#Regal Ware

[susoriginals]

Vintage Round Locking Aluminum Cake Pie Carrier Double Stack made in USA by Regal Ware Mid Century

[dredgesnails]

stardew valley au where joel and skizz are new residents to pelican town (hermit town?). joel just inherited a large farm from his late grandfather and skizz is moving in with his old friend after reconnecting with him and wanting a fresh start. and the townspeople are like, kinda weird.

bdubs is fine enough - he’s a sweet man with a fun personality and he’s the local builder, but it’s almost frightening how fast he constructs new buildings when joel needs them. pearl, their resident postmaster, is also pretty normal other than the fact that skizz never seems to be awake early enough to catch her delivering mail. scar is lovely but he’s never available when joel wants another chicken. the mayor, xisuma, is pleasant too, if a little eccentric at times, but he doesn’t really seem to do much in town.

for the most part, skizz is settling in well. he’s moved in with impulse, who runs the local blacksmith in town, and he gets along well with most of the local townspeople. he’s started spending his evenings at the local saloon listening to ren regale the patrons with fantastical tales while he and stress serve up food and drinks, and he finds himself growing close with cleo, the local sculptor. he even gets a new wardrobe from hypno free of charge, and sometimes helps cub out with his totally scientific studies and creations.

skizz also joins forces with beef (who helps to supply the local general store that xb and keralis run) in terrorising the local manager of the corporate chain grocery store that no one likes. doc is a terrible manager but would make a fun supervillain (according to joe hills, the bookseller who appears once in a blue moon but seems to know doc more than anyone in town).

joel, on the other hand, seems to only be interacting with the strangest residents in town. he discovers the adventurer’s guild after only a couple weeks, and is only somewhat irritated by iskall’s refusal to pronounce his name correctly. false promises to give him prizes if he can kill enough monsters, which is not something joel had expected to be doing when he pictured farm life, but here he is. he stumbles upon a travelling cart one day, and the man inside insists he’s a knight from a faraway land, that he risked his life to make it all the way here to sell his wares. it’s all stuff joel can get cheaper elsewhere.

he’s pretty sure the local doctor has no real medical training, but then he passes out while fighting monsters and he wakes up completely fine, so zedaph probably knows what he’s doing. maybe. when joel isn’t passing out he sometimes makes trips to the library-slash-museum, which is probably almost completely empty because mumbo, who begs joel for anything to display, looks like he’s never fought a duggie in his life. eventually mumbo gives joel a key to the sewers, which are way cooler than they have any right to be, and that’s where he finds jevin’s secret sewer shop. jevin lives in town. he just also has a shop hidden underground. joel has stopped asking questions by now.

and then there are the three who live by the beach. etho spends most of his time tinkering around the fishing hut or hovering around bdubs, but sometimes he drives the bus to the desert. only sometimes. there might be something under his mask. no one knows for sure. gem runs the fish shop most days and she claims she’s a sailor, but joel has never seen a single working boat around despite all the ocean. she can also hold her breath underwater for an uncannily long amount of time, like, scarily so, and will sometimes disappear for a few days and return with an abundance of treasures. joel has never seen her leave by boat. grian fishes a lot and runs the shop when gem can’t, and he sometimes talks as though the sea can speak to him. skizz has caught him staring into space for extended periods of time. one time he waded into the water and just stood there, head down, muttering to himself.

apparently there used to be a lighthouse but “it’s gone now”. gem says if they ask bdubs nicely enough maybe they can build another one, but she and grian are banned from build requests after the last incident with their pet snails (joel has never seen the snails, but scar complains about them enough to convince him they’re real).

there also might be some kind of wizard who lives in the creepy tower in the woods. skizz has heard he’s the one who helps maintain the power in the valley, and joel’s convinced he hallucinated seeing him once until he recieves a letter from the wizard himself, and visits him only to find that the strange fire-creature he saw that one time was, in fact, tango, who is human for the most part, he just sets himself on fire sometimes.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Market Hearts - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 1751

Summary: When one notices their lover's joy in a rather odd place, why would they not join in on the feeling?

Benedict Bridgerton, the second son of the Bridgerton family, had never imagined himself spending a morning in the bustling streets of the London market.

It was an unconventional activity for a gentleman of his stature, but then again, you were anything but conventional.

Y/n Bridgerton, you were a woman of singular character.

You possessed a spirit as free as the wind and a heart as generous as the summer sun.

From the moment Benedict had laid eyes on you, he had known that his life would never be the same.

Marrying you had been the easiest decision of his life, but understanding the full depth of your soul was a journey he was still on.

This morning was to be another chapter in that journey.

“Benedict, you don’t have to come with me,” you said, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you adjusted the basket on your arm.

The sunlight streamed through the windows of your house, casting a warm glow on your hair.

Benedict, already dressed in attire more suited for a morning ride in the park than a trip to the market, shook his head with a smile.

“Nonsense. How can I resist seeing where you disappear to every week? You speak of the market as if it were some magical land.”

“In a way, it is,” you replied, your voice softening. “It’s full of life and color, of people with stories etched into their faces. It reminds me of how fast the world is.”

Benedict studied your face, noting the earnestness in your eyes.

This was not merely a chore for you, it was an adventure, an exploration of humanity that fed your soul.

It was one of the many reasons he loved you so fiercely. How could he not join you on this journey, even if only for a day?

“Then lead the way, my love,” he said, offering you his arm.

You walked through the streets of Mayfair, a picture-perfect couple that turned heads wherever you went.

Benedict, with his tall, lean frame and dark, wavy hair, cut a dashing figure in his tailored coat and polished boots.

You, on the other hand, were the epitome of grace and beauty.

Your gown, a simple yet elegant affair in pale blue, highlighted your form and the natural radiance that seemed to emanate from your every pore.

As you moved further away from the more affluent parts of town, the cobblestones grew uneven, and the scent in the air shifted from the delicate aroma of roses to the more earthy smell of baked bread and fresh produce.

The market was already bustling with activity, despite the early hour.

Stalls lined the streets, filled with everything from ripe fruits and vegetables to bolts of colorful fabric and handmade trinkets.

Benedict quickly noticed how out of place he was.

Gentlemen of his rank did not frequent such places.

He could feel the curious glances of the vendors and the wary looks of the other shoppers, but he paid them no mind.

His focus was on you.

You greeted the stall owners by name, engaging them in friendly conversation as you perused their wares.

Benedict watched as you haggled over the price of a plump tomato with an elderly man, your laughter infectious as you bantered back and forth.

It was a side of you that he rarely saw—a side that was not burdened by the expectations of society, a side that was free and unguarded.

“Y/n has a way with people,” the voice of an elderly woman cut through his thoughts.

Benedict turned to find a small, wizened woman standing beside him, a knowing smile on her lips.

She was dressed in a simple brown dress, her hair hidden beneath a white cap.

Despite her humble appearance, there was something regal about her bearing.

“Indeed she does,” Benedict replied, his gaze drifting back to you, as you were helping a young mother choose a handful of carrots while keeping the woman’s children entertained with a funny story.

The old woman chuckled. “She has the gift of seeing people, really seeing them. It’s a rare thing, especially among those who live in the world you come from.”

Benedict studied the woman, intrigued by her words. “And what world would that be?”

“The world of titles and wealth, where appearances matter more than hearts,” the woman said, her tone gentle but firm. “Your wife, she sees past all that. She sees the soul.”

Benedict felt a stirring in his chest, a mix of pride and something deeper—something almost like reverence.

The old woman’s words rang true.

You had always had an uncanny ability to connect with people, to make them feel seen and valued, no matter their station in life.

“She is my sunshine,” Benedict found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could think better of them.

The old woman smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “And you, young man, are her moon. You reflect her light and give it back to her when the night comes.”

Benedict looked at the woman in surprise, but before he could respond, she gave him a small nod and shuffled away into the crowd, leaving him standing there, contemplating her words.

He had always known that you were special, but seeing you here, in your element, made him realize just how unique you truly were.

You were a beacon of light, brightening the lives of everyone you encountered.

And it was his duty, his privilege, to protect that light.

As you continued your journey through the market, Benedict found himself more and more in awe of you.

You moved with a grace that belied the chaos around you, your laughter like music amidst the cacophony of voices and sounds.

He saw how the sellers’ faces lit up when they saw you, how the children gathered around you, drawn to your warmth like moths to a flame.

But he also saw the challenges.

There were moments when your cheerful demeanor was met with coldness or indifference, when your attempts to connect were rebuffed by those who were too hardened by life’s difficulties to appreciate your kindness.

And it was in those moments that Benedict felt a fierce protectiveness rise within him.

He had always been a man of action, a man who could solve problems with a few well-placed words or a deft stroke of his pen.

But here, in this vibrant, unpredictable world, he realized that there were some things that required more than just his influence or his name.

Here, it was you who held the power, and all he could do was stand by your side and support you in whatever way he could.

“Benedict,” your voice brought him back to the present.

You were standing in front of a stall selling flowers, a small bouquet of wildflowers in your hand. “Aren’t these lovely? They remind me of the fields near our home.”

Benedict smiled and took the bouquet from you, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent. “They are lovely, but not as lovely as you.”

You blushed and playfully swatted his arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Only because you inspire it, my dear.”

As you continued to browse the stalls, Benedict felt a growing sense of contentment.

This was what life was truly about—these small, precious moments shared with the person he loved more than anything in the world.

Eventually, you made your way to a quieter part of the market, where a small café sat tucked away between two larger buildings.

You led him inside, where you found a cozy table near the window.

The owner, a rotund man with a jolly face, greeted you warmly and quickly brought you a pot of tea and a plate of freshly baked scones.

“I come here every time I visit the market,” you explained as you poured the tea. “It’s my little retreat, a place to sit and think.”

Benedict looked around the café, taking in the simple yet charming décor.

It was a place that perfectly reflected your personality—unpretentious, welcoming, and full of warmth.

As you sipped your tea, Benedict reached across the table and took your hand in his. “Thank you for bringing me here today.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with love and affection. “I’m glad you came. I know it’s not the sort of place you’re used to, but it means a lot to me that you wanted to share it with me.”

Benedict squeezed your hand, his heart swelling with emotion. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Benedict found himself reflecting on the events of the morning, on the way you had moved through the market with such ease and grace.

He realized that you had a rare gift, one that went beyond your beauty or your charm.

You had the ability to bring out the best in people, to make them feel valued and appreciated.

And it was a gift that he was determined to protect, no matter what.

When you finally left the café, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets.

Benedict and you made your way back to your home, the basket of market goods in tow.

As you walked, Benedict wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve always considered myself a man of the night. I find solace in the quiet, in the solitude.”

You looked up at him, your eyes curious. “And now?”

Benedict smiled down at you, his heart full to bursting. “Now I know that the night is only beautiful because of the sun. You are my sunshine. You bring light to my life in ways I never imagined.”

Tears glistened in your eyes as you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “And you are my moon. You are the one who gives me the strength to shine, who reflects my light when I cannot see it myself.”

You continued your walk in silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a blessing.

Benedict knew that life would not always be easy, that there would be challenges and obstacles ahead.

But as long as he had you by his side, he knew you could face anything together.

You were his sunshine, and he was your moon.

And together, you would light up the world.

[comatosebunny09]

Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.

Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.

Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.

You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.

Finally.

You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.

He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.

His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.

The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.

You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.

Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”

He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.

The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.

“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”

“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”

You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.

“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”

He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.

You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.

“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”

“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”

“Coffee your thing?”

“Gods no.”

“Water?”

He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.

“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.

You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.

You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.

masterlist

[thefrogdalorian]

Rest

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite how often you have pleaded with Din to stop and rest, your calls have gone unheeded. Your stubborn Mandalorian will not stop and take care of himself. So, when he arrives back from his latest job with the New Republic utterly exhausted, you take matters into your own hands and ensure he gets the rest he so desperately needs. Word Count: 3.1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: None, pure fluff! ✯ Author's Note: I was talking with a friend earlier about how Din would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loves and it finally got me to finish a little idea I'd been sitting one for a while. His determination and protectiveness is one of my favourite things about him, but the threat of burnout would be real! He would desperately need a rest and someone there to make sure he gets it, because you know he'd never rest himself. Anyway, thank you @suresnips for inspiring this in some way. I hope it cheers you up a little 🤍

✯ My Masterlist ✯

One of the most difficult things about sharing your life with a man whose face was near-permanently hidden, was that you were unable to spot the tell-tale signs of fatigue that were surely present on his features until things reached a crisis point. The helmet that he wore in accordance with his Creed shielded so many of the expressions which were distinctively Din Djarin from the rest of the galaxy. You thought it was a shame that they were denied the privilege of seeing the handsome features and expressive brown eyes which belonged to the Mandalorian whom you loved so dearly. Then again, it meant they were entirely reserved for you, and the little green child who completed your Clan of Three. 

You had first encountered Din in the aftermath of his mission to retake Mandalore. There had been whispers that one of the Mandalorians who had helped to save your homeplanet of Nevarro from a band of diabolical pirates had taken up residence by the lava flats. You were not inclined to believe rumours and had been stunned when you had seen the gleaming unpainted beskar, dazzling in the afternoon sunlight as he made his way through the marketplace one day. 

The first time you and Din had a conversation, as he bought wares from the market stall you owned, the connection had been evident. With his deep, gravelly voice and understanding, patient nature, even when you tripped over your words as you peddled your wares, you found him constantly on your mind. Over the next few months, your paths had crossed enough times for it to become evident that the feeling was mutual. 

Now, you were fortunate to reside in the little cabin that Din owned by the lava flats of Nevarro. Your home was a little slice of heaven that the two of you had carved out together alongside Grogu. When you saw how hectic and chaotic Din’s life was, you were grateful that he had allowed you to get close to him. You wondered how he had managed before he had forged a life with you and how he had looked after himself before you were around to share some of the burden. Your heart ached to think of Din alone, neglecting his own needs at the expense of others. He was selfless and devoted to those he loved by nature, but sometimes Din needed taking care of himself.

Happily, now the two of you had found each other, you were a true partnership in every sense of the word. 

On your worst days, Din was there to pick you up and brighten your spirits, just as, in turn, you were there for him. You celebrated each other’s successes when times were good, too. Which, fortunately, was the case more often than not. Life with Din was always exciting; even when he was away from you, he always took the effort to keep in touch. 

You were stunned when you first met Din and he regaled you with details of recent events in his life, that he had not allowed himself to rest on his laurels and enjoy the glory after completing such an arduous task as retaking Mandalore. Instead, he had taken jobs with the New Republic and turned his former bounty hunting skills to helping to keep the galaxy safe. It was relentless, exhausting work. But his determined nature meant that he was only too eager to lend his services to them whenever a job came up.

Monitoring Din for signs of fatigue was particularly difficult when the best visuals you got was a grainy few minutes of his helmeted form visible on your holoprojector, or a few moments of audio on your comlink whenever his schedule permitted. You had been begging Din to rest for several weeks now, but he had not heeded your requests. Since you had moved into the cabin with him and were able to care for Grogu, it had allowed him to take more dangerous jobs that he would have felt uncomfortable with Grogu accompanying him on, such as the most recent job that he had agreed to. You had been frustrated when he informed you about another assignment. You were deathly afraid that he would work himself into the ground if he wasn’t careful. Your pleas for him to postpone the job and rest had been unheeded.

If Din wouldn’t take care of himself, it fell on your shoulders to keep an eye on him. So, this time, when he returned from his latest job, you resolved that you would not be so easy on him. 

This time, Din Djarin would rest.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The rumble of the N-1’s engines as the Nubian starfighter descended through the Nevarrian atmosphere was a welcome sound in the stillness of the night. For hours, the only sounds audible in the cabin had been the faint snores of Grogu from his room and your racing thoughts. Now, the distant growl of the engines, which turned into a roar as they grew nearer, signalled your favourite Mandalorian’s return from his most recent mission. 

You were up like a shot, racing towards the door and out into the night to greet Din. Yet, any excitement you felt soon dissipated when you saw how sluggishly he moved. The man who often so energetically leapt out of the cockpit, as though it were no effort at all, was now a lethargic figure in the darkness. As he leapt onto the volcanic surface of the planet, he barely managed to regain his posture after bending his knees in a smooth landing. Instead, he leant back against the body of the N-1.

You shook your head as you approached him, frustrated that he had been so stubborn and ignored your protestations when he informed you about his latest mission. A time for scolding him would come later, though. For now, you walked across the ground, closing the distance between the two of you. 

Instinctively, Din had held his arms out in preparation for you to step into his embrace. Even in his fatigued state, his exhausted body still knew that he wanted you in his arms. You smiled as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling his warmth between the cool plates of beskar.

