#also I love the concept were the shadow on his face connects with his hair- looks fabulous and I don't gotta draw a hairline✨

[trashyandtiredsol]

An assortment of Kurt Wagners cuz yes

[rainybyday]

ok so before I go on and start posting about my flower au I need to put this out there about my Jazz Witch au.

oh boy

So Jazz is a Witch au was not something I thought I would make a fic about but that seems to be the case based on how long and how much time I'm dedicating to write about it. Go figure.

As of right now, I have a few concepts of what I want to make Jazz as a Witch of. Because let us face it, she has to have some sort of theme so I can make it seem more connected to the Ghost and how they have their own themes based on their deaths or ambitions as they die. I want Jazz to connect to something grand or small, something that makes her uniquely Jazz.

So first - Elements

I can make Jazz focus on an element as her theme, just like how Danny has Ice powers. I can make Jazz have fire or even lighting powers.

Fire would be fun to play around with, making her hair light on fire or connecting her fire with the Victorian ghost girls who got burned at the stake because they were all accused of being witches. If I also remember right, one of her ancestors was also a Witch hunter so I see a bunch of potential there.

But if she were to have something like Lighting then I play around with the trauma of Danny getting electrocuted to death and have some sibling angst with it all because while Danny may love Jazz he will not get over his death that easily. Especially if one of the causes of his death is also a power that his sister, who he sees as safe, has as her element.

Secondly - Minor Concepts

Yet I can play around with minor concepts as well. Concepts that are like healing or guiding, remembered or bonds. Like, think of minor gods kind of concepts where the concepts are not that big but are still universally used.

If you're still confused, think of mystical pokemon vs legendary pokemon. You have pokemon of music, victory, and wishes while there are other pokemon that are of land, space, and sea.

Minor concepts seem both overpowering yet just the right amount of power as well since a lot of au's do have Danny as Ghost King or Ruler over Death and such, so it would be fun to have Jazz as the sister of the Ghost King and being titled the Witch of Remembrance or of Shadows.

Like a smaller domain that Jazz rules over.

Third - Major Concepts

While unlike the minors these are the ones you would definitely think of as "strong". Major concepts, and I have a smaller post about them here, are Space, Death, Time, Fate, Life, and Universe. Or at least the ones I wrote about back then. Of course, I can expand it to things like Knowledge or Justice and all sorts of Major Concepts that she can connect to. But at the same time, they seem to be very overpowering and it is a whole other journey to process and such. I mean, I want to write a short fic but making Jazz a major concept and only writing 8 chapters might seem lackluster for the power she was given.

So? Thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas?

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Two

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Hot Make Out.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.5k

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You don't always spend your dreams within his arms. You know he is busy with his tasks in the Dreaming and often spent your free time with the denizens of the realm. It was ridiculous to think your free time consists of you not having sex. But alas, you can't fuck away your real life relationship woes with a dream or nightmare you've never actually seen. Even if he was the Adonis of your dreams.

Dreams. Hah! You snicker at yourself because was your Dream Lover anything but the Adonis of your dreams? Perhaps an Adonis with a personality, one you have come to adore and cherish. Yes, your Dream Lover is your best friend, closest confidant, and, well, your dream lover. And to think you had only wanted a friend to talk to! That effort has failed rather spectacularly.

"Kora!" At the call of your name, you look up to see Fēlix, the dream of luck and happiness, and your best friend during the night. The dream resembles a baby faced boy with gentle blue eyes and luscious blond hair you were jealous of the softness. That's were the humanness stops. While he has pale skin, all throughout his body glimmers gold, like someone has pat him down with gold leaf and it has stuck, firmly. Then there's the massive cardinal compass smack dab in the center of his chest that glows with golden ethereal light. It doesn't help that Fēlix only wore trousers and his fancy robe which never fully covers his chest.

Your dream best friend draws attention everywhere he goes both for his inhumanely beautiful looks and literally glowing warmth. Have you mentioned that his hair also seems to float around like it doesn't understand the concept of gravity? It is entirely unfair that your Dream Lover and your dream best friend are both cruelly beautiful and you are just you.

"Hey Fē," you greet, looking up from the bin of peaches you had been absentmindedly thinking over. You have a partially eaten one in your hand and the juices have long since ran down your palm to your wrist. Nothing that couldn't be licked clean later.

