature alive. His eyes widen, and he staggers backwards.

When there is not enough left of the varterral for the spear to remain in its form, it drops towards the ground. Right before it lands, it stops, and then flies backwards. Returning to the hand of its owner.

A tall figure, standing on the opposite side of the vault. Familiar, of course. His pale hair has grown longer, and even from a distance, Dirthamen can tell that he is not what he once was. Killing one’s twin soul cannot come without costs.

Falon’Din looks gaunt. But whole. His armour is lighter than usual, and the lines around his face are etched deeper. Sorcerers of their ilk do not age swiftly; from what he saw of Selene, Dirthamen would not expect his brother to look so changed. But there are exceptional circumstances, he supposes.

His heart sink.

If Falon’Din is here… then there is no denying who must have built this vault.

He was supposed to start fresh…

For a long moment, the two brothers regard one another in silence. Dirthamen is not certain if he has been recognized. He is surprised to find that even with his brother standing right across from him, he does not feel anything. No pull of connection. No sense of their bond. Not a fragment of what was once so inescapable between them.

Then Falon’Din shifts his grip, and flings his spear again.

Dirthamen watches as the black and gold weapon arcs towards him. Stunned, in a way he cannot quite describe. So he will die twice at his own brother’s hand…?

Before the spear can reach him, however, there is a flurry of white fabric. Something moves in front of him, and then a burst of magical energy erupts, flickering with blue-white flames at the edges, and crashes into Falon’Din’s spear. The weapon does not clear the opening of the spirit vault. The counterattack knocks it backwards, far enough that the magical pull of the space catches it; Dirthamen sees it fall, sees his brother’s expression twist across the open expanse. Most of his vision is filled with pale white hair.

Selene turns, just slightly, to look towards him. From behind, he can hear the sounds of more people coming. The Junior Disciples, he assumes.

A blink of an eye goes by, and Falon’Din vanishes from his place across the vault; only to reappear from behind the nearby pillar. One of his hands rests pointedly close to the hilt of the sword at his side. Dirthamen takes a step back, but is surprised when Selene moves between himself and his brother again.

The two regard one another in tense silence for a long moment. The Junior Disciples arrive, and seem to draw up short.

Felasel’s hand moves towards his own sword.

“Lady Selene,” Falon’Din finally says, breaking the silence. “Do you know what you have behind you?”

There is a pause. Dirthamen can hear the wind; and the moon seems very clear overhead.

“Funny,” Selene replies. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Falon’Din pauses. After a long moment, he removes his hand from the hilt of his sword, and makes a pointed glance towards the Spirit Vault.

“You think I had anything to do with this?” he asks. “What an insult. I drafted the legislation forbidden the creation of these death traps myself. Black Skull Order was the first to sign the treaties, prohibiting the creation of any Spirit Vaults by members of the allied sects.”

“And yet, here is a Spirit Vault, and here is Lord Falon’Din,” Selene replies.

“A Spirit Vault at the foot of the Lunar Mountain,” Falon’Din counters. He begins to move, slowly. Pacing. He is nervous. Dirthamen is surprised to see it; it is rare for his brother’s bravado to falter, and to his knowledge, Selene has never been a figure he feared in her own right.

But it has been a long time; it seems some things have changed.

“This is not my territory,” Falon’Din continues. “If anyone here is suspect, I think it is the Lunar Order.”

Selene does not flinch.

“And yet, you are here,” she says.

Falon’Din raises a hand.

“I am not actually accusing you,” he assures her. “Though of course, I could. But I am certain of your innocence, in fact. I know the real culprit. The one who was behind all of these monstrosities, in the end.”

Selene’s gaze narrows.

Ah.

Dirthamen understands, now. His brother has recognized him.

Falon’Din levels an accusing finger towards him.

“That boy is no boy,” he declares. Then he gestures to the remains of the varterral.

Selene does not take her eyes off of Falon’Din.

“He is back, Lady Selene. Our old foe, the great betrayer - Lord Dirthamen has stolen the body of that poor youth.”

“Possession?” Darevas blurts.

Selene gestures at him, and he goes quiet. Felasel still has not taken his hand away from his blade.

“What utter nonsense,” Selene declares.

“Nonsense? If only,” Falon’Din counters. “Test him if you like. You’ll see, the answer to both of our dilemmas, to resolving this entire situation - without any undue hostilities between two of the most prominent sects in our alliance - is the simple truth. Lord Dirthamen has been hiding under our noses, disguised as some backwater nobody. Possibly for years. Trying to build up his power again, the only way he could.”

Selene remains where she is.

“How very convenient,” she drawls. “Is this going to be the new trend, Lord Falon’Din? Every transgression you commit will be excused by accusing some random villager of being your brother reincarnated? It must be so difficult for you, that you could only pin the blame on him that once…”

“Your lack of faith in me is hurtful,” Falon’Din counters. “But also irrelevant. Because I am not lying.”

Dirthamen’s brother snaps his fingers, then, and a dozen Black Skull sorcerers suddenly move out from the surrounding trees. Dirthamen does a swift count, and stiffens in alarm. They are badly outnumbered. He doesn’t know the full extent of Selene’s power now, but even if she has surpassed Falon’Din, the odds are not favouring the Lunar Order.

He does not want to die, but neither would he have the Junior Disciples and Selene perish. Whatever their past differences, they do not deserve such trouble on his behalf.

He moves.