“I missed you,” you whispered into Din’s cowl.

“I missed you too, cyare,” Din replied, his voice low and husky as he rubbed circles into your back with his large hands. 

“Let’s go inside,” you insisted as you stepped away from his embrace and took his hand in yours, leading him towards the cabin. Towards home. Towards rest. 

You hoped that the child you had finally managed to see settled in his cot had not awakened at the sound of the engines. Getting Grogu to sleep had only proved successful after several hours of tantrums when you had forbidden him to stay up past his bedtime to greet his father. It was probably harsh, but you knew that Din was keen that his son maintained a regular sleeping schedule. Which was ironic, considering how little he respected his own needs for rest. 

Din's stubborness and insistence that he was fine meant that ensuring Din had some much-needed rest was a burden which fell squarely on you. If the way he had strained as he leapt from the N-1 had not been proof enough, his heavy footsteps as he trudged back to the cabin by your side further indicated his need for rest.

Unfortunately, as soon as you stepped through the entryway to the cabin, you were greeted by a certain child and his pleading brown eyes. Grogu had not missed his father’s return and he wanted attention. Din was never one to begrudge Grogu’s needs, and without hesitation, he pulled his helmet off and crouched down to scoop his son up. You silently cringed as you noticed the way he grunted thanks to the exertion of such an action. He desperately needed to rest.

But Din Djarin was a stubborn man.

“Din, let me put Grogu to sleep. You need to rest,” you reminded him as he took Grogu into his arms.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged off your concerns once again, “I'll put Grogu to sleep.”

As the two of them disappeared down the small hallway and into Grogu’s room, you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Then, you took a deep breath and in an attempt to ensure your anger did not get the better of you. If there was one common thread that ran through Din Djarin's every action, it was his absolute devotion to his son. Nothing in this galaxy would ever stand in the way of him and Grogu. You knew Din would do anything for his son, even at the expense of his well-being. 

Fortunately, you knew you were there to take care of Din. So you allowed him his precious time with his son and resolved to be there for him afterwards and take care of his weary mind and fatigued body. You padded down the hallway towards the room you and Din shared, pausing briefly outside Grogu’s room. You smiled at the sounds you could hear through the door. You could hear the heartwarming sound of a child’s giggles and the familiar rasp of Din’s husky voice as he recounted various stories from his recent mission to his son. 

Satisfied that Din had not fallen asleep on top of Grogu at the very least, you entered your room and set about gathering the most luxurious pyjamas he owned. You had already changed the sheets to the softest silks in the galaxy in preparation for his return, hoping that once he felt them against his skin he would not fight you when you insisted he rest. You lay the pyjamas on the sheets and perched on the side of your cot to await Din’s return. You were content to give him some alone time with his precious boy. 

Finally, leaden footsteps sounded at the door, indicating that Grogu was asleep. Now, it was time to ensure that Din finally rested.

“Hi,” Din sighed, with a smile that did not quite meet his exhausted eyes.

“Hi,” you breathed.

As he stepped towards you, you noticed how deep the wrinkles on his face had become. You always loved the lines and grooves present on his face. They complimented the greys apparent in the smattering of facial hair across his strong jawline. You thought such features made him look distinguished and handsome, rather than old and exhausted. Tonight, though, their appearanced alarmed you. They were deeper than usual. You had never seen Din look so exhausted. His usual bright, warm brown eyes were dulled and dark. They were slightly bloodshot, too. Your heart ached at the sight of him. 

“You look exhausted,” you observed.

“I’m fine,” Din insisted.

“The bags under your eyes suggest otherwise.”

At your comment, Din’s ungloved hands balled into fists at his sides. He sighed through gritted teeth. You hated the way he shrugged off your concerns so nonchalantly and your observations 

“Din,” you sighed, “You are allowed to rest sometimes, you know?”

“I know.”

“Well then, why don’t you let me take care of you? Why don’t you sit on the new silk sheets that I put on, especially for you, and let me take your armour off?” 

“I can do it,” Din shook his head and averted his gaze.

“I know you can, but I want to help you,” you nodded as you pushed yourself off the cot and stepped towards him. “You do so much for me and Grogu. You do so much for the entire galaxy. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Din repeated. This time, hearing those words caused something to snap inside of you. You had reached the end of your tether.

“Din, you look like you haven’t slept since you left a week ago! You’re going to run yourself into the ground!” you exclaimed forcefully, voice a little louder than you intended. 

You both stopped and looked in the direction of Grogu’s room, panic-stricken that you had awoken him. Fortunately, there was no noise. Grogu still slept soundly. At your outburst, when Din’s dull eyes met yours again, you noticed that a flicker of recognition had set across his features now. He understood that resting was not a sign of weakness.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you apologised, instantly remorseful. 

“It’s alright,” Din reassured you.

“Please let me shoulder some of the burden, Din. Please don’t fight me on this,” you pleaded.

“Okay,” Din nodded and took a seat on the edge of the cot. 

You busied yourself with the various intricate fixtures that attached each piece of Din’s armour to his body, placing them on the floor at his side with as much care as you had observed him pay towards them. Din would stack them properly come the morning. He was meticulous and particular about the way they fitted on each shelf of the cabinet that was fixed into the wall for the very purpose of storing his armour. Even if you stacked them yourself, Din would do it again tomorrow. Better to preserve your energy and make sure he rested first.

By the time you had finished removing his armour, Din’s head was slumped to one side and his eyes were closed. Your heart soared at sight, and the small sounds of his soft snores. Before you could even finish undressing him, he had drifted off to sleep. Finally, the creases in his face looked less terrifying. He looked so peaceful that you hated to wake him. But sleeping in his flightsuit would not be comfortable and the garments you had laid out for him were of the most luxurious material in the galaxy. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Din, I’m sorry to wake you, honey,” you said apologetically, lips against his forehead.

Din continued snoring softly. It seemed a more drastic gesture would be in order. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, smiling softly at the way his moustache tickled your upper lip. It was slightly longer than he usually kept it which was unusual for Din, given his fastidious nature. His latest job had been so hectic that personal grooming had fallen by the wayside. 

Fortunately, the kiss had the desired effect and Din’s eyes flickered open momentarily. You seized the opportunity.

“Din, why don’t you stand up for a second so I can help you into your pyjamas?” you whispered into his dark brown curls. 

“Hmph,” Din grunted in response, his eyes still shut.

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll be comfortable then,” you suggested.

Din opened his eyes, bleary thanks to your rude interruption of his peaceful slumber, and nodded slowly. You steadied him as he stood to his feet on shaky legs and helped him as he removed his final garments. With the pesky flak vest and flightsuit discarded, the final barriers to Din and some much-needed rest had been removed. 

Now clad in his luxurious silk pyjamas, you pulled the top sheets back for Din to clamber into the warmth and sanctuary of your cot, which he did without hesitation. In the time that it took for you to turn the light out and round the cot to join him, the quiet snores had resumed. You shook your head and smirked at the further proof – as if any more were required – of just how exhausted Din had been. You sighed in contentment as you took your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You rested them against his body, enjoying the warmth which radiated from his body. Sleeping in the cabin without Din felt cold and lonely, now he had returned and that contrast was even more stark. 

“I love you, Din,” you whispered into the nape of his neck, watching as your breath caused the dark brown curls which lingered there to flutter slightly. “Even when you’re stubborn,” you added.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The sensation of warm lips as they pressed a soft kiss to your forehead awoke you from the sleep you had drifted off into. Your eyelids fluttered open. In the golden light of a Nevarrian morning, you were finally able to see the warm brown eyes of the man you loved beyond comparison gazing at you adoringly.  

“Good morning,” Din rasped before he claimed your lips with his in a languid kiss.

“Morning, Din,” you sighed when you finally parted. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept well, thank you,” Din nodded.

“Glad to hear it,” you murmured as you stretched your arms out.

“Thank you for last night,” Din sighed against your lips. “I’m sorry for being so pigheaded.”

“It’s alright, Din,” you smiled in gratitude that he was aware of his stubbornness. “I know being taken care of is a new experience for you.”

“It is,” Din confirmed as he rolled off you and came to rest at your side. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“I know you do,” you nodded. “Which is why you’re going to take another nap, while I wake Grogu up and prepare some breakfast for us.”

“But–”

“Ah!” you said, raising a finger to his plush lips which were currently positioned in an adorable pout. “No fighting me on this, let me take care of you. Okay?”

“Fine,” Din huffed.

“Awww,” you cooed and stroked his cheek affectionately. “You’re pretty adorable when you’re grumpy, you know?”

“I’m not adorable,” Din sulked.

“You are,” you giggled at his ridiculousness. “Now, roll over and let me hold you again until you fall asleep.”

Din turned over wordlessly, settling into position in preparation for a nap. Your arms found their position around his waist once more and you pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, which produced a rumble of laughter from somewhere deep within him.

“I love you, Din. Even when you’re stubborn,” you whispered into his ear, repeating the words that he had not heard the previous night.

“I love you too,” Din replied. “Thank you for putting up for me.”

“Of course, honey,” you nodded. “I’m stuck with you now.”

“Thank Maker. I don’t know how I ever managed before our paths crossed,” Din sighed sleepily as you placed your hands underneath his shirt and traced soothing circles into the warm expanse of his belly.

“I don’t know, either,” you chuckled at the thought.

But the time for worrying about how differently the respective courses of your lives could have taken, were it not for that chance meeting at the market on Nevarro all those months ago, would come later. 

For now, it was time for Din Djarin to rest.

[owlespresso]

the golden ivy which clings

omega!luocha/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is more interested in you than you'd like. tags: blackmail, coerced intimacy done as a part of @lorelune's a/b/o collab.

Your legs ache. Your muscles twitch with the extended exertion. The last five hours spent on your feet are catching up to you. It’s a trapping of the occupation. Being a courier on the Luofu means you regularly bounce up and down its many layers and areas, rushing from district to district, from the boughs to the canopy. After three years, you’ve long memorized the thin corridors and hardly beaten paths, mapped every vein and pipe and ligament in your seemingly endless pursuit of planning the optimal delivery routes.

Faces blend together in your line of work. You doubt your clients remember much anything about you. You’re a muddy sparrow flitting from branch to branch, a bee gliding from flower to flower, as nameless as any other customer service worker. You earn more than most of your peers, but that’s mostly because you’ve extended your services to stations and ships beyond the Luofu orbit.

…And also because of your status as a perfectly even beta, liberated from the debilitating symptoms of heats or ruts. You have no need for bimonthly off days, and needn’t fear the voracious gazes or grasping claws of wayward alphas. No one is likely to notice a lone, scentless courier, even in areas where the Cloud Knights frequently patrol.

Today’s business sees you on the far ends of Aurum Alley, where night has slipped over the artificial skies like silk over skin, streets steeped in deep shadow. You stick to the walls, underneath awnings and through narrow side paths. Silvery moonlight dapples through a canopy of sunset orange leaves, touching the aged stone path, the askew benches next to the food stalls.

On the furthest side, mist billows from the waters and onto the red wood docks. Quiet, still. Hardly a customer to be seen. It’s been the very same every other time you’ve visited. The only people you’ve seen have been members of the IPC. They’re surely thrilled at the minimal returns the businesses here are receiving. Filthy hawkers, intent on contaminating every locale unfortunate enough to make contact with them. You hope they never see another coin in their entire lives.

Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just a courier. It’s in your best interests to keep your head down and keep your eyes from wandering, lest you attract their attention… or the attention of any other governing body who would disprove of the wares you ferry from place to place.

Near the docks, where the wind churns the briny waves, stands the blond man. A repeat customer, a man you’ve come to know as ‘Luocha’.

“You didn’t have to wait out here,” is the first thing you say to him, adjusting the straps of your heavy bag. Your shoulders have started to ache from the strain of the day's long treks. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures you. He has a delicate kind of beauty, the kind you see in fairytale picture books or depictions of soft omegas in gravure magazines. His cheeks are thin, set of his nose regal. His lips are soft rose, petals curled into a winsome smile. His lashes, thick and blonde, fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. It’s all at odds with his imposing height and strange, cold aura. “Shall we head inside?”

“It’s whatever you want,” you reply drolly.

“Inside, then. You look... tired. Have you been on your feet all day long?” Luocha’s hair sways when he turns and bobs which each sway of his hips. Dim lantern light catches on the ornamental pin which holds his strands in place. Just as striking as the rest of him. You really don’t know how he’s come this far without finding a mate. He surely turns the head of any alpha who catches a whiff of him. Even with your muted sense of smell, you still detect undercurrents of that delicate sweetness. Frosted finger cakes and clean face powder. It’s buried under something bitter and medicinal—only able to be caught in the tender hours of the night. After his work is long done.

“That’s just the job. It doesn’t bother me,” you assure him. The apartment building is darkly lit and nondescript. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in all his whites and golds, pristine and put together and perfectly pressed.

“Still,” he glances back at you. “You won’t be able to do your job at all if you don’t get enough rest. And I would hate to be deprived of my favorite courier’s company.”

You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but he takes one look at you and laughs quietly.

“My apologies. Given my occupation, it’s practically second nature for me to be concerned about these sorts of things.” He says with a small shrug. You don’t reply, lips nettling into a frown. If you were kinder, perhaps more naive, perhaps you would have mistaken the sentiment to be genuine. 

He doesn’t live in the hollow apartment he leads you to. It’s too ramshackle, mostly undecorated space with a couch, a table and a mismatched arm chair when you walk in. He’s dressed too nicely to tolerate moth-eaten curtains and layers of dust.

“Pardon the state of this place—I don’t actually live here. If it were up to me, we would hold our meetings in a nicer place.” he sighs. You don’t know why he feels the need for small talk. He hasn’t always been like this. During the first few months of serving him, the only words exchanged between you both were basic greetings and fleeting formalities.

“It’s fine. ‘S not like you live here,” you wave him off and deposit your bag onto the leather. It’s an earthy green, the color nearly the same as the worn upholstery. It squelches at the impact, and you tug it open by the zipper. The vacuum of created space is chilled around your arm, goosebumps rolling over your skin. A square package wrapped in plastic, off-worlder medicine banned aboard the Luofu, favored by certain members of Sanctus Medicus.

“Are you a member of Sanctus Medicus?” you’re not sure why you ask.

“Oh? I can’t recall you ever asking me such a personal question,” Luocha observes, a mote of mischief in his voice. “Why? Would you dislike it if I was?”

“No. It’s not my place to police anyone's beliefs—but the members I’ve met seem…” you trail off. It isn’t like you to give your opinion so freely, but you can’t imagine someone so discerning falling in line with those quacks.

“Sanctimonious? Self-righteous? Gullible?” Luocha lists for you, leaning against the back of that dowdy couch. He doesn’t move to accept the package, even when you pointedly zip the bag back up. His smile is unreadable.

“All of those things,” you agree, making the three steps it takes to reach him. “Though, I can’t really blame them.”

“And how could you? The long-lived of the Luofu will be roaming the galaxy and enjoying its many fruits hundreds of years after they’re dead and gone. It’s only natural to pursue that which they feel has been hoarded from them.” Luocha plucks the package from your waiting hands, eyeing it with mildly fond intrigue.

“I suppose,” you hum. You’ve already spoken too much. This isn’t a discourse you should be involved in. Sanctus Medicus, despite their incompetence, is still a faction of individuals with enough outreach to meddle in your business, should this conversation get back to them. 

Long fingers wrap around your wrist. Your eyes blow wide as you stumble into his chest—sturdy, so different from what you’d expect from someone so beautiful, built well beneath his layers. There is no presage, no forewarning.

Underneath the chamomile slides forth the tender, ambrosial scent which betrays his status as an omega. Your pulse hums in your ears, body frozen stiff—but you remain unblemished by the adrenaline.

“Mister Luocha?” you say.

“So steady, even now,” he observes with infuriating tenderness, breath warm against the shell of your ear. “I suppose I should have expected that from an emanator of Harmony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, unable but to be proud of how steady your voice remains. Every meeting you have ever had with him replays in your head, rolls by all at once like jittering strips of old-timey film as you pull them from the rusty bank of your memory. What could have given you away in the brief moments you’ve shared together? What in the way that you’ve handed him his contraband belied your true nature? Nothing, you’re sure. He’s discovered this piece of you on his own, and that worries you the most.

“Come now,” Luocha coaxes, the euphony of his voice slipping into something softer and sweeter. “You can be honest with me. We’ve already shared so much with each other, haven’t we?”