Fēlix beams, his smile bright enough to chase away any lingering shadows that occasionally haunt you for attention. Some nightmares were like needy puppies. "I thought you'd be with him tonight," he says, the compass on his chest glowing a bit brighter.

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "He's busy, I guess. Not every night is about us. Also, you don't need every detail of my night time sex life."

Fēlix's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious. "But that's why I'm friends with you! To get all the juicy moments of your mysterious tryst with whomever has captured your heart." You snort at him and he chuckles before continuing, "still the realist, I see."

"Someone has to be," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. You pluck a peach from the bin and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, his movements as fluid as a ballerina. He is perfect at everything and if you weren't acutely aware that he was made to be perfect, you would be raging with jealousy.

"Have you ever wondered what he looks like?" Fēlix asks, biting into the peach with relish. His head tilts and tuffs of blond hair float with the motion.

"Every night," you admit. "But it's part of our deal."

"Strange deal," he muses, wiping juice from his chin. "To love someone without ever seeing them."

You think about your dream lover's voice, how it wraps around you like velvet in the dark. Just like how his touch brings you such ecstasy. "Love doesn't need eyes," you say softly. "And this way vanity doesn't cloud our judgment.”

"Vanity doesn't cloud your judgement," Fēlix corrects you with smirk. "Your dream lover, however, is completely smitten."

"I know what I look like, Fē, he didn't make a vain choice." You say with a snort. Slowly moving away from the peaches and towards the fountain at the center of the market. You take a seat. "it's the only thing that brings me true happiness because in the waking world there is so much toxic vanity, you can never truly know who you are dating until they show their true colors."

Fēlix nods, thoughtful. "True enough. But curiosity is a powerful thing."

"I have my moments," you admit with a wry smile. "that's why you're friends with me, remember?"

"Oh no, I'm just here for the retelling of your spicy, passionate sex life." He chuckles in fake exaggeration before he sits beside you on the edge of the fountain. The water sparkles under the dream sky, casting shimmering reflections on both of you. "How's real life treating you?" he asks, voice falling gentle once more.

"Real life's... real," you say with a sigh. "Nothing magical about it."

"Then let's make this moment count," he suggests, holding up his half-eaten peach like a toast.

You touch your own peach against his and take a bite, savoring the sweetness that seems more intense here in the Dreaming.

As you savor the last bits of the peach's sweetness, Fēlix suddenly glances over his shoulder, his golden compass glowing a bit brighter. "Duty calls," he says, standing up with a reluctant sigh. "Dreamers need their luck."

"Of course," you say, watching him float away with a wave. His presence always feels like sunshine, even in the Dreaming's twilight. Looking down at your eaten peach, you watch in satisfaction as the pit dissolves in your fingers and golden sand floats up, only to disappear. Oh how you loved the magic of this realm!

You wander through the market, letting the surreal scenery of the Dreaming envelop you. Stalls burst with colors you can't name and scents that tug at long-forgotten memories. It never ceases to amaze you how vibrant and alive this place is. You pass by a quaint bed and breakfast nestled between two towering dreamscapes. The sign reads "The Slumbering Sanctuary." It's a cozy, ivy-covered building that radiates warmth. You hear commotion inside and decide to peek in.

"Help! Someone, please!"

You step inside to find a flurry of activity. Dreams shaped like fluttering sheets of parchment dart around, their faces etched with worry as they fret to and fro. You haven't seen such panicked dreams in ages.

"What's going on?" you ask one of them, who looks particularly harried.

"Oh, it's a disaster!" the dream exclaims, nearly colliding with you as it flits by, it's sheet billowing and wafting a pleasant scent of detergent. Freshly showered it seems. "We have a large number of guests arriving soon—more than we've ever had! And we're terribly understaffed because of the recent surge in mortal dreams."

You can see the chaos: beds unmade, tables unset, and dream dust settling on everything. The master of the realm had been gone for so long that the workload and bookings had slowed down to the point of no business. Now that the realm is thriving once more, the dreams look frazzled and overworked.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you offer.

The flustered sheet pauses for a moment, considering your words. Then the edges of it's sheet begins to flap excitedly. "That would be wonderful! Could you help us prepare the rooms? We're so behind schedule."

"Of course," you say, rolling up your sleeves—well, metaphorically speaking since you're in the Dreaming and the clothes you wear have no sleeves. "Just point and I'll take care of it."

You dive into the whirlwind of activity, your hands busy smoothing bedspreads and fluffing pillows. The sheets whisper against your skin as you tuck them in, and the dream dust glows faintly in the soft light filtering through the windows.