Selene stiffens, and for a moment her hand reaches out as if to halt him, but Dirthamen is quicker. He bolts out from behind her, and raises his hands in surrender. Barely getting them up in time to see Falon’Din’s expression turn to triumph. His brother gestures, and casts a spell. The bright energy slams into Dirthamen; knocking the breath clean from him, as he recognizes the incantation.

Possession reversal; to remove an intruding spirit from an unwilling host.

It hurts, but mainly because the magic is so potent, and Dirthamen’s current body is already badly bruised and beaten. He lets out a cry of pain and drops to the ground, as the spell engulfs him, and washes over him…

…And vanishes into nothing.

Because of course, he is not an intruding spirit with an unwilling host. He is, if anything, the subject of a kidnapping, of sorts.

As he looks up, he blinks back the stars in his vision, and hesitates in yet more surprise.

Selene has moved. Her staff is angled directly at Lord Falon’Din’s face, while his brother has gone rigid in shock. Felasel has a shortsword in one hand and his staff in the other; Darevas is holding his staff in a fighter’s stance. The Black Skull sorcerers look ready to attack, but, both Selene and Falon’Din seem astonished as Dirthamen stands back up without exuding any miasma of ghostly possession. Or perhaps it is only Falon’Din who does; as he looks again, Selene’s expression seems perfectly neutral.

He rubs a hand gingerly down his bruised ribs.

“That hurt,” he admits.

For a moment, one could hear a pin drop.

His brother’s expression shifts from shock to fury, before he finally glances towards Selene. The brief flicker of fear is there and gone again, before he finally stands back. One fist clenching tight enough to turn the skin white.

“He is-”

“He isn’t,” Selene refutes. “Clearly, Lord Falon’Din. This matter will not be resolved with wild ghost stories.”

Falon’Din sucks in a breath through his teeth, and lets it out again.

“Perhaps he is not Dirthamen,” he concedes, with very little of the grace their mother had tried so hard to teach him. “But he still summoned a varterral. He is still a local practitioner of black magic. Whatever is going on here, it is clearly his doing. My order was passing through when we witnessed a distress signal; we came to help, not be subjected to mistreatment.”

There is a long pause.

Finally, Selene moves her staff out of its threatening position.

“We will look into that,” she decides. “We will look into everything.”

Falon’Din sneers.

“As will we,” he spits. Dirthamen does not think it sounds as intimidating as he hopes. He gestures towards the Spirit Vault. “We will also be investigating, and should we find that the Lunar Order has been harboring dark magic practitioners and creating Spirit Vaults, the full might of the rest of the alliance will fall upon you.”

“As it should fall upon anyone doing such things,” Selene says, with an odd tranquility that somehow does not seem to be genuine.

Falon’Din motions at one of his followers.

“We’ll take the rogue sorcerer off of your hands,” he says.

“Oh no,” Selene replies, moving in front of Dirthamen again. “You won’t. He’s coming with me back to the celestial halls, for proper questioning. This is our region. And your methods of interrogation are in violation of our order’s mandates.”

Falon’Din dares to move a step closer. His gaze is intense, and when it darts towards Dirthamen again, he feels burned by it.

Why is there so much hatred?

He had thought… he had thought it ended, with this death…?

“If you do not give him over to us, we will read it as a sign of the Lunar Order’s guilt and involvement in these matters,” he warns.

“Oh, will you?” Selene replies. “What a shame. I hate to lose the faith and esteem of such reliable allies.”

There is a long, tense pause. Dirthamen wonders if it will not come to violence after all.

But in the end, even despite having them outnumbered - it is Falon’Din who backs down again. With one more scathing look, that seems fit to burn Dirthamen right down to his bones, the man turns on his heel and finally withdraws. Shouting a few more warnings of investigations and dire outcomes in the wake of his atypical retreat.

Dirthamen watches until he is gone, before slowly looking towards Selene, and blinking.

It is Darevas who approaches him, though. Reaching out to gently shake his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have wandered off,” he says. “Even if you know some dark magic, it’s not safe. That stuff’s illegal, you know.”

There is a light ‘smack’ sound, as Felasel puts his hand to his face, and sighs.

Selene’s lips twitch. When she finally turns towards them all, Dirthamen is surprised to see an unexpected gentleness in her gaze. Particularly as it does not seem to abate when it lands on him. And again, despite no real indication of why he should think so… he feels recognized.

As if Selene still believes it is him.

As if she is… not unhappy with that?

She looks away, in favour of brushing a stray strand of hair away from Darevas’ face.

“Take our guest back to the halls,” she instructs. “I have to secure this area.”

“Do you really think Lord Falon’Din would be brazen enough to build a Spirit Vault in our territory?” Darevas asks.

“Yes,” Selene and Felasel agree at once.

Dirthamen finds himself nodding, too, before he catches the gesture, and halts.

With some obvious reluctance, the Junior Disciples move to start accompanying him. Dirthamen hesitates, as well. Uncertain of what to make of this situation. He and Selene had never been friends, though she had been kind to him, once. He could not see how should could be kind to him if she recognized him, however. So far as the world is concerned, he is one of the most evil beings to ever walk the earth. Dirthamen thinks the reputation is exaggerated, but that does not mean the opposite is true.

They were opponents.

Selene turns and looks towards the varterral’s remains, while her sons summon up a pathway back to their magical halls.

Dirthamen stares at her, until Darevas gently encourages him forwards.

“It’s alright,” he says. “Just don’t do any more illegal dark magic.”

Hm.

That may prove… difficult.

But if it is required, Dirthamen is certain he can try.