“The only thing I’ve ever shared with you are the poisons you order,” you inform him, hands braced against his chest. He tuts at you, and his scent grows all the sweeter. Even you can recognize the excited pheromones he pumps into the air. Your senses are replete with him, tongue made sticky by the devious croon of his voice.

“And you give so much of yourself with that alone,” he insists. “Your willingness to pass illicit drugs into the hands of your customers tells me far more about you than any small talk ever has. A shame, really. You have such interesting thoughts, whenever you deign to share them.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask flatly. Your eyes narrow with undisguised suspicion.

“A great many things, but to start...” His fingers tap a gentle drumbeat atop your shoulder. You shrug him off. A contemplative sound hums deep within his chest, quiet but loud in the dusty still of the room. “Share more of your thoughts with me, Courier.” he beseeches. “You’re always so quiet, when we’re together. I think we’ve known each other long enough to hold better conversations.” His hands slide off of you, smooth and quick as oil slick. It’s a concentrated effort to not bolt out of his reach like a startled fawn. 

His gaze bores into your back as you take several measured, extremely normal and calm steps over to your abandoned bag, zipping it back up with renewed zeal.

“I think that was extremely inappropriate.” you share generously.

“I apologize. I only meant to tease, but it seems I’ve pushed too far,” he confesses, genuinely contrite. There is something else about his inflection. Something which sparks alive the long distant urge to soothe. “I don’t often forget myself like this. You must bring it out of me.” 

You frown. The feeling dies. It’s not your responsibility to comfort this weirdo. He’s done nothing to earn your sympathy. Pesky biology, however, would dictate otherwise.

“You’ll be delivering to me again tomorrow, won’t you?” he asks, tilting his head. Your internal discourse snaps to a halt, instinct shafted to the side to make way for the sacred tradition known as “doing business”.

“Of course. Same ingredients, same amount?”

“Yes—and a Core Esse, if you’ve the means to procure one—”

You give him a look, but you nod regardless. “Understood. I’ll meet you at the docks, tomorrow—” It’s not professional to walk away while making arrangements with a client, but you very badly want to be out of this stuffy apartment and away from the new, bizarre scrutiny he looks at you with.

You typically avoid knowing anything about your customers beyond the bare basics. However, you can no longer afford Luocha that same distance. Just how much does he know? And where exactly has he pulled your precious secrets from? 

The investigation begins tonight. You’re hesitant to call on her, but you may very well need to reach out to a particular contact.

—

Hours worth of feverish research inevitably lead to you just calling the Stellaron Hunter who owes you a favor. You have not the slightest clue where Luocha procured such private information, or how much of it he has. Penacony’s travel logs will be the first place to look. If your bothersome merchant has been there before, it’ll be no mystery where he figured you out. Does The Family still talk about you? And do they look back on your brief term of leadership with nostalgic fondness or embittered hatred?

You care not. Those mistakes are long behind you. The Luofu is a kinder place, somehow easier to navigate despite its Abundance soaked innards, where only the engineers dare wander. Without the protections they are outfitted with, you suppose you’re more vulnerable to mara exposure and all it entails, but you never dwell longer than half-an-hour at a time.

Roots and vines cling to the aged metal paneling and jutting pipes, green and gold particles sour the dim air. The pipes rattle and groan, portions of something neon yellow shooting through the complex web of them at irregular intervals. Flowers sprout from the ropey greenery, some bulbs shut and others agape. Pale petals of pink and white and periwinkle peeled wide open against slick silver and rusted brown. The closed bulbs look oddly wooden, but you’re not stupid enough to touch one.

Luocha could surely excuse you for being mara-struck. The Cloud Knights, on the other hand…

Well. It’s not worth thinking about. The overworld welcomes you back with a gust of fresh wind, washing away the acrid tang of the tunnels. The shallowest of them have several discreet exit and entry points. Crevices in the walls swallow you whole and deposit you in nondescript locations across the Luofu, random alleys and average apartment buildings where it’s easy to sink into the crowds.

Today, it’s a high end district, populated by the high-end homes of diplomats and ranking officials from the Luofu’s sister ships. They come to roost in these behemoth manors a few times a year at most, meaning the streets are emptier than you’re accustomed to. There’s not a soul to be seen or heard, not one resident there to share the wide open road with you. The houses leer at you with wide windows and lacquered doors, sat fat and happy behind their tall gates and gaping lawns.

Luocha calling you here, after all of those clandestine exchanges in that dowdy shell of an apartment, is a statement in itself. Is he threatening you with this obscene display of opulence? You can’t begin to fathom why he’d bother with bothering a simple courier. What does he possibly hope to gain?

The address he sent is among the smallest houses you’ve seen so far. One of the least extravagant, which is to say, still pretty fucking extravagant. The latticework fence is wreathed with delicate cotton roses and the yard is a veritable Eden in comparison to the other lots. The path forward is lined by patches of vibrant wildflowers.

The air is cleaner here, and for the first time since entering the district, you can hear birdsong echoing from the tops of the trees.

How much of this did he plant himself? And how have his neighbors handled living next to a miniature forest? You reach out, palm sliding over the closest oak’s trunk, the bark coarse under your cold palms. Beyond the path, to your left, you hear the babbling of flowing water. The yard isn’t large enough to have a creek, you reason, and the time of your appointment looms close—but you figure you have enough legroom to at very least sneak a glance. Your curiosity for once gets the better of you, sending you through the thicket of green, beyond a copse of trees lined up like appointed sentinels, and over an emerging path of flat stones.

The forest opens into a small clearing. A massive, rock-lined pond nests at the center, surrounded by cattails and watergrasses and other waterfaring plants. The babbling, as you expected, comes from a filtration system stealthily hidden amongst the many reeds.

Sunlight shivers across the gentle waters, stirred up by the afternoon breeze.

A chair has been left unfolded beneath the low-hanging branches of a stout, red maple—a splash of crimson among earthy greens and cool browns.

Cautiously, you pick your way down the slope to the pool, squinting at the fish which flicker and dart between rocks and lotus stems. Mostly koi. Pretty, glimmering things which likely cost an arm and a leg. You’ve been to many aquatic markets, even ferried a few live specimens yourself. You settle by the edge, elbows resting on your bent knees. Cautiously, you extend outstretched fingers towards the water, dragging along the silken smooth surface.

A hand lands on your shoulder.

“My, my—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says. One moment you’re above water and the next under, your startled flailing sending you straight over the lip. 

Luocha is at very least apologetic about your unfortunate (humiliating) spill. He shows you to the washroom and closes the door with a contrite little smile. You run up the water bill for your trouble, the shiver chased from your drenched frame as you step under the hot spray. The shower has room enough for three people, easily. There are two heads and a bunch of silver knobs and dials you don’t feel like fucking with. Rich people and their needlessly complicated household appliances.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend in there, but the mirrors have fogged over by the time you get out. Only once you’ve properly scrubbed the pond water from your skin and tended to your hair do you turn the shower off. The mist sticks to your skin even after a decent toweling. You go through two until you give up and throw on the plush robe he so generously provided. It’s as fine quality as the porcelain tub you spy nestled against the western wall.

The brass glows near gold beneath the warm light. The entire bathroom is all golds and black. Utterly resplendent, but it doesn’t really seem his style.

Is this even his home? You can’t help but wonder as you stroll out the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Most of the interior chambers are linked by wide circular arches. The furniture is cream cushions paired with lacquered dark wood. A sweet smell hangs in the air, but you can’t tell if the potted white lilies on the table beside the sofa are the source.

Luocha stands by the window. Beams of sun hit his face and cast his hair in vibrant gold. He’s ethereal in those shades of sun. He looks delicate, somehow, curves of his body lean under the flowing press of his silken robe.

He looks at you. The dreamy green of his gaze clears your brain of the remaining fog, leaving you cold and alone with the fact that you are alone, together, in an empty house. In a mostly empty neighborhood.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” he smiles. “They’ll be clean in around an hour. Once again, I apologize for startling you—”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have been skulking around in your front yard in the first place.” The sooner your humiliating slip is forgotten, the better. “Let’s just get down to it. You wanted something delivered, right?”

“All business with you, even now,” Luocha sighs, forlorn disappointment wrinkling his brow. “You don’t have to be so uneasy around me, you know. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll brew us some tea.”

You do not sit. “You called me here for a reason. I deserve to know what it is.”

“Is your company not reason enough?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s closer now, close enough for you to see how glassy his eyes are. The cloying, sweet smell grows stronger with each step taken, reckless pheromones enough to send a shudder down your spine. Is he… “What if I said I simply wanted to see you?” he breathes, gently cupping your chin. “Should I admit that you’ve haunted my near every thought for the past month, or would that be going too far? Would it frighten you?”

A ruddy flush paints his pale cheeks, cracks in his composure beginning to show. He’s always been the perfect picture of composure, to an irritating degree. The certain grace he moves with used to almost annoy you. So steady, in a world contaminated by constant disruption and imbalance. The very pinnacle of perceived harmony. Perhaps you envied the way in which he carried himself or the freedom he enjoyed as an interstellar merchant, but now—

Now you can say you hardly envy him at all.

“I would say that you should wait until your heat is over before making any confessions,” you observe, resisting the urge to swallow and make the problem worse. Omega or not, he still looms large over you. 

“I’m in pre-heat, where I’ll most likely stay for the next few days,” one of his hands graces your right shoulder, thumb rolling delicate circles there. “I won’t ask you to… service me through the heat itself, but your company would help soothe the symptoms.” The touch wanders down your upper arm, a smooth, repetitive caress. It feels more like an unconscious gesture or a nervous tic than anything else. A self-soothing sort of motion.

“I’m a courier, not an on-call heat partner,” you inform him. How desperate must he be, to seek out the assistance of a courier of all people? “And I’m a beta. I can’t help you in the same way an alpha could. You know that.”

“And how do you know what will and won’t satisfy me?” he replies cooly, haughtily, as if he did not just sing your praises and plead for succor by your hand. “Betas are known to be particularly adept heat and rut partners due to their versatile nature—”

“I too have read the ‘Galaxy Hitchhiker’s Guide to Dynamics and All their Intricacies’. You don’t need to quote it verbatim to me.” you reply flatly, sounding as unconvinced as possible. Luocha is—dangerous. He is handsome, and he seems very sweet, and always seems well of manners, but you know he hides his daggers deep in his sleeves. The moment you realized you are considering his offer, you feel apart from yourself. Because it is ludicrous an idea.

Luocha’s eyes close. His bright lashes fan against flushed cheeks. “No sexual intimacy has to be involved. While skin-to-skin contact is the most effective method to ease the pain, simply being in the same room as you will suffice.”

The heat of him slips onto your skin, the layers between you thinner than you realized. An absentminded hand roams to the sash tied ‘round your waist, idly toying with the knot. His palm, after a moment of fidgeting, settles on the round of your hip. He gives you a gentle squeeze, but it reminds you more of a cat flexing its claws than a gesture of simple appreciation. He inundates you with scent and touch, pins you like a butterfly to a board, wings splayed open for his searching eyes. 

Not that you’ve really tried to fly away at all. A flush of newfound heat encompasses you, unbidden as his scent washes over your palate. You draw him into your mouth and swallow, thighs pressing tight together. It’s ridiculous, really. Inane. Who is he to make you feel so unbalanced?

You find him so utterly vexing. No other man could do this to you, you think. You wouldn’t dare step foot into anyone else’s private home. You wouldn’t consider breaking the strict code of propriety you keep with your customers. But for Luocha, denizen of the Abundance and keeper of your most precious secret, you fear you may do anything.

“I’m a beta,” you repeat quietly.

Luocha remains undiscouraged by your disquiet. Baffling creature, bold beyond reason and reckoning behind his steady, at times coquettish mien. “You can still help me, if you would like. I’m not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

You let a poignant pause settle between you, as if you are legitimately considering his request. He leans in, ever so slightly, as if leering at you from three centimeters away is any better than leering at you from five.

Then, finally, after remaining silent for at least thirty long seconds. “Do you prefer blackmailed ones?”

He smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, entire face lighting up with genuine fondness. So utterly vexing, this man.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he presses a kiss to your temple.

—

It isn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Perhaps it’s because Luocha seems to lack shame in almost everything he does. True to his word, he doesn’t touch you without permission. The rest of the day is spent sitting together in the lounge. He reads a book while you sit on the couch, half-paying attention to the news program you’ve put on. Dinner is takeout. The conversation is… bearable. It helps distract you from how close he is, pressed tight to the side of his body.

You stay in the living room until the sun sets, vivid orange light descending to dusky twilight. Eventually, Luocha stands to head to the washroom. A chill replaces the space he once occupied. You don’t allow yourself to mourn the loss. Instead, you haul yourself onto your feet. Black spots swim at the corners of your vision as your body lags a few seconds behind your brain. 

It’s just more time wasted, as far as you're concerned, so you push yourself. You stagger until your eyesight clears, intending to make a break for the guest room that certainly must exist. Somewhere. A house this extravagant must have a guest room.

You manage to peek into two rooms, one a particularly extravagant closet and the other a sunroom. 

You sullenly retreat back into the main hallway and head for the next door. Luocha slides out of the bathroom and fixes you with a questioning stare. “Where are you going?” 

“Isn’t there a guest bedroom?”

“Ah,” he stands there and looks at you for a long moment, like you are a stranger in his home. Which is partially true, you suppose. You are little more than strangers. “There is, but I was hoping…” he looks off to the side with a pointed sigh. “you would spend the night in my bed.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a new head. He stares back, completely unrepentant.

“Because skin-to-skin contact helps?” you supply wryly.

“Right,” he smiles, as though glad you understand. “During pre-heat, an omega craves the constant companionship of a trusted person, preferably a mate, but that label doesn’t apply to our arrangement. Remaining isolated during this time could cause anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, headaches, migraines—”

“You’ve gotten all the pity you’re gonna get out of me.” you inform him crisply. You relent anyway. The wooden floor is chilly as you pad towards him.

Your stoicism “Wonderful. Thank you for accommodating,” At very least, he seems to know that he’s putting this upon you. Luocha’s bed, you think, is far from the worst place you could spend your night. He’s far from unappealing. He smells good. He’s been weird to you, before, but he’s also unwaveringly polite and currently weaker than usual, hazier. 

Not like you have much of a choice.

He could easily leak your location to your former allies. The Family’s connections span the universe wide. They could easily track you down and cause you all sorts of trouble, maybe even get you kicked off the Luofu. It’s best to cooperate with him, for the time being. And it’s not like he’s terrible company. He holds the door open for you even now, when you’re here for his sake. 

His bedroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. The floor is dark wood and the walls are black with golden accents. Tapestries hang over tall windows, blocking out the moonlight. A porcelain vase sits atop a combination dresser-vanity, its knobs and gnarled claws a warm bronze. The rest of the furniture is similarly colored, and of similar quality. 

What draws your attention the most is the bed. It’s a wide mattress held aloft atop a platform. Gauzy black curtains hang from the top of the thin gold frame, parted to give you a good look at the mountain of pillows and blankets stacked atop of it. This, you recognize.

“Ah, that’s…” you begin, not quite sure how to phrase it. Aren’t some omegas super touchy about their nests? You haven’t the slightest clue as to which compliments to pay and to which part.

“A nest. I typically don’t indulge in the baser instincts that come with heat, but the urge was stronger than usual,” Luocha informs you, padding over to the mattress. He flops backwards on it, swimming through silks and satins like a minnow up a stream. Soon enough, you’ve lost him in the pile. “There isn’t much else for me to do besides twiddle my fingers, and I can only watch television for so long. So I thought: why not? It’ll be as good a way to keep busy as any other.” 

There’s a small pause. Luocha hesitates by the vanity, drumming his slender fingers atop the hard wood. There’s something uncharacteristically fretful about the gesture. “What do you think?”

“It looks comfortable,” you nod sagely.

“What glowing praise,” he says, almost beaming. You’re kind of annoyed at how… no, you won’t call him cute. Not even within your own internal dialogue. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you join me?”

He rests up against the headboard, lines of his body lean and lithe. He looks like something out of an old painting, long locks and pale limbs flowing over the dark sheets like 

The green of his eyes is startling in the dim of the room. He looks you over, haughty like a monarch on a gilded throne, until his eyelids dip and his head tilts.

“Come here,” he beseeches again. “Please.”

And you do. You cross the threshold of the room, slipping past the open curtains and into the bower of his bed. The mattress dips plush under your hands and knees. Once you’re halfway across, you sit back on your knees—but this is not close enough for him. He needles and pleads with you until you’re close enough to grab. One of his hands wraps around your upper arm, the other at your hip as he tugs you to him, fitting your back snuggly against his front.