"Thank you, thank you," one of the parchment-like dreams flutters around you, clearly relieved. "The guests will be here any moment."

"No problem," you reply, straightening up and surveying your work with satisfaction. "Just happy to help."

You move to the next room, your thoughts wandering to your dream lover. You wonder where he is tonight, what duties might be keeping him away from you. As you finish adjusting the final pillow, a soft breeze rustles through the room, carrying with it a familiar scent.

Before you can turn around, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into the linen closet adjacent to the room. The door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into darkness.

"You greeted everyone but me, my love," his voice purrs in your ear, a low vibration that sends shivers down your spine.

"Busy night," you manage to say in a pathetic excuse, heart racing as his hands slide up your arms.

His touch sends electric currents through your skin, spreading need to every corner. "Not too busy for you," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant hum that vibrates against your ear. "Since you so thoughtfully volunteered yourself.”

You shiver as his hands glide from your arms to your wrists, capturing them gently but firmly. He raises one of your hands to his lips, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips part slightly, and you gasp when his tongue flicks out, tracing the line of dried peach juice from your wrist.

The sensation is intoxicating. His tongue is soft but insistent, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through you. He moves slowly, savoring every taste, as if the juice were a rare nectar. Your knees weaken as he works his way up from your wrist to the tips of your fingers.

When he reaches your fingertips, he takes each one into his mouth, sucking gently before releasing them with a soft pop. "You taste divine," he whispers against your skin, the words vibrating through you like a caress.

Your breath hitches as he moves to your other wrist, repeating the ritual with the same deliberate slowness. The darkness of the linen closet amplifies every touch, every sensation. His tongue dances along your skin, tracing patterns that make you dizzy with desire.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling. His hands continue to roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a familiarity that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

When he finally releases your wrists, you're trembling. You can feel his breath against your neck now, warm and inviting. "I missed you," he says softly, and there's an edge to his voice that makes your pulse quicken even more. His words were so weak, vulnerable even, yet filled with longing.

You open your mouth to respond but find that words have abandoned you. Instead, you reach out in the darkness, finding his face by touch alone. Your fingers trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his lips.

He captures one of your hands again, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each fingertip tenderly. "Let's not waste any more time," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide under your shirt, the heat of his palms igniting a fire on your skin. Each touch is deliberate, a slow exploration that leaves you breathless. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours in the confined space of the linen closet. The scent of him surrounds you, a heady mix of earth and something darker, more primal.

His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head back to give him better access. He kisses a path from your collarbone to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You shudder, fingers gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault on your senses.

You feel his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it dripping like ecstasy. His hands move higher, fingers grazing the edge of your bra before slipping beneath it. You arch into his touch, craving more of the electric connection between you.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that leaves you dizzy. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and teasing until you're gasping for breath. You respond with equal fervor, hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His hands continue their journey beneath your clothing, tracing patterns on your skin that make you ache with need. When he finally cups your breasts, you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. His thumbs circle your nipples through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You can feel his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent. It mirrors your own longing, a need that has been building with every touch, every kiss. You break away from his mouth just long enough to catch your breath before diving back in, kissing him with a hunger that surprises even you.

You melt into his kiss, every nerve in your body electrified by his touch. His hands continue to explore, mapping out the contours of your body with a reverence that makes your heart ache. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the heat and darkness and the overwhelming need that pulses between you.

Time loses meaning in the Dreaming, each moment stretching out like a ribbon of desire. His kisses become more urgent, more insistent, and you respond with equal fervor. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

But all too soon, the edges of your reality start to blur. You can feel the pull of the waking world, like a distant tug at the back of your mind. You break away from his mouth with a gasp, your forehead resting against his as you struggle to catch your breath.

"I don't want to wake up," you whisper, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want to stay here with you."

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. "You have to wake up, Kora," he says softly, his voice filled with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "You are mortal. You have a life to live in the waking world."

You shake your head, pressing closer to him as if that could somehow anchor you here in the Dreaming. "But I'm only truly happy here," you confess. "The waking world is so... empty without you."

He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of longing through you. "I know," he murmurs against your skin. "But you have responsibilities there. People who care about you."

You close your eyes, trying to hold onto this moment for just a little longer. The scent of him surrounds you, grounding you even as reality begins to intrude. "I wish I could stay," you say softly.