You still, but the tension remains wound tight in your shoulders. You’re more amazed at your own stupidity more than anything else. Wasn’t it you who insisted on keeping your clients at arm’s length? All of that haughty professionalism was tossed out the window the moment you succumbed to his pleading—if it could even be called that. He asked nicely. 

Your eyes flutter shut. You lean backwards into his chest. His wide hands slide over your body, thumbs rolling circles onto your hips. A soft and sticky feeling settles underneath your skin as his thighs (bigger than you imagined) cradle your own, silken fabric of his robe pooled over the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest, suspiciously close to a contented purr. 

“I’m so glad you decided to spend time with me, courier.” he coos. His hand glides up your arm to cup your own, long fingers interlacing with yours. A contemplative hum rumbles within his chest as he turns it over. His thumb traces the lines and creases of your palm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“I suppose I don’t.”

“And that’s why it means all the more to me that you stayed,” Luocha murmurs. He reaches over to the nightstand, and the lamp flickers off. The room is plunged into matte darkness, hardly a glimmer of moonbeam slipping in. “I think that you’re more considerate than you pass yourself off to be. Does that frighten you?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to talk this much,” your brow wrinkles. “Aren’t you supposed to be too horny to think?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m currently in pre-heat—a process my body uses to prepare for the actual heat.” he says with a light sigh. “Believe me. If I were in heat,” his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, a warm and heady caress. “You would know.” He delicately presses the shell between his teeth, nosing the space behind it with another pleased sigh. 

You shudder, and close your eyes. “And what’s the difference between heat and preheat?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell… The pheromones for one,” Luocha squeezes your hand. “Are different. They’re similar to the ones we give off when under threat, a signal that we’ll need help soon… Not all omegas go through it—only an estimated forty percent.” 

“I see.”

Luocha smiles, the curve of it pressed against your throat. You don’t like not being able to see him. A predator looming in the dreary dark of his den. “The desire is still present. Less a raging storm, more the gentle lapping of the waves.”

“Poetic. But I still don’t get why you picked me. They have services for this kinda thing. People who know more about it than I do.” If you doubted his sanity before, you certainly do now. What kind of sane omega enlisted the help of a postwoman above paid professionals? 

“I would rather you than an unfamiliar alpha some service decided would be an adequate match. Even if vetted, a stranger is still just that. A stranger.” Luocha idly toys with your fingers, thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. It’s a touch too familiar, too tender for what you are. But Luocha permits himself to it, and the rest of your body, with a natural ease. You can’t help but feel lulled by it. 

“I see. And you feel safe sharing a bed with your dealer?” Tempting as the siren song of slumber may be, you retain enough wit to pry. The whole thing is too absurd to not badger him a bit more. The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in reply.

“I trust someone who has never been late, never sold my personal information or purchase history and has been nothing but courteous to me.” Luocha lists off your credentials with ease. They feel like they’re straight out of an EULA, or some sort of contract. Out of place in a situation as delicate as this. You could easily tell him as much, but he’s starting to sound sleepy. You would rather he get his rest. And be quiet.

“Of course,” he squeezes the space above your hip, making your pulse spike. “Having the endorsement of an Aeon helps. Especially if said Aeon rules over the Harmony. What a lovely and orderly path to tread, courier. She chose you so well.”

“You should have told me that this thing was gonna make you delusional,” you grumble, writhing in his hold to simply signify your displeasure. A part of you wants to come clean and ask where the hell he learned your secret. It’s obvious that he won’t change his mind, or be swayed by your protestations. But you’re still too stubborn to admit he’s right.

You’re almost annoyed by how comfortable this is. He laughs, breath brushing the crown of your head, but he says nothing else, perhaps sensing that he’s reached your tolerance threshold for silliness. His breathing evens out a few minutes later, chest rising and falling beneath you.

You adjust yourself, settling into his side. Over the next few minutes, he contorts around you, the weight of his arm settling around your waist. Time slips away from you, after that.

The rampant pounding of your heart at last begins to slow. You’re almost calm, wedged between the blankets and body. Your sleep shirt is still wrenched upwards, his bare arm pressed against your stomach. The contact is a boundary crossed, a spark to a hunger you didn’t know you had been harboring. You don’t like it. Some part of your hindbrain rejoices at seeing this man’s needs met, and that delight worries you more than literally anything else Luocha has done or said today.

You stare across the room at the covered window. Slowly and steadily, you untangle your legs, curling them to your stomach. Outside, a frog croaks. The pond babbles in the distance. The air above the blankets is cool on your face and legs as you gently kick the covers back. The chill caresses your skin, sneaks between your robes to give you bumbling gooseflesh. The walls of the nest vent out the worst of the cold. Maybe you’ll ask him about cracking a window open tomorrow. Just a little bit.

—

You wake up a few hours later, and blink into the dark. Luocha stirs next to you. He’s awake. You don’t know how you know, but you can tell. His finger curl ever so slightly against the soft core of you. A shiver ripples across you, robe parted just enough for his fingertips to touch your bare skin.

“...Did you plant the garden outside?” you don’t know why you ask, but you do. 

Luocha hums into the crook of your neck.  He strokes your stomach, petting you.

“I did,” he answers after a moment, a contented sigh ruffling your hair. “Now get some rest.”

—

You leave the next morning, without breakfast. Luocha is a surprisingly deep sleeper, though perhaps you owe that to his current affliction. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re also not going to be lured into skipping work by your own foolish sympathy. He can take care of himself for a miserly ten hours.

The day goes as any other does, at first. You take the shortest route you can find through the Luofu’s abundance-ridden innards, starting at the lower decks first. Packages and envelopes pass hands with little delay.

One of your clients, a buxom woman who owns a silk shop, covers her giggling mouth with an oversized sleeve. You eye her with suspicion. She notices, and giggles harder.

“I don’t mean to offend you, dear courier—it’s just—I hadn’t taken you the type to so openly… wear that kind of perfume.” she says, as if elaborating. You don’t understand what she’s talking about, and you don’t particularly care. You leave her to her frivolities and spirit away, merging back into the crowd with casual ease.

The next few clients each make some degree of face at you. One goes wide-eyed, before schooling his features into his typical, customer-service smile. The next looks at you like you have just thrice cursed his family line, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed into a beady glare. You resist the quite mean-spirited urge to remind of the legality of his purchases, shoring up your mental fortitude by recalling the sumptuous tips he usually gives.

Your seventh customer meets you beneath the crimson awning of a local cafe. You’re glad to be out of the beating sun. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” she says with a smile, nursing a cup of iced tea and ah—you realize, something about you has really changed.

“Thank you, but may I ask what you are congratulating me for?”

“Oh!” she looks startled, and then sheepish. “On the relationship? I didn’t mean to presume….but your scent, today…” she trails off, looking awkwardly to the side.

Fortunately, you don’t need her to elaborate. The context clues snap together with sudden, startling clarity, the peevish behavior you’ve endured all day granted perfect context. Of course, evidence of your business with the merchant would be more apparent to those with keener noses. Your cheeks blood with abashed warmth. You resist the urge to shrivel like an old apple peel, overwhelmed all at once with humiliation, with indignation at yourself and the man who cast this misfortune upon you. 

Heavens, how outrageous you must have seemed, walking into the esteemed establishments and parlors of your clients bathed in that ridiculous fellow’s scent! It’s but another consequence of yesterday’s poor decisions. You fume silently as you leave, making a beeline for your apartment. It’ll delay the rest of your deliveries, but that can’t be helped.

Your phone jitters in your pocket as soon as you step through the threshold of your dwelling. 

You drop your bag onto the grey throw rug. It lands with a mighty thud, loud enough to make you silently hope the downstairs neighbors had not been enjoying an early afternoon nap. Your jacket gets tossed onto the sofa, keys thudding onto the upholstery. Then, you roundabout to the door. A row of locks catch stray rays of sun. You swiftly latch each one and give the door a rough, cursory shove. 

Then, and only then do you check your messages.

You left without saying goodbye.

Your brow furrows. You’d never taken him to be this needy. Every other message above this exchange is polite, but ultimately curt. Most of his recent prying has been done in person.

You were still asleep

It’s alright. When will you return?

After work. Around 8 hours

That long? Could I persuade you to return sooner?

I can’t just skip out

I’ll buy you out. How much do you earn in a day?

Honestly, the nerve of this man! You type a series of poignant expletives out before tactfully deleting them.

It’s more than the money. my clients are powerful. i cant lose those connections

A few poignant moments pass before his reply comes.

Alright. I’ll see you later.

The tension drops off your shoulders. You expected him, in truth, to let loose a most potent threat to ensure your immediate return. A part of you, small and illogical, fears he’ll do his worst regardless. The thought of The Family learning your whereabouts nauseates you, bile churning at the very base of your throat, but surely a man possessed of his many sins is too wise to open his mouth about yours. 

Without even realizing it, you have completely trapped each other. 

What did he ever do with that Core Esse?

It’s better not to think about it. You have hours more left to move, and your line of work demands utmost focus, lest you drop an organ into the wrong customer’s hands.

Fifteen minutes, you afford yourself. The water chases the sweat from your skin, soap and sponge raking your skin raw. The evidence of him washes down the drain with the suds, leaving you remarkably less agitated. Because, really, who gave him permission to linger on your skin and on your clothes and in your thoughts—who gave him leave to evoke your fear and sympathy and intrigue and misplaced affections? Not you, that much is for certain!

You determine yourself free of the vexing beast’s cloying scent and return to the Xianzhou’s busy streets.

—

Arrogance is one of humanity’s most populated wheelhouses. Next door, its foundations built by fools and geniuses both, stands proud senselessness. If you had to name a tenant they share, then with abrupt acuity, you would surely name the Stellaron Hunters, who, as far as you can ascertain, base their stratagems off the ravings of a lunatic. As you wander to the edge between land and space, you cannot help but wonder what his credentials are, and if anyone has ever laid eyes upon them. 

You don’t care enough to ask, though, when you reach the jagged edge. The end of the cargo hold, where the Xianzhou’s artificial sky breaks. Fragments of pale blue and white float amongst the void, growing smaller and sparser until none remain. The ground ends in a series of jagged, shiny edges, as though the metal had been cut clean through. You duck underneath a smattering of ships and starskiffs and cranes and cargo containers. Cold, silvery chrome gives way to the cold, open empty. That is where the man in black waits.

“Blade” is his name. He is a vision against the star-scattered expanse of the empty. Stood beneath a bright, red star, unbothered hy the thin oxygen levels and freezing temperatures. Tall and looming and perhaps irredeemably beautiful. It could be the lack of air talking. You like him more than you like Silver Wolf. She wastes your time with always unnecessary and often personal questions.

“Here for Silver Wolf, I assume?” you ask, already rifling through your bag for the cables and strange, circuit-board devices which she has ordered from you.

“Yes,” he nods, and you appreciate how he says nothing else. 

“Alright. Here you are, then. Make sure she knows that she owes me another favor. These things were hard to find. She’s getting the discount of a lifetime.” you hand him three small boxes and he leaves with a nod. A polite and concise interaction. As distant as mostly-strangers should be.

—

“Home” is after that. The skies have gone a bright gold, nighttime looming in the near distance. 

Luocha’s home is not your home. You refuse to identify it as such, for doing so opens dangerous doors and implications which are most inappropriate for what you have. You make a brief pit stop to your apartment to gather a night bag, changes of clothes haphazardly crammed into the black canvas alongside a toothbrush and other necessary toiletries. 

You nudge the door open with your hip. Pale orange light falls across the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. Luocha sits on the couch, or rather, he lounges. The silken collar of his robe drapes over his right shoulder, exposing a frankly indecent amount of his chest. You pay his naked skin no heed, plonking your bags onto the floor. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. You wish you could lay on the floor. A good sleep on that fine, polished wood would fix you.

“Welcome home,” he greets you, daintily depositing the book he’d been reading onto the side table. “I never realized just how long your hours are. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m used to it,” you reply, but you flop onto the opposite end of the sofa regardless. A heavy sigh punches out of you, weary eyes shutting. 

“With how much you charge me, I would think you could afford to shorten your shifts,” he says, with sympathy you know is feigned. You crack an eye open to cast him a cursory look—but the room shifts around you in a blur as long fingers curl around your wrist and pull, tugging you onto his side of the couch.

You land with a disgruntled squawk. Your hands curl into silken fabric. and you realize belatedly that you’ve all but been dragged atop of him, left laid out between his legs. You twist, top half of your body turning to the side to level him with a nasty glare. 

He’s flushed, is the first thing you noticed. More so than yesterday. His cheeks are dusted in pale pink, a delicate blush that runs all the way to his shoulders. He’s warmer, too. You can feel the heat of him pressed along your body. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have just asked,” How does someone who looks so willowy have such a strong grip? It’s beyond you, truly. 

“Forgive me,” Predictably, he looks completely, and utterly, unrepentant. “You were just so unsuspecting, I couldn’t help but want to surprise you…” You make a point of looking as surly as possible, and the fiend laughs. Quietly, and behind his oversized, crimson sleeve. Unbidden comes to you the shape of his lips around that euphonic sound, what they might look like when parted by soft breaths and dulcet moans— “Ah, please don’t make that face. It only makes me want to tease you more.”

“Enough of your insanity. ” you bite out, pointedly pressing your elbow into his side. You wriggle in his arms. His grip curls tighter around your waist and he sighs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to take a long inhale. “Let me up!”

“Just a few more moments?” he asks, words mouthed into your skin. You feel hot all the way down to your shoulders. You muster all your resilience with a swallow, but it isn’t enough. A hush falls over the living room. 

Against your better judgment, you find yourself lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing, by his warmth at your back. Nearly ever part of you aches. Your legs throb, the tight muscles of your thighs worn and throbbing from a long day’s labor. The scorching pains dig deep into your shoulders and your back—you’re due a nice, long shower, you think. 

The dappled sun against the adjacent wall writhes and shifts with the artificial breeze. You can hear the winds shifting through the canopy outside. A songbird sings a trilling little tune. It’s easier to focus on these things while you indulge him and wait to be let up, even if he is being unusually quiet. You’re wise enough to not necessarily be glad for the silence. 

His hand cups your hip, shifting you even closer. It’s only a centimeter or two, but it lets you feel the pointed hard thing jutting into your back in greater clarity. Unbidden, your cunt throbs between your thighs. The arousal and exhaustion makes your mind sticky, concrete thoughts difficult to come by among the haze. 

“Luocha,” you murmur, and he moans softly, breath brushing against your tender skin. Goosebumps flare across your shoulders and arms despite the heat—the sound the shock you needed to get moving. “This is—” you cut yourself off with a swallow as his lips press to the column of your neck. Your already flagging resistance whimpers out into nothing. Each heavy inhale draws him further in, the scent so sweet and cloying in spite of your muffled senses.

“You must have had such a hard day. Doesn’t it hurt? Always going home to that empty apartment?” he purrs, voice indulging, dripping with a delirious sort of fondness. And isn’t that always the trouble with these sorts of situations? Does he want you, or are you the closest warm body available for him to rut into? How strong is his grip on reality? You writhe in his lap and he gasps. His grip tightens in response, holding you fast with surprising strength. “You must be so lonely…”

“I’m not, really,” you nearly snarl, finally losing patience with your clinger’s affections. Your voice, alongside the elbow you jab into his side, jars him from his twisted reverie. He chokes, and muffles a groan into the collar of your jacket, at last lifting his lips away from your skin. The breath whooshes out of him at the force of the blow, but his grip barely loosens. “Behave. Or I’ll leave.” 

He inhales quietly, and shudders.

Over your brief stay in his lavish home, you have perhaps twice (or thrice) wondered if keeping to your principles was worth it. Why not sink into his touch? Why not drink deep of the physical affection he saturates you in? The fact that you’re contemplating the subject at all is deeply ruffling. Little less than two weeks ago, you would have scoffed at the idea.

Alas, the creature at your back is more siren than man. It wounds your pride. You aren’t just any beta. You’re a prime beta, a beta noticed and beloved by Xipe herself. The gift of Harmony should allow you to smother the scents around you completely. It should grant you immunity to the bothersome urges which so often get in the way of business. He weakens your shored-up defenses, somehow. 

“Of course… My apologies.” he sounds contrite, and despite yourself, you soften. Just a tad.  “It’s just—well, a little difficult to hold back when you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

Luocha evades the question, without even pretending to humor it.

“Your last customer was an alpha, wasn’t he?” He lifts his head from the hollow of your throat, looking down at your intertwined fingers over your shoulder. His thumb brushes along the back of your hand before he flips it over. His fingertips brush over yours, before curling into a fist around your pointer and middle, giving a gentle tug. He idly toys with your hand while he speaks. Voice a light, low murmur. “A tall man. Black hair, pretty red eyes… They look like candle wicks, don’t they?” He says it fondly, and your heart sinks into your stomach.

Of course he knows Blade. Why wouldn’t he? 

You’ve never bought anything from Luocha, but you can tell from what he orders that he’s a merchant who idles in the same, seedy markets as yourself. A man who had asked you to trade him an organ brushing shoulders with a Stellaron Hunter somewhere in the darkest corners of the Luofu sounds completely and utterly plausible. A group of little coincidences which occurred just to be a thorn in your side. How did they meet? You can’t help but wonder. How well do they know each other? What kind of relationship do they have?

You don’t ask any questions. It’s not your place. Getting involved anymore than you already are is just asking for more trouble. 

“And if I did meet him?”

He pauses, and laughs a little.

“Well. I am almost in heat. Perhaps I just became… a bit defensive when you came back, smelling just like him. Omegas in heat can be just as territorial of their dens as alphas in rut, though that's often overlooked in the social narrative. We’re supposed to be weak, dainty little things, you know?” If he feels self-conscious about this, he doesn’t show it. He has a tighter leash on himself, now. He sounds more contemplative than resentful. 

“You, weak and dainty? I have to laugh,” you don’t. 

“I appreciate how open-minded you are,” he says sweetly. 

A brief silence falls over the room. You take in the soft sound of the breeze outside. The steady shifting of the trees’ canopies. The steady breathing of that small ecosystem he has birthed and nurtured. 

He’s hesitating. A question hangs in the air, tangles on the tip of his tongue. You can’t see his face, but you have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. That, and it’s typical of him to demand more than you’re willing to give. No more ground will you cede to him. If he begs again for you to remain during the duration of his heat, he’ll find himself succinctly refused. 

Still, you’d rather not have to go through the uncomfortable hassle of rejecting him. But he clearly thinks better of it, because he stays quiet—only breaking the contemplative quiet to ask you what you would like for dinner, his thumb rolling circles onto your palm.

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter v

Summary: The entourage arrives in Brooklyn to a grand feast and an eventful jousting tournament.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Violence and Combat. Injuries. Emotional Tension. Subtle Aggression.

Word Count: 1850

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A/N: Oh, Lord James. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Winter’s Widow: @lanabuckybarnes | @sapphirebarnes | @sebastians-love | @mrsnikstan | @learisa | @railmesebstan | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @barnesxstan | @ghalouha | @mrsstuckyboo | @g-nobody

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

Approaching the outskirts of Brooklyn, Lord James rode ahead as he signaled the bannermen to form a protective circle around you and Honeybreeze. The silhouette of the capital loomed in the distance, spires reaching up to the skies. 

The bustling sounds of the city reached your ears as the gates came into view. Children laughed as they played in the streets, merchants calling out their wares, and the clatter of hoovers against cobblestone filling the air. 

Alpine slowed to a trot as Lord James allowed your entourage to catch up. Falling back to your side, he turned to you, his expression serious. “We’ll be meeting the Prince and your sister at the palace gates,” he informed you, an undertone of unease as he kept his voice steady. 

You nodded, fidgeting with the reins in your hand. “Yes, my lord.” 

Moving through the city streets, you attracted curious glances from the citizens. It was inspiring and intimidating, the grandeur of Brooklyn’s architecture and its people's energy. The palace walls towered, adorned with banners and the royal crest causing your heart to race as you neared. 

A contingent of royal guards greeted you as the gates of the palace opened. Stood at the forefront of the palace was Prince Steve, a striking figure in regal attire. His presence commanded respect and admiration. Your eldest sister, Natasha, stooks beside him. Her radiant smile was a beacon of comfort. Stepping forward, her eyes lit up upon noticing you. 

“Nat!” you exclaimed, dismounting Honeybreeze without assistance as you rushed to embrace her. “I’ve missed you!” you whispered, holding tightly onto her.

Natasha’s eyes filled with warmth and concern as she pulled back slightly, taking your cheek into her hands. “You’ve traveled far, and I’m sure you’re exhausted,” she whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Stepping forward, Prince Steve’s eyes were kind and welcoming. “Lady Romanoff, it’s an honor to meet you, finally,” he said, offering his hand. “Your sister… and Lord James have spoken highly of you.” he smiled, kissing gently against your knuckles, respectfully.

“Thank you, my prince,” you spoke softly as you curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

As you exchanged pleasantries, a familiar face emerged from the place. Yelena, your other older sister, approached, her usual Belovian armor adoring her figure. A mischievous smile tugged at her mouth. “Ah, seems I arrived just in time,” she teased, embracing you. “Quite the city, isn’t it?” 

You laughed with a sense of normalcy amidst the formalities. “I’m glad to see you, Lena.” 

Exchanging words with your sisters, you noticed the anticipation in Lord James’ eyes. It was evident that seeing his friend again meant a great deal to him, he had been waiting for this moment. 

“Prince Steve,” Lord James began, his voice steady as he stood beside you. “It has been too long.” 

Prince Steve’s eyes sparkled while widening as he turned to face Lord James. “Bucky! My longest, and oldest friend,” he said, stepping forward and embracing him tightly. “It has– three months since my last visit to the Reach, I believe.” 

The two men held each other for a moment, all who watched could sense the bond of their friendship. Lord James’ expression shifted back to one of stoic duty as the two men pulled apart. His posture was rigid and his eyes sharp as the warmth faded, replaced by his usual distant demeanor. 

Noticing his friend's change, Prince Steve chose not to comment. He was instead, gesturing to the group with a bright smile. “As a token of our hospitality and to celebrate the arrival of the realm's great Houses, I am pleased to announce a jousting tournament to be held in honor.”

A murmur of excitement ran through your entourage, it was a chance to see the prowess of the kingdom and to enjoy festivities. Lord James nodded toward Prince Steve as his eyes hardened. 

“A tournament is a fitting welcome, my prince,” Lord James spoke with a formal bow. “It will be an honor to witness Brooklyn’s finest knights.” 

A knowing look consumes the Prince’s eyes as they linger on Lord James. “I expect you’ll be participating, Bucky? Your skills with a lance are legendary, after all.” 

Stiffening slightly, Lord James’ eyes flickered to yours briefly before returning to Prince Steve. “I believe my jousting days are behind me, my prince.” 

The prince didn’t push further. Turning to you and your sisters, his smile widened. “We have arranged a grand feast tonight, and the tournament will commence tomorrow.” 

Your heart swelled, and excitement and nervousness coursed through you. “Thank you, my prince. We look forward to it.” 

The formalities concluded and you were led to your chambers. The opulent corridors and lavish decorations were a stark contrast to the simpler surroundings you have known at Winter’s Reach. You marveled at the splendor, your excitement began infectious.

~

The grand hall was a sight to behold, banners of House Rogers adorned the walls, and the long table was laden with delicious dishes. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter as music filled the air and nobles from across the realm reconnected. 

At the head of the table sat the King and Queen, Prince Steve and Natasha beside them. You were seated nearby, with Lord James on your other side. Across the table, your sister, Yelena, sat with a few other lords, her expression unreadable. 

“To love, loyalty, and the bonds that unite us all,” King Joseph II Rogers proclaimed, his voice carrying across the hall. “May this union between House Rogers and our honored guests, House Romanoff, be a beacon of prosperity and harmony for generations to come.” 

Raising your goblets in unison, the assembled nobles echoed the sentiment with a heartfelt cheer. Glancing at Lord James, you caught his eyes for a fleeting moment, and a hint of vulnerability flickered in his expression, masked by the stern resolve that defined him.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself lost in conversation with a visiting noble from the Eastern Isles. Yet, every so often, you would drift your gaze over to Lord James, his focus shifting between his plate and the lively crown. 

Prince Steve extended his hand to Natasha as he gracefully guided her to the center of the room. The floor cleared around them. You watched as their dance was a beautiful display of elegance as other couples began to gather. 

Anticipation fluttered in your chest, you hoped that Lord James would ask you to dance. Even for a moment, the thought of being in his arms made your heart race. But, as you turned your gaze to him once more, he remained seated. 

Forcing a smile, you watched as several noblemen approached ladies asking for a dance, and disappointment settled over you. 

Yelena stealthily stood behind you and observed the exchange. She leaned in and whispered. “He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?” 

Flinching at the sudden sense of her presence, you sighed, nodding slightly. “Yes, that he is.”

Lord James remained distant as the evening turned to night, cold and unyielding as ever. Even for just a moment, you prayed for a moment when he might let his guard down. Yet, it never came.

~

The excitement in Brooklyn reached a fever pitch as the upcoming jousting tournament was in preparation. The arena was abuzz with spectators from across the realm, noble houses eager to showcase their finest in the lists.

You sat with Lord James, Natasha, Yelena, and Prince Steve in the royal viewing box, overlooking the tournament. Casting a golden glow over the assembled knights, the sun shined brightly overhead. The crowd roared with anticipation as the first challengers took their places, readying their lances. 

A lord from a neighboring house caught your attention amid the spectacle. He was tall and imposing, armor adorned with the sigil of his house, confidently he rode toward the lists. He made a sweeping gesture as his eyes locked onto you, signaling his request for your favor. 

You felt a flutter in your stomach at being asked to grant a favor. Such gestures were usually reserved for Natasha, yet this unexpected attention excited you. Without hesitation, you reached for the red ribbon, embroidered with your house crest, handing it to the attendant who then delivered it to the eager lord. 

Lord James stood beside you, law clenched as his gaze fixed upon the unfolding scene. His demeanor cracked slightly, a furrow in his brow betrayed his displeasure. He said nothing as you glanced at him with a small smile, his jaw tightening even more.

Commencing with thundering hoovers and splintering lances, the knights demonstrate their skill and bravery. Proving formidable, the lord who had requested your favor, unhorsed several opponents with precise strikes. Each victory was met with cheers, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride. 

As the tournament progressed, Lord James unexpectedly disappeared from his seat in the royal viewing box. Concern grew as you noted his absence. However, as the next match was about to commence, there was a murmur through the crowd.

Emerging from the entrance leading to the lists, Lord James with his armor gleaming with his House colours, held a steely and determined expression. You watched in awe as he readied himself. 

There was a shift in the atmosphere as Lord James took his place opposite the knight who had received your favor. The herald’s call rang out, and the two knights charged towards each other with thundering hooves, their lances held steady. 

In a clash of steel and determination, Lord James struck with great precision, unseating the lord in a decisive victory. Erupting into cheers, the crowd marveled at Lord James. With a triumphant smirk, he dismounted gracefully from Alpine, his eyes set on the fallen lord. 

Striding toward the grounded knight, he reached down to retrieve the favor you had granted earlier. “I believe this belongs to me,” he declared before briefly meeting your gaze. There was an edge to the words as if a silent message of challenge hung in the air. 

An expression of begrudging respect conveyed over the fallen lord's face as he looked toward Lord James. He handed over the ribbon, and Lord James straightened before returning to the viewing box. 

There was a palpable tension in the air when he rejoined you. Simmering intensity in his demeanor as he sat, eyes refixed ahead on the ongoing tournament. 

Ever perceptive, Prince Steve broke the silence that settled. “I thought your jousting days were behind you, Buck,” he remarked with a half-smile. 

His jaw stayed tight as Lord James nodded curtly in response. 

“You were magnificent out there, my lord,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Your favor secured in his palm with a tight grip.

Despite the excitement around you as the tournament continued and the remaining knights vying for glory, your mind kept returning to Lord James. Whispers of admiration followed him, underscoring his place, a formidable knight in his own right and as a protector.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[holaseniorahoe]

»»— For Eternity —««

Content: Zhongli x reader, angst, character death (reader), gn reader

Let me know if I missed any so I can add them

The golden rays of the setting sun poured over the city of Liyue, casting a warm glow over its bustling streets and the delicate architecture of its towers. The winds carried the scent of saltwater and incense from the harbor, where merchants traded their wares, and children laughed as they played in the alleys. But in the heart of the city, among the quiet corridors of a secluded courtyard, there was an unshakable stillness.

Zhongli stood silently, his amber eyes reflecting the orange hues of dusk. His posture was as firm and regal as the mountains he once carved, yet his gaze was distant, sorrow clouding the sharpness that once defined his every movement. He was not a mortal, not truly, yet today—standing here—he felt the weight of time pressing down upon him.

You had always been a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of his life, a mortal whose days were numbered from the start. But he had allowed himself to believe that, perhaps, the time you shared would last longer.

The night before, your breaths had grown shallow, and the vibrant light in your eyes had begun to dim. You lay in the bed you once shared, your hand weakly grasping his. Zhongli had been at your side the entire time, his presence a comforting constant as your body began to succumb to the illness that had stolen you from him.

"Zhongli…" your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it as clearly as if you had shouted. He leaned in closer, his hands cradling yours as if the force of his will alone could hold you here longer.

"Yes, my love?"

"I’m… sorry… I won’t be able to keep my promise," you rasped, your words faltering. A soft, bittersweet smile formed on your lips. "I… wanted to stay with you… longer."

He swallowed hard, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. For centuries, he had witnessed the passing of time, watched countless lives flicker like candles in the wind, but this… this was different. The pain was unfamiliar, raw. His hand tightened around yours gently, as if by doing so he could stop the inevitable.

"You need not apologize," Zhongli said, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. "You have given me more than I could ever ask for."

You closed your eyes briefly, letting his words wash over you. The steady rhythm of his voice was soothing, as it always had been.

"Promise me… you won’t forget," you whispered, opening your eyes one last time to look at him.

"I promise."

And then… your hand fell limp in his grasp.

Now, as Zhongli stood over the small memorial he had arranged for you, the weight of his immortality felt more burdensome than ever. A thousand years, ten thousand, they meant nothing in the face of the quiet moments he had shared with you. His heart—though he had long believed it could never break—felt heavy with grief.

Zhongli had always understood the transient nature of mortals, but it was the first time he had allowed himself to feel the loss so acutely. You were not the first he had loved, and you would not be the last. And yet, no matter how many times he experienced it, the pain did not dull.

A sigh escaped his lips as he knelt before the memorial, placing a single Qingxin flower—your favorite—on the stone. The mountain flowers that thrived in Liyue’s heights were said to symbolize the fragile beauty of life, and now they seemed more fitting than ever.

"I will never forget," he murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to the wind. "Even as the ages pass and the mountains crumble… your memory will remain."

The wind stirred around him, gentle and cool, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though your presence was near. But then it was gone, like the fleeting dreams that vanish with the morning light.

Zhongli rose to his full height, his amber eyes gazing out toward the horizon where the sun had already begun to dip below the mountains. The city behind him continued its life—people living, laughing, loving—unaware of the weight of a god’s sorrow.

He would continue, as he always had. But this time, with the knowledge that even a god could feel the ache of loss, and that even a thousand promises could not bring back what was taken by time.

But still, he would remember you.

For eternity.

[entamesubs]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Go Rush!! Episodes 109 Sub Release

Torrent

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Please make sure to read the FAQ if you have any questions.

There are very long translation notes below, so spoilers ahead.

-------------------------------

余 yo Dark Meister's pronoun / The "Royal We"

I made an extra translation note appear in the episode itself as well, because initial test screenings of the episode produced some confusion on the Dark Meister's "we" pronoun.

余 (yo) is a very old, archaic pronoun that was used by shoguns or other rulers. To simulate the same regal effect it gives, our English equivalent is the "Royal We".

"The royal we (also known as the majestic plural or royal plural) is the use of a plural pronoun used by a single person who is a monarch or holds a high office to refer to themselves." (Wikipedia)

The note here is just that while the pronoun itself is plural, it does not necessarily mean that the person using the pronoun is speaking in plural. The "Royal We" is a singular pronoun basically used in place of "I" by royalty.

On pronouns, character voice, and translation

With the next episode being titled ワレのターン (ware no taan), with a heavy emphasis on ワレ (ware) being related to Zwijo, I felt like this was a very good chance to talk about this.

Given how meticulous each Go Rush character has their own way of speech and pronouns to refer to themselves, I place a lot of emphasis on making sure that some of that nuance translates to English. Of course, it's impossible to make it 1:1, and usually pronoun choice is something that's glossed over in other translated works, but it means a lot to me so I place more importance on it.

Things like Yuudias speaking without contractions (which, while it makes his speech sound weird, is the point), making some characters speak more flowery than others ("don't know" vs "know not"), etc - are all part of this interpretation of their speech patterns, pronouns, and quirks.

As a minor example, here is a list off the top of my head of all the non-conventional pronouns used by characters in Go Rush:

ソレガシ (soregashi) - Yuudias

コレガシ (koregashi) - Kuaidul

アタイ (atai) - Dinois

私 (watakushi) - Yuuna

サ (sa) - Sabyuas

Again, just some I can list off the top of my head.

Yuudias and Kuaidul's dual opposing pronouns are even more important knowing what we know now of their dynamic. Do you remember when Yuudias said this in episode 90?

In Japanese, それ (sore) and これ (kore) are placement markers meant to denote whether something is close to you or not. これ (kore) means it's close to you, while それ (sore) means it is close to someone else.

In Yuudias' case, when he uses ソレガシ (soregashi), he quite literally embodies what he meant when he said there was never a moment he thought of his body as his own. After all, he has always been referring to himself as being close to someone else, not himself.

Kuaidul is the inverse of this - he has always thought of his body as his own, and to an extent also Yuudias' body as his own. When these two characters speak, you are meant to get the sense that Yuudias and Kuaidul are speaking in regards to each other, that they are next to each other, intertwined and similar.

I know the Go Rush writers themselves also place a lot of meaning on subtle things like this. When Zwijo was first introduced, one of the writers tweeted that Zwijo's Japanese captions for his summon chant (and by extension, all of the other Velgearians) should not be written normally but instead written entirely in katakana, because they are aliens.

The implication being that Zwijo and Yuudias are 1) speaking with an accent but also 2) meant to be perceived foreign by forcing all of their summon dialogue through this "filter". It makes it way more awkward to read even if, in the end, they are just speaking Japanese. It's one of the ways they can use text to emphasize how different the Velgearians are without completely alienating (ha) their audience.

Character speech patterns are basically a special interest of mine - for example, Spectre's "preview line" in Duel Links ("yoroshiku onegaishimasu") was something I recognized as him immediately despite it being a common phrase, because he's one of the only characters that speaks in such a polite and formal way. It's that one thing he always says before a duel. It's uniquely him despite the phrase being completely ordinary. This is what character speech and character voice mean to me.

All this to say, it's impossible to translate Zwijo's ワレ (ware) in ワレのターン (ware no taan), the title of the next episode, without a bad-looking translation note at the very top. But it's undoubtedly his, and undoubtedly referring to him. It's just unfortunate this is lost in translation / won't be picked up on by people who don't know what his pronoun is or the significance of it.

I hope that gives you some insight into how the translation process for character voice works!

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

West Across the Salt

"A dragon?" Luvli repeated. "Here, in these parts?"

"It wouldn't have been recent." Riven said. "They may have come here a long time ago---roughly..." She trailed off, exhaling. Eorzeans were exotic enough to the Turalians as was, trying to explain the First Brood and their descendants would probably lead to a world of confusion.

"A thousand years ago." Estinien spoke. "Your people--would they have tales or stories of a creature that might have been similar to or mistaken for a tural vidraal?" Luvli frowned, crossing his arms.

"We certainly have stories of such creatures, but do you not have any sort of distinguishing information? How this...dragon may have looked? And are you certain it came here? Crossing the salt is no small feat." He replied.

"It would have scales as black as the darkest night here." Riven answered. Reinhardt at least been able to find a description of his quarry in old Knight-Dragoon records. "Black scales with a blue sheen, a body that you could liken to a serpent, and half the size of Valigarmanda. It was traveling with another of it's kind, but we don't know how the partner looked." Estinien blinked as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"...Now that I think about it, the tural vidraal might have considered it an enemy." He said. Riven paused, looking at him.

"You think?" She asked.

"Granted we don't have much information to begin with, but aren't most tural vidraal territorial? A dragon would certainly cause a ruckus."

"That would help the search significantly." Luvli mused. "I can begin to make inquires, Sunforged, but..." The Pelupelu grinned toothily. Estinien groaned and facepalmed, as Riven chuckled softly.

"What would you have of us in exchange for this assistance then?" She asked.

"It would be a fine thing for one of the Vow of Resolve's Sunforged to purchase some of my mezcal to begin with." Luvli countered. "Another for her and this hunter to sit down and share a meal, and perhaps regale me with the story of why you are looking for a creature of your country here." Estinien narrowed his eyes.

"Seems fair enough." He rumbled.

"To start with." Riven added. She fixed Luvli with a smile. "What year amongst your wares would be considered fair and proper for me to purchase?"

[bigfan-fanfic]

Writing Game 1.5: Festival

Prompt: Festival Pairing: Thor/Clark Kent

"The sigrblót is an important part of our society." Thor explains softly. "It's a celebration of the arrival of summer - the victory of summer over winter."

"Does that have anything to do with historical events? Perhaps military victories against Jotunheim by Asgard?"

Thor gave a soft laugh. "To be quite honest, I do not know. The custom is ancient. And the blót even older than that. For many events, we have a ritual sacrifice - a gift in thanks for our survival. We believe the sacrifice allows us to connect to our lost ancestors and loved ones, so that we may all feast and revel as one."

Clark tilts his head. "From my research, it seems that the Norse of my world - of Midgard - followed similar traditions. Though I've come to realize that their myths aren't exactly a one-to-one account of your people - for example, they said Valhalla was the Hall of the Slain, where the honored dead would remain till Ragnarok. They believed Odin presided over it, whereas you here seem to believe the same thing, except Valhalla and Helheim and Folkvanger are above even you."

Thor thinks a little before he responds. "We believe in the recursive nature of stories, I suppose you might say. Magic, science, legend... they might all be dialects of the same language. Who's to say that we aren't all offshoots of your people's stories? Who's to say they are based on us, and not the other way around? You yourself may be a story. I like to think we share the names of the Midgardians' gods, but truly we are more like them than any of us tend to think."

Clark chuckles as he writes that down verbatim. "That might be a little bit heavy for a travel piece on Asgard for the Daily Planet, but then again, I am angling for another Pulitzer."

"Is the interview complete? May I finally take you to see the festival as a participant and not an observer?"

"A journalist." Clark corrects. "But yes, I have everything I need. I'm at your disposal."

Thor quickly stands from the couch he reclines upon to press a kiss to Clark's brow. "Good. We came to revel! Not simply to work."

Clark grins and lets Thor drag him onto the streets of Asgard, where vendors hawk their wares - though they tend to stop eyeing him as a potential mark when they see their Prince with a hand interlinked with his.

It's at this point that Clark recognizes how much Thor can relax when he feels he belongs somewhere. He smiles so easily as he eagerly pulls Clark towards a stall to try some festival food, so much more at ease than he is on Earth, giving an impression of regality and poise.

Clark doesn't know yet that it's not because of the difference between Earth and Asgard. It's his own growth, but also because Thor truly blossoms in the proximity of someone he loves. That he feels safe enough to show his truest self to Clark is a blessing, for them both.

Thor refuses to allow Clark to get any more work done, giving a playfully stormy glare at even the sight of his phone emerging from his back pocket to record, even a festival song that Thor joined in upon. Clark answers every glare with a kiss, and they are given several little festival tokens - amulets made of woven straw and bits of glass or metal, beautiful tiny woven tapestries, little sculptures - all of Asgard seeming to delight in the happiness of their prince with his beloved.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

How do you think Rook would respond to MC!Reader going/went through a similar childhood? At least pertaining to the extreme mess, neglect and homebody parents.

I'd imagine MC would be absolutely relieved to be in a new different world rather than being trapped. Like Ramshackles not the best but it's a step up from what MC had; and they have Ghost friends (and Grim too I guess) to help clean it up. Not unlike a Disney princess and their familiars!

MC invites him to stay at Ramshackle during the breaks and summer. There they'd regale him with what it's like being the eldest child. Nevertheless MC feels deeply sympathetic towards him and wants to establish a place where he can be free. Together making a better home.

(Bonus points for him being romantically involved with MC)

SORRY THIS IS REALLY KINDA RAMBLY LMAO I hope it kinda. like tangentially answers your question if nothing else, I'm sorry I struggle to respond to asks about hyperspecific situations, but I'll try!!This is a really good question! I think we have slightly different interpretations of Rook, so this is my take on him in this scenario-

Rook is a very closed-off person when it comes to his personal life. He doesn't take kindly to being asked about his past, and the likelihood of him being open enough about his past to get MC to be sympathetic towards him, I feel, would be very low.

That being said. I do think there are hints MC could pick up on.

Let's say MC and Rook have been friends right from the very beginning, MC capturing Rook's attention as a being from a different universe, and Rook capturing MC's attention because of his Particular charm.

Let's say winter break rolls around, so about four months of being friends. Rook never goes 'home' for breaks, he just says he does to avoid any sort of confrontation on what he's doing over the break or if he has any family plans. He lets the mirror teleport him, and he spends his time in the woods rather than in the house. 'Home' looks more cluttered than ever, there are boxes starting to pile up outside, he can see through small gaps in the window the black mold continuing to fester on the walls, he can smell food decomposing in the midst of everything. He can see portions of the ceiling falling apart, he can see how splintered the kitchen cupboards are, he knows the integrity of his home is not dependable. He can see his dad struggling to bring food to his mother because of all the mess. He knows, his parents would be happy to see him for the first time in two years, but he would want to clean, and they would not let him. It's too much for him, he goes back to NRC.

He knows, that there is at least one person still at NRC, but likely more as he is aware many merfolk cannot return home due to the ice floes. The last thing he expects to find when he returns is an empty Ramshackle.

Two parts of his mind are immediately at war, one, trying to reason why you wouldn't be present, and if he should go find you. The other is the overwhelming compulsion to fix Ramshackle to the best of his ability. He remembers that the headmage asked you to tend to the fireplaces on campus, and despite his instinct to track you down, he starts fixing.

He isn't thinking very rationally in the moment, he just can't stand the thought of another person that he cares about, living in a dangerous, dirty home. You shouldn't have to walk around with shoes on all the time just to avoid splinters. You shouldn't have to use duct tape to patch over holes in the wall. You shouldn't have to be worried while you walk around your home because of rusty metal ware that threatens to cut you.

He travels to the woodworking classroom (bear with me for this one) to grab a sander, hacksaw, axe and a few other tools. Even though it's freezing outside, he cuts down wood, and brings it inside to dry out. Every splinter he sees, he sands it down, every wayward nail and screw, removed or sawed and filed down to no longer pose a threat to you.

Somehow he's worked through the entire night. You're not home yet, and he's exhausted and paranoid, which only makes his compulsion to clean worse.

When you finally come home, Rook is furiously scrubbing away at dirt you can't see, and Ramshackle is in the best shape it's ever been. His hands are raw, and the bags under his eyes are the darkest you've ever seen them.

You're home, and Rook could not be more relieved, even as you take his hands and fuss over them, all he can do is plop his forehead on your shoulder before pulling his hands away from you enough to hug you.

Both of you are exhausted - you've dealt with an overblot and he's had a major mental breakdown and also worked himself way too hard. You don't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be alone, he ends up sleeping in the corner chair of your room, and Grim ends up curling up in his lap. Grim can faintly hear Rook mumble something about having had a pet once and missing her.

Rook doesn't want you to speak about that night, not the state you found him in, at all. But it was more than enough for you to be concerned.

He still can't handle Ramshackle, it's still reminiscent of the home he left behind, and there isn't much he can do to change that...however, he does notice you inviting him to 'hang out' whenever there is a break coming up, and he takes you up on it, usually also planning activities for you two to do either outside or in the pristine environment of Pomefiore. It's not until post chapter 5, once renovations are done, that he really feels he can go to Ramshackle and be comfortable there. By then, it's in a state that is structurally sound and does not resemble home, and also easier to maintain the cleanliness of the entire dorm.

It's the one place where he finds he can sit down and be still for a while, without being on the hunt.

It's the one place where he knows he made a physical, meaningful difference to someone.

It's the one place that feels like home.

But that's nothing he did. That was you. :D

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

I'm curious, if the cast have any hobbies they do in their free time or to relax?

(The world is too chaotic, hope they all have a peaceful day😔)

Thank you so much for sending this, the crew definitely needs those moments of relaxation and fun…

Locke loves playing his viola, playing music is very therapeutic for him, releasing the tension and giving voice to the emotions it is so very hard for him to speak about. Like the violin it’s an instrument that elicits haunting sounds and sadness, but it’s darker and richer in tone. He gets so ticked off when people mistake it for a violin. 

He likes reading nonfiction books, with the exception of a few novels, and also enjoys attending concerts where he can close his eyes and sink into the music like water…but because his work is so important to him, he doesn’t really make time for himself to do such things. 

Once upon a time, he loved playing chess with Regal. 

Regal plays the piano, a versatile instrument adept at both classic and contemporary music. Playing is very therapeutic for him, releasing tension and turmoil and allowing him a way to “speak” to the emotions so many would be horrified by. 

He loves to read a variety of different things, nonfiction and novels and plays and poetry and essays, and enjoys attending the theater as well. However, due to his work, he’s very busy and hasn’t had much time to himself. 

Once upon a time, he loved playing chess with Locke. 

Sorcha adores reading, and her absolute favorite book is “The Phantom of the Opera” - she’s very proud to have a first edition in her personal library! She is very much a patron of the arts in general, always looking for new art galleries and museums to explore, theaters and shows to attend. She also loves being wealthy enough to be able to shop at high fashion stores for all sorts of treasures to adorn herself with, and all the owners are thrilled that a beauty like her wears their wares…

Lorcan’s biggest passion is boxing, he’s an absolute legend in the ring and loves to lose himself in a good match, facing off with a worthy opponent. He also loves swimming as well but doesn’t get to do it too much, which is a shame as it really helps with his aches and pains. For quieter moments he likes to whittle and play cards. 

Rilla’s biggest passion is dancing, a love that her mother passed onto her, it is her joy and her escape from whatever weighs her down. She also LOVES designing and sketching dresses and clothing, and would love to bring her creations to life but she’s never been able to find someone to teach her how to sew. She also is known in her social circle to be a dab hand at crafting some stunning flower crowns. 

Lu loves to write, especially stories about magic and fantasy and girls finding themselves through challenges. She visits the library and bookshops whenever she can. She also enjoys watercolors, especially landscapes and flowers. 

Brig was taught to box by her father and she’s been a devoted boxer ever since, and is an absolute beast in the ring. She finds working out to be very relaxing as well, a good way to center herself and enjoy the burn of her body. 

Bogdan loves composing music, he’s very talented and likes to take his inspiration from the natural world. He’s also avid about charting the stars, and spends much of his time studying the skies.

Casimir will actually be gaining a hobby in the comic! But as for right now, he loves playing cards and gambling, especially when the stakes are high…

Clifford likes good old fashioned English hunting, shooting after crickets and beetles and birds (they aren’t sentient in this world). 

Thank you again for sending this! As we introduce more characters I’m gonna come back to this post and reblog it with their favorite hobbies, this was a wonderful character exploration exercise. And it doesn’t even touch on what the couples like to do together…

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

Feather-light kisses on their knuckles + Kisses on the back of their hand

✧ ━━ 𝟏𝟎𝟐 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

The day had finally come for Vladimir to pay his promised dowry; he had vowed Robin the world, and this small step was just the start. It had been a swift and ruthless maneuver, a calculated dismantling of alliances that left the remnants of House Swain shattered and vulnerable. Drawing Raum's ever watchful eyes away left an opening to slip through and after that it was easy enough to paint the walls red with those lingering behind. The Trifarix Council of the Immortal Bastian now stood before him, its grand table looming empty and bare within the ghostly hall. Robin slowly approached one of the towering windows and ran his fingertips across the cold stone, all of it felt hazy ━ ; the pleasure almost too much to bear, the euphoria of it all was too good to be true. But … it was.

His verdent eyes peered outside, finally noticing the grisly spectacle that lay sprawled. before him; the former members of House Swain dangled lifelessly from the fortification’s walls: a warning of what was to come if any of House Swain's allies came to fulfill their oath. A soft smile graced his lips. Now the only thing left to do was to introduce Jericho to his red radiant destiny, and send his severed head in a box to Ionia.

But for now, he was content with merely gazing upon his resplendent future. The scorching sun dipped low on the horizon line, casting a warm golden hue over the Immortal Bastian to illuminate the towering spires and bustling streets below. Oh how far he had come. He had been but a mere Zaunite rat, scuttling through the shadows and chewing on filth in a desperate bid for survival, Robin now stood at the precipice of a life he had only dared to dream of. He had been cloaked in the suffocating embrace of fear and worry, but no more. He had nothing to fear alongside his beloved fiancé. After all, every leader needed a right hand and advisor … who better suited than Robin? The weight of destiny settled comfortably on his shoulders as he envisioned it all — a long life, a better life, finally within his reach.

He need only choke it from the swine whinging in the dungeons.

Beneath him, the city thrummed; merchants hawking their wares, laughter spilling from nearby taverns, and the distant clang of metal as the city’s guards went about their duties. Whether its inhabitants were blissfully unaware of the shifting tides of power, or just didn't care Robin couldn't quite tell. The Noxians were far too fickle a people, their allegiances driven solely by the allure of strength over loyalty, had never held true allegiance to the Grand General. It was a pity, certaintly. Swain, with all his cunning, would become just another name in a long list of fallen leaders whose corpses would soon be tossed aside as the week drew to a close. His kin would be soon to follow should they bother to show their faces.

Swift he was to turn his attention behind him at the sound of a familiar click! a noise that sent a thrill of anticipation running through him alongside his quickening heart. As he shifted, his breath caught in his throat and a smile broke over his features. There, framed by the tall, arched doorway of the council room, stood his beloved, Vladimir Vol Kalah Heigaari. He was always such a striking figure to Robin, and now he strode in with an air of regal confidence that only made the magnus' eyes twinkle. Conquest and Death looked good on his love, evident by who ━ or now what ━ was flanking him; the moaning, groaning, unsettling remnants of the Trifarian Legion. Their magnificent forms now transformed into grotesque shadows of their former selves. Their sockets glowed sickly red, shimmering with a malevolent light that betrayed the bravery they once embodied. At one time noble warriors, now reduced to mere drooling thralls, shuffling in mindless subservience at the prince's side.

Yet amidst the horror, Robin's gaze was drawn irresistibly back to his Count, who, upon stepping into the vibrant light that streamed through the high windows, transformed into a vision of glory. Golden rays of sunlight transforming his pale hair into an ethereal inferno, fiery strands cascading like liquid gold around his adoring features. Pale brows softened as he fully shifted to greet his fiancé, but words caught in his throat once the Camavoran prince knelt before him as though he were some sort of God. He could scarcely breathe as Vladimir's delicate fingers brushed against his palm! With tender reverence, his beloved lifted his left hand in his claws, their fingers entwining, and in that touch, Robin felt the world around them fade away.

Every nervous flutter in his chest felt magnified, a hitch in his breath, as he felt the warm brush of Vlad's lips teasingly glide across his cool knuckles. With a gentle lift of his chin, Robin allowed a pleased hum to break free, and his heart began to race like a wild drum banging in his chest. Finally Vlad’s lips pressed firmly against the back of his hand, and the younger's poor heart went soaring. The mage could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, a rosy flush that betrayed his calm demeanor with abandon, and his heart raced, nearly escaping as he noticed the corners of Vladimir’s eyes crinkle with delight, a knowing smile dancing on his lips. Robin pressed his own plush lips together, biting back a rush of shy exhilaration that threatened to spill over while watching his fiancé ascent to stand before him, hand in hand.

"Little Love," Robin felt his heart racing fast and he no longer tried to hold his smile back as Vladimir swept him off his feet and lifted him effortlessly into his arms with a gentle ━ yet firm ━ grip around his waist. Vampiric crimson drank in every detail of his face, and he saw his own yearning reflected back to him; how could he ever want to resist the allure of his fiancé? His songbird had learned to yield to the sinful call that pulled their bodies and hearts together ━ that bid him to let go and enjoy sheer mindless bliss. Waves of affection surged through him, blossoming like spring flowers at the way Vladimir eagerly peppered his throat with soft, fervent kisses along the the flush of his collar. He shuddered and gasped when sharp teeth sink down to bloom another mark, and then another, another, and another, until the pale column of Robin's throat, even the area surrounding his scar, had been inscribed with the tender offerings of his devoted lover. As the last kiss lingered on his skin, the Darkin drew away ever so slightly to purr against the shell of the mage's ear, "Mm, Robin-" A silky tenor, pulling over his name as a promise, a sonorous wish,

"This wretched place does not deserve to be blessed by your gaze."

Mesmerizing green eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as they stared up to Vlad half liddedly with a languid softness, a serene contentedness evident in every flutter of his wintry lashes. The soft contours of Robin's pale fingers glided along the fine edges of the prince’s ornate suitcoat, finally capturing the delicate fabric of his cravat in a playful hook. With a mischievous tug, he drew his taller fiancé closer until Vlad’s straight, perfect nose brushed against his. Eager fingers threaded through his love's pale hair, resting possessively at the nape of his neck as he drew the Count closer still. Kisses, soft and chaste, floated across the skin surrounding Vlad's mouth, each one a teasing promise, always just shy of the simmering depth the prince craved. "Then, my darling," Robin's sweet voice emerged as a sultry croon, smooth and enchanting like a siren's song, beckoning softly as he hovered near the delicate curve of Vlad's cupid's bow.

"Reshape it for me until its worthy of us."

[kinok0s-writings]

A late Valentine's Day gift for @bones-of-a-rabbit, I hope you and anyone else who reads enjoy!

The Sea-star and the Eclipse

The waves pushed against the wooden vessel sailing through them with a playful vigor, emerald waters choosing to be pacified this morning with their lulled sway, the breeze lax as it barely pushed against cared for sails, -one could blow against them and it would have the same effect. The wind carried the calls of ocean borne creatures, the morning gossip of nereid nymphs and the lull of a siren's call if one truly focused, the sun began its slow climb into the sky while letting those under its rays feel the warmth sought after as the seasons changed over seas. The sea itself held an enchanting shine this day, her usually murky waters held an appealing blue undertone to compliment the emerald shine she chose to wear today, a shade able to rival the richest of dyes, the skies holding a few clouds golden with the residue shades of sunrise and a calming tone blossoming from a fading magenta. A jovial tune joined the drifting gossip in the breeze as it rumbled out of your chest, attention occupied elsewhere while you searched through the horizon using your trusted spyglass; a beautifully crafted object made of cared for wood, combined with selectively chosen sea glass, and branded with a family crest that now only belongs to the lone sailor. It took the instinctive steadying of your body and a learned patience with the waves, but eventually after some moments had floated past like jellyfish caught in a riptide you could make out your targeted location in the near distance, a smile of anticipation emerging from the sight. Putting the tool away in the side of your belt you left the forecastle deck to change tack quickly lest you dared to miss the few and far in between gusts of crisp ocean air able to actually help move you to your destination. The captain’s ship wasn’t as small and nimble as most merchant boats come by, yet it wasn’t as large and regal as the militia or even pirate ships, your home upon the water was a perfect compromise of all the other vessels tied up nicely into one design. It was the most desirable for a sailor who wanted to hold more wares in the hold than other merchants, yet still keep it small enough that it was manageable with your lone person, all while holding onto some of the mobility others could only dream of. Of course that didn’t mean living on your lonesome upon this ship was anywhere close to being able to be described as easy work, often you would have to stay up and spend several sleepless nights battling with Poseidon, but it was what you preferred. Even though you could, you never would be able to settle down for an easy life, where was the fun in going through day by day if not with a challenge, albeit a challenge of routine? Admittedly, it was this very mindset that led you to more of the questionable adventures, like swimming in the ocean’s harsh waters for artifacts she tried to hide from your curious reach, or sometimes taking the paths no right minded captain would take without a death wish. If it wasn’t blatantly obvious by the occasional scar that decorated your skin, death was a mistress you often danced with for simply the thrill of the tale, and you've yet to stumble in your waltz together. While steering the rudder you held a concentrated gaze in your illuminated eyes, the sunlight reflecting the water's shine within your focused hues, giving a passionate effect to the emotions you refused to hide from the world, as you directed your ship towards the craggy cliffs, confident in your ability to traverse the waves.

Despite the misleading friendly name the cliffs had, no sailor wanted to sail through the anxiously narrow gap between them unless desperate, for it was rumored few if any passed through the cliffs alive, often by a trip only to be finished by a crew member having to man the decks alone without captain. Anyone who has listened to the drunken sailors at inns knew of the creature that populated the sharp rocks, living in underwater caves by the pass, killing off most of those who did manage to make it through unless they gave an offering to appease it. The matter at hand simply came down to whether those listening would believe the tales or not, and the fact they were brave, -or stupid, enough to physically sail through despite the warnings. You personally had come across creatures of myths while living on these waters before and lived to tell the tale, so rumors of a rampaging monster within the waters of the cliffs carried in the distant wind, you couldn't refuse the opportunity to find fact from fiction. It was your first passing through when you met him, and it was a memory you'll always look back on with a laugh, even if you couldn’t share the situation with any drinking buddies.

You could feel the adrenaline flooding into your fingertips as you grew closer to the craggy cliffs, knuckles going white with how tightly you held the wooden wheel, it was time to test if rumors were really just mere rumors, and hopefully make it out alive to tell the tale. The dark clouds over head were overlooked by your anticipating eyes, and you seemed to disregard the fact that the scent of geosmin had become stronger than a mere handful of moments ago.

As if mirroring the memory, the captain pushed themselves into motion, watching the currents keen eye as you shifted to try and pull your boat away from the jagged rocks that upturned like claws trying to carve into the wooden walls, an attempt to reopen healed scars. They were black and the water made them look oily, even in the beautiful light of such a nice day often forcing the you to run from the locked rudder wheel, -done by wedging it with an angled stick, to the ropes of the masts. It looked like such a tiring workout, but by simply observing your movements one could see the practice etched into every step, be it from how steady you pulled the ropes into place to how swift each footfall was, holding swift purpose in every action. You kept running through your routing to steer yourself into the near needle like opening leading to the cave that only those willing to face the rumored sea monster, a place nearly having gone undiscovered if not for by mere chance.

You grit your teeth while trying to make sense of anything through the pouring rain, raindrops falling so harshly it might as well have been hail striking your body to create such a similar stinging impact, you've nearly lost your footing several times already. Nearly stumbling you heard wood creak and were reminded of the fact you were far from happy with how close your dear ship has gotten to being pierced with those gnarly claws. It wasn't supposed to be such a cutthroat tango with the mistress, but to stumble like this when you had such a reputation to uphold was fiercely irritating, with only you to blame. The signs of the changing weather had all been there, you were just too caught up in the possibilities, making the storm feel as if had been sudden. Nearly out of anguish you sputtered liters off your lips and shook your head like a wet dog trying to get rid of the never-ending mask of rain and seawater, but it was during the shaking did your eye catch something. Was…was that a tail? It was a striking color, shaped like no fishtail you've ever seen, and it looked to have headed port, -directly into the cliffs, which was only odder due to the fact proceeding starboard was the way to leave, wait, no that wasn't as perplexing as you originally thought. Taking a hand to wipe a new layer of water off of your face, drops sticking to your eyelashes like dewdrops on spider webs, you directed the focus you could spare after the creature and where it vanished, searching with a newfound urgency, only to be rewarded with the sight of a small opening leading into what looked to be a cave large enough to shelter you for the night. It was risky, and whatever you saw could ambush you and your ship, but it wasn't as if you had many options, every other possibility washed away with every falling raindrop slapping your skin, the wind biting into your matted clothing and hair; you were going to be lucky if you didn't end up getting sick after this. Steeling your disposition you quickly changed tack to steer into the suffocating tight space, feeling as if you were drowning as the rain continued its cascading torrent while being shoved with a bullying force by the stressed waves. Despite it all though, with the new objective in mind, it was you who intertwined their fingers with a confident grip, taking the lead of the dance with lady death, refusing to go down without a fight.

The sailor slowly steered the ship portside, that jovial tune leaving your lips again with the near careless smile keeping the corners of your mouth upturned, a wordless noise encouraging itself the more it progressed, the few avians using the crevices in the rocks as nests seemed to even join in. It felt as if you've cut through the tight gap a hundred times, feeling none of the first time stress as the rocking waves passively pushed the vessel into the mouth of the somewhat hidden cave, the gold wrung out of they sky by now with the happy cobalt blue having taken over. Soon the bright sunlight was muted into dimmer tones, -which by all means was still fairly bright, by the stone ceiling engulfing your ship like a greedy frogfish, and the captain could hear another join the tune, a voice much more gifted when it came to songs in your opinion. Your smile could only brighten as you carefully lowered the anchor and raised the sails to tie them off, listening as another body moved through the echoing water, every sound reverberating throughout the rocky walls. Once you were sure all was set so your home didn't try to get close and personal to the dark minerals surrounding you, you leaned over the railing to look at the just as if not more than happy ocean borne waiting for you to notice he was present. Said companion once realizing you were indeed focusing on him,- a realization you could visibly watch as the smile filled with nothing but friendly pointed teeth broadened, opened his arms with expectancy, wanting you to jump into his arms so he could carry you down as you've done several times beforehand. The admittedly very appealing option could only make you laugh softly in appreciation even as you shake your head in refusal, disappearing to gather a rope ladder with delight when your large friend is in such a good mood. The thought was tugging at the back of your mind that it was nearly hilarious how today of all days would be so much of quite literally smooth sailing as it has been, even taking the time to excitedly recall your plan while you disappeared into your quarters to gather a large basket set aside in preparation of the hours to come. Taking but a momentary pause to make sure something specific was tucked safely within it, an object with enough weight you had to use genuine effort to move it, -a stark difference to its typically smaller near weightless counterparts, and enough meaning that could have easily doubled the energy spent carrying it alone. You made sure to keep a quick pace, not wanting to let your long tailed companion be forced to wait more than necessary, and the pleased trill that greeted your descending figure was enough reassurance to tide over your clouded mind for the day in comforting waves, as if the threat of fog had been blown away all at once. Steadily you scaled down the ladder until your feet were firm against the flooring, keeping you waist deep in the cool ocean water, occasional fits of warmer temperatures flowing in until shoved away lazily, the basket now being held above your head and pointedly away from the other. The aquatic creature moved to happily follow the land borne, curiously trying to reach for the basket and see what was packed only to be swatted away playfully, followed by a tutting click of your tongue, laughter upon your lips.

"Ah ah ah! Patience, you'll see what's in there soon Eclipse, but first, I have to ask, have you ever heard of valentine's day?"

A thoughtful expression passed across his features as he thought about the question, but it was obvious his mind was filled with sluggish minnows this morning, until eventually a defeated huff escaped him before he went with plan b, mischief in his scales. You knew it was coming, but still you couldn't hold in your amused chuckles as large webbed hands wrapped themselves around your being, easily lifting you up out of the water to be set tenderly on the rocky shore, -an area out of reach of the sea that was more of a mini island than shore, soon a large frilled head pressing into your side with a pair of dilated pupils; you still don't know how he learned to do such powerful puppy dog eyes. You shook your head as you gave one of his hands a pat, silently asking to be let go as you lowered the basket down beside your lap before you gently pet the sides of his head, pretending to look stern even if you both knew you were a sucker for the basilisk's ways. His continued to poke and tug on you like a curious child, tilting his head in your hold every now and then as he humored you, trying to keep your attention on him so you would give in when he obviously had no answer, that or he just wanted you to tell him so he can see the inside of the basked sooner. You were usually a lot more stubborn with these situations, but you decided that the suspense was truly killing him, -especially as the dramatic guppy made it very clear that was in fact what was happening, and chose to show him mercy, although it was sooner than you figured he could have lasted, only early noon. You could hear his tail splashing the water in despite his mocking show of withering away, all it took was a couple pats calling for attention before he revived himself, eager to hear what you were about to say.

"Well, Valentine's day is a day where we celebrate our loved ones. Couples, friends, and oftentimes family members will trade each other gifts to show their love and spend time together, a day of letting each other know they care. Many even use it as the day to confess romantic feelings. I can't say I know how it all started, but I can say I know its a lovely day to have a celebration, and I couldn't think of any better way other than to spend it with my favorite mate."

You couldn't help but watch fondly as he visibly registered the words, watching you speak like a child happy to learn, hanging onto every syllable with the same merit of climbing a cliff, and it was endearing to know just how important you seemed to be to him in order to stir this reaction from him. The fondness turned into giddy amusement as you watched his bewitching eyes widen when he realized the telling of your plan, specifically the fact you were going to give him a gift; you figured you’d give it after you both ate the arrangement of dishes you cooked the night prior, that way you both would be full enough to laze about comfortably The cry of a passing bird cut through without much disregard, evicting a chorus of responses, the comforting smell of the sea floating aimlessly in the cave not being overwritten by the aromas of the food in the basket, even coercing some curious feather bodies to see if there was slivers they could steal. It was relaxing, and staying with your favorite buddy you couldn’t feel any more at peace, because as much as you wouldn’t admit how you oftentimes felt on the ship one your own, -you were alone not lonely, there was something so charming to have such an intelligent being want to spend time with you as much as you did, curious of each other’s worlds. The lull of the waves bumping into the rocks around the two of you held a specific pattern, a reassuring sound telling of the power they had, even as you could distinct the noise of the strong tail hitting them, splashing with a happy sashay that reminded you of a dog off on mainland, and you distinctly had the urge to pet him just as much. Instantly you did what you could to sear these waking moments into your memory, it all was so vibrant even in the shade of the rocky shelter holding it all in its cupped palms, you couldn’t imagine forgetting how every breath shared between the two of you was filled with such content, it may as well come out of a myth. But, in a sense, that’s what he was supposed to be, wasn’t it? Chuckling you nodded in excited reply to his metal observation before turning away to begin setting the day’s activities out around you, pulling out the several containers of dishes, -most of the contents was food to appease your basilisk friend’s appetite, until you got to a collection of books. Once the leather bound bundle of stories were stacked behind you you grabbed the final thing inside, only you may have made a slight show of quickly hiding it out of sight nestled in your lap once you realized how he was intently watching everything pulled out, and the confused ‘mrr’ that sounded out as his head nudged your legs with gentle hands attempting to discover what you had hid made it worth it. You both were obviously encouraging each other with playful prodding, -something that could only make you appreciate the friendship you have somehow more than you already do, before you finally gave him a shove laughing, hiding the object under your jacket as you somehow had ended up onto your back in the small battle.

“No, that's your valentine’s gift! Now listen here you overgrown noodle, I figured we can eat the food I slaved over in the kitchen to make, then I'll give it to you, alright? Now come on, the sooner we get started, the more daylight we have to finish off that one book and start a new one."

After you situated yourself back into an upright position you wasted no time in uncovering the plates of food, the warmth they gave off instantly getting sucked away into the breeze, curious birds very noticeably edging themselves over in a horrid attempt to be sneaky with the presence of such a dangerous predator. The smile on your face began to slip though as you realized Eclipse seemed to go still, you couldn't even hear the splashing of his tail, so you looked up with slight concern, wondering what was swimming around in his head. What you saw didn't exactly reassure you either, there was a shadowy glint in his eyes, one you knew almost too well, and you tilted your head to try and get his optics to focus back onto you. His eyes were one of the many characteristics you loved about him, the optics that had undoubtedly taken the lives of so many before you, but you could never bring yourself to fear those enchanting colors, the way the specks of violet bled into the near golden orange like spilled paint. They just drew you in like the light bouncing within carved gemstones, and you were alright with that. What you weren't alright with was how his thoughts looked to have bit into his tail like a parasite, the vice grip in their jaws must have been uncomfortable as he began slowly sinking into the water, an action that stirred you into getting up to approach him slowly, hands outreached for his own. Shadows of dark whispers had begun swirling in your own mind nipping at your thoughts and despite how the day had been going you couldn't help but wonder if his sudden change in demeanor was due to something you've done, did you offend him? Were you too forward in assuming he would want to spend the entire day with you? Did you use the wrong words to describe your intentions again?

"Hey big guy, penny for your-"

Your words were cut off as his gaze locked into your own, nearly knocking you breathless as it felt as if he only just then remembered you were there, and then suddenly swam away like you had hollered at him. It felt like one of those shadows gave up for nibbles and instead took a bite of you to swam off with him, your hands still left in the air as you were frozen, watching his figure disappear into the fingers of outreached minerals, only able to register, yes, he did in fact just leave you to your own devices, as the only remnants of his presence were the disturbances in the water he so swiftly glided through. You had half a mind to chase after him be it by swimming or by rowing in the yawl, but even at your best you were a beached flounder compared to the ribbon eel in his natural element, your hands lowering in defeat as it dawned you all you could do now was to hope he returned. You were sure he had his reason for leaving you, surely he would be back, but even if you came up with enough reasons to overflood the seven seas it didn't make it hurt any less, you could only angrily shoo the birds stealing scraps of the food to vent out your confused anger. Not at him, but to you. You went ahead and planned ahead that the two of you would stay together well after the moon hung over your heads so even the stars hear your tales and wordless songs that could hold more meaning words would have ever given them, you planned this without him. You should have asked, you shouldn't have just jumped ship assuming he would be fine with it, sure the day was perfect for you, but was it for him? You should have run it by him beforehand to make sure he could tell you in the off chance that he was uncomfortable with the fact, instead you just sprung this upon him blinded with the image of smiles unable to leave your faces. Your thoughts turned against you, murmurs of berating words leaving your lips as you audibly cursed your stupidity until you decided that pacing around putting the sailors at the bars at mainland to shame would do you no good, especially if Eclipse decided to return. Your efforts of sailing here and preparing for this day have already been spent with the intent to stay over night and by Poseidon's trident, you were going to enjoy your planned stay with or without your anticipated guest. The overwhelming swarm of shadows couldn't keep up with you long enough to begin infiltrating your school of thoughts, you wouldn't let them as you busied yourself with the distraction of tasks that had to be done, probably looking like a curious reef fish exploring new spouts of coral. A blanket was cast across the rock floor, -out of reach of any rising tides, with a small tent made out of other blankets and a few pillows to cover you and the food; you had begun to grow tired with shooing away those thieving birds, you hadn't rung them a dinner bell and so help their bloodline if you barely miss getting poo'd on again they were going to be tomorrow's dinner. When you had done all that you could find needing to be done you decided that it wouldn't hurt for you to revisit one of your favorite list of fables with the dishes you never got to eat, even if you never touched the ones set to the side for a certain basilisk as they were drizzled with doubt, would he return to eat his serving?

The sunlight once seeping into the cave in powerful beams had crawled more into the waters than against the walls, the sun itself having slipped lower into the horizon as your fingers combed through the cared for pages and traced the leather cover, hues focused on each words that painted a lovely story in your mind's eyes, -a story needn't be grand and outlandish to be considered good in your opinion, when a bit of light was reflected into your gaze. Pausing you set the book to the side, your attention now on the object partially covered by the jacket you had shed in the spur of your work as your hands moved closer to retrieve the object, the black glossy surface triggering your very instinctive 'oo, shiny' reaction to the light making it sparkle, -the realization elicited a small amused smile on your lips. The surface was cool to the touch, but it wasn't biting, and despite it being larger than others, it felt comfortable to hold in your palms with a good weight. You turned it around in your hold absentmindedly, a finger tracing the the flaws caused by age forced into the strange surface that shone like metal, before moving onto the runes etched into it, markings that you knew you couldn't even attempt to comprehend. It was a language that, like the artifact itself, was from an era lost to legend. Your placated mind began to stir with mixed emotions, your hope had begun dwindling as the shadows made from escaping sunlight grew larger, and you even wondered if he would like such a gift, let alone know why you thought it had such importance. A small spiteful part of you was tempted to simply toss it into the waves and let him find it on his own, -their slow pace had lost the calming appeal to now seem just downright antagonistic, but you instead tucked it back under your jacket in favor of the plate holding biscuits before returning to bury yourself back into familiar arms of the old superstitious myths you believe wholeheartedly. You let time flow past while you read, the sun feeling to move like a drifting jellyfish with reckless abandon, the tides had slowly begun to rise while reaching for the moon, - not quite high tide yet, as the waves gained more momentum in their lazy dance. You had since lit a lantern to brighten the pages of your second book, the first having been finished long enough for a chunk of this one to have been read, when the sounds of water stirring forcefully met your ears, causing you to immediately perk up. With scales vibrant enough that even in the darkening waters you could see every perfect imperfection, a crown of frills and horns making his head look like a sun, and a tail long enough it could wrap around the width of your ship twice, you watched as the creature you were far from certain would even return cut through the water effortlessly in order to approach the shore you were nestled on top of. As he rose from the water you sprung to your feet, ready to get answers and apologize in the chance you truly had done something wrong, giving him no chance to swim off again before at least hearing you out with every step you took.

"Eclipse! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry if I had upset you, why'd you swim off like that? I was scared you weren't coming back."

You didn't really expect much, so when he quite animatedly hid something behind his back with two of his arms sporting a bright grin of someone who had a secret to share, it probably was one of the least scenarios you could have seen coming once he returned. Seeing your confusion a low chuckle rumbled from his chest as his other set of hands began to make gestures, specific motions slow enough that you could pick up, and once you did the emotion you could recognize most among your internal near-overfilling pot was pride. Had he been practicing? After a few moments of processing you suddenly felt bashful for how quickly you had assumed the negative side of things, running a hand through your hair with a sigh before making eye contact with those gems you treasured more than any rock you could find in the sea.

'Needed gift for mate.'

"But you didn't, I wasn't expecting, actually, you know what? I can't wait. Here's an idea, knowing how excited we both are to see, why don't we exchange our gifts now and eat later, don't move alright?"

You chuckled at the reluctant yet happy nod you received, knowing he probably wanted to go first but the anticipation of his own was more than enough to sweeten the deal for him to go along with your small demand. You pointedly decided to ignore how despite the chill becoming noticeable in the breeze without the light of the sun to warm its touch you could feel how your cheeks grew warm or the fact that with just the simple action you couldn't keep the smile off your face. You kept the jacket draped over his gift to keep it hidden until the last moment, and while you turned to approach them again, you hesitated as the air left your lungs. He was watching your every move intently, the gleam in his eyes made his powerful gaze have a lovestruck appearance, it was such an unbashful raw emotion put on display for your eyes and your eyes only to see it made your heart flutter in an unmistakable way. Filling your lungs with air again you gave him a genuine smile and pushed yourself forward, unable to hide the fact that the mere presence of the ocean borne could dispel any worry clouding your being, a ray of sunlight that scared off the unwanted shadows and the glow of the moon that gave comfort to the lost sailors. As you got close enough he extended a hand after noticing how it took both of yours to hold whatever was under the jacket, and once in his palm you pulled the clothing off like a magician. hilariously enough his palm had dwarfed the object to look like the usual versions of it, but after a curious coo you weren't sure he realized escaped him you immediately began to give him some context, missing the vague flash of recognition in his eyes.

"Remember that one tale, the sailor and the moon? Well you know how the moon gave him that device to guide him to the love of his life, right? As I was sailing one day I was swept into uncharted waters that took me to a lagoon, and things started to feel familiar like I had seen them before, or at least heard of it. Well I fished around in this waterlogged head of mine and by the time I could see the pieces of sunken timber I realized I knew where I was not in the sense I had been there before, but instead because I had read about it. I did some swimming, -don't give me that look I made sure it was safe first, and came across the compass seemingly from myth."

While you spoke it was if the world silenced itself so nothing would interrupt you as you changed your focus from his face to the artifact in question, excitedly opening it and pointing out everything you've discovered about it after countless hours spent examining it since you pulled it from the wreckage, from the strange runes to the small things that was just as described in the tale. Of course you were fully aware of the possibility it was just random compass, after all it wasn't uncommon for replicas to be made from the old sea tale, -a tribute of admiration and oftentimes luck, but the sheer amount of coincidences in simply finding it alone was enough to make even the most pessimistic old sea dog to believe. As you talked, there was that heartwarming expression again, the one that made you feel like you were the brightest star in his night sky, the basilisk eagerly nodding along with your words in matching fascination, all as you were once again teaching him a new world with your mere fingertips. He looked on in what you dared to recognize as loving, your eventually realized your own expression must have been just as admiring as his own because when he realized you were finished talking after waiting for you to add something only to catch your gaze it looked like he was nearly overwhelmed with emotions. You could feel your breath catch in your throat as he leaned over with lidded eyes to press your foreheads together in what felt like a tender gesture of affection, and your heart tripped over itself as you could only press against him in similar fashion, only giving a slight nuzzle before taking a step back. In the excitement you nearly forgot this was a trade, -you weren't the only one, and it seemed that with a quick assessment between the two of you, it was only you that truly had the bashful awareness, his own adorable blush visible but he was so unwavering it looked like he knew exactly what he was doing, and you attempted to play it off by leaning over his shoulder in a half attempt of peeking at his clutched hands. Quickly he moved the other way and pulled it even further out of sight, the light of the lantern growing brighter than the natural source of light besides his ethereal hues, and even though you had spent most of the day in a fret on your own, it was moments like these that made up for it. You couldn't hold in your laughter as he mocked you earlier in the day, clicking his tongue in a 'tsking' manner before shifting the mysterious object into one palm and getting closer to you, the waves voicing their disturbance while forcefully folded into themselves as he leaned to grab a wrist with two hands, -guiding them into a bowl with his own moving to cup yours, and another covering your eyes. His hands were warm as they nearly engulfed your own, a strange softness to them as he gently held onto you even after something smooth and round was set into your awaiting palms just as the anticipation had begun poking too harshly into your patience reserves. You could hear his smooth breathing as your fingers grasped onto the object, every shift both felt and heard, and just as you were about to voice an impatient question he lifted the hand restricting your sight, killing the words on your tongue to replace them with a gasp of awe. In your palms was perhaps the biggest pearl you had ever seen, it was the size of a large orange with the weight to match, with colors you've never imagined to see on such a gem. The usual milky surface was instead composed of the abyss the deep dark parts of the twilight waters were made of, but while the last bits of the sunlight were sucked into the orb you could see the iridescent shine of violet and yellow tones, as is the sunset itself had dusted its colors into the flawless sphere. Your eyes began to sting with your very own saltwater at the beautiful gift as you moved, -the pearl clutched to your bosom with both palms cupped around it like it was but a delicate egg, looking at your observer with a smile so bright your cheeks hurt before kissing his cheek.

The blush that accompanied the dopey smile made up of friendly sharp teeth assured you the taste of seawater on your lips was worth the while as you admired your basilisk valentine. Carefully balancing your new prized possession in one palm you used the other to grab one of his hands to take him to your tent, big enough to be Eclipse proof, only to let go as you situated yourself in your resting area close to the dark waters. He followed immediately after, arms hugging your legs with his head resting upon your lap, the lantern's flame proudly being the both of your only light source as it illuminated both of your enchanted expressions, you had fallen under one another's spell and even though it wasn't easy neither would dare to complain. The moon had taken over by now, the stars speckled into the night sky were reflected so brightly you could see them shimmered in the restless waves, even as the near completely blackened emerald color was engulfing any chance to seeing whatever may lurk within. With Eclipse at your side, -or on top of you in the specifics, you couldn't really have a fear of the sea and her dangerous spawn, not when you were able to look at possibly one of her most life threatening children with such love and be have it be returned. The rest of that night you spent in each others presence lying by or on top of each other sharing food, reading stories, even coming up with new songs for the breeze to hear, until eventually you had fallen asleep to dream of the memories you've made today; shortly he joined you in sleep's embrace after watching your peaceful figure longingly with nothing but admiration. Land and ocean borne slept together that night, both unaware of the opened compass whose arrow spun until pointing at both of them, knowing their destination has been completed; connecting them with a love that the tides and the moon couldn't rival, a love to be as eternal as the sea.

[entamesubs]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Go Rush!! Episode 110 Sub Release

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There are translation notes below, so spoilers ahead.

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ワレ ware Zwijo's personal pronoun & Sabyuas' imitation

I wrote a very lengthy translation note going into the way I translate character voices in the last episode's translation notes.

I also wrote about how we translate Zwijo's way of speech before in a short style guide (some parts are a little outdated now, but most of this post still holds).

Given how important it is for this episode, I'll write a little more on it.

Previously, I said Zwijo gave off somewhat of a royal or regal feeling, but with 90+ episodes between then and now and almost 2 full years of hearing Zwijo speak more, I would like to correct that. His presence and speech is more akin to that of a decorated general, less nobility or royalty. These aren't mutually exclusive, but the aesthetics are different between the two.

Zwijo speaks with a lot of authority and always sounds rather confident about himself. Not in an arrogant way, but in a way born from experience. Someone who has decades and centuries of conflict under his belt and knows what does and doesn't work.

So when Sabyuas imitates him this episode, he is attempting to emulate the behaviors and speech of someone way outside of his league, so to speak. He emulates Zwijo on the surface, but does not really understand who he is as a person. This isn't my speculation, but the writing of the episode itself showing how he assumes Zwijo's decisions with no basis except his own biases. It is because of this that he loses against Epoch, since he is too caught up in being like the Zwijo he has enshrined in his head, instead of actually getting to know him or the way he thinks.

Anyway, this is a long way to say that I really appreciate the attention to detail in character quirks from the writers. Like I said in last episode's note, this usually isn't something that gets translated well or even at all across language barriers, and it's because it's something that's very hard to do. Of course, we choose words and sentence structure carefully when translating these characters (especially in regards to Yuudias, who has one of the more challenging quirks to translate), but to match the same "feel" Zwijo gives off in the original Japanese is close to impossible.

All I can do is tell you how I interpret his speech and hope our word choice gets it across from there.

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