"So do I," he replies, his voice heavy with regret. "But we will always have our nights together."

The room around you starts to dissolve, the dreamscape fading into the harsh light of morning. You cling to him for one last moment, memorizing the feel of his arms around you.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispers as the world around you shifts and changes.

And then you're awake, lying in your bed with the morning light streaming through the window. The familiar ache of longing settles in your chest as reality crashes down around you.

Another day in the waking world begins, but all you can think about is returning to him tonight.

Date Published: 9/20/24

Last Edit: 9/20/24

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[m-jelly]

@ladycheesington presented this idea to me on discord and we chatted backwards and forwards for a bit and I wanted to make this idea of hers come to life.

To love Levi

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Fluff, romance, love, cute, doting on Levi, showering Levi in love.

Concept: Levi feels a little insecure so you shower him with affection.

Note: There are mentions of male private parts, but only one line. The rest of this is SFW

Tag list: @ladycheesington @skittlelover69 @levisbrat25 @li-anne @nbinairyn @strawberrybunny123 @nyxiieluna @galactict3a @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6

His soft hand lay flat as loving fingers traced the different scars and lines. Soft lips connected with sensitive skin before a playful bite caused a deep chuckle. Loving eyes locked onto grey-blue ones. A gentle hand caressed a strong jawline to feel slight stubble. Plump lips chased soft ones, but they were turned away. Eyes became downcast and a heart filled with worry as the air grew cold.

You gently cradled your boyfriend’s face as worry consumed you. “Something wrong?”

His steel blue eyes avoided your own as a shadow came over him. “I’m fine.”

You gasped as those two words rang in your head. “I know those two words very well.” You shifted closer to him on the soft clean sofa as your blanket dragged off your body. “They mean you are not well. Talk to me.”

His perfect pearly white gnawed on the inside of his cheek as emotions bubbled inside of him from shame and embarrassment to sadness. “I’ve been feeling a little insecure lately.”

You sat back on your legs making your thighs look plumper to the man who adored biting them. “Do you want to talk about it? Is it something specific?”

He let out a long sigh. “It’s my body, looks and me as a person. Also, my height…” He whined a little. “I just don’t think I’m good enough for you. People at work were looking through magazines at different famous men and I am shorter than most. I also look scary.” He gulped hard as he felt like fish scales were stuck and wouldn’t go down. “I look like I don’t sleep at all. I look mean. My tone is always harsh. I swear a bit. My humour is dirty.” He fought tears as his heart felt like it was going to snap. “I’m not sociable. I’m terrible.”

You felt like you were going to cry at Levi pouring his heart out. You could see his internal fight going on as he resisted the call to sob. You moved towards him and straddled the man you loved. You nestled comfortably on his lap and locked eyes with the man you loved as his heart raced. He closed his eyes as your hands ran over his cheeks and lovingly caressed him. You pressed your lips against his forehead and hummed as you did. You hoped that your love and adoration would come through.

You raised his head so his gaze locked onto yours. You smiled sweetly and placed Levi at ease. “I don’t agree with anything you’ve said. However! I know saying that won’t change the switch in your head.” You held his hands and smiled. “Levi, it’s completely normal to feel this way sometimes. Everyone feels self-conscious sometimes about things they dislike about themselves or don’t think something is good enough. I feel this way often.”

Levi’s eyes widened. “What? Really? No! You’re wonderful and perfect.”

You hummed a laugh as his face pressed against your breasts and wrapped his head in a loving hold. “You’re not alone, my love.” You played with his soft raven hair and let your boyfriend nuzzle. “Would you like to hear what I think about you?”

He raised his head and shyly nodded as he began to worry about what you might say. “Yes, but please be honest with me.” His thin brows furrowed. “Just promise me that you won’t blow smoke up my ass just because you love me.”

You let out a sweet musical giggle. “I promise.” You released a sigh as you processed your thoughts. “Well, I think I’ll start with your looks.”

He whimpered a little. “All right, I’m ready.”

You gripped his shoulders and massaged the thick muscles. “About your height.”

He groaned and expected something bad. “Go ahead.”

You placed a delicate kiss on his lips. “I adore your height. You’re the ideal height for me. I can easily kiss and cuddle you. I have easy access to all your wonderful parts and I can’t imagine you any different.”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “You do like grabbing me and kissing me.”

“I do.” You hummed a gentle laugh before massaging your fingers in Levi’s hair. “I love your hair. It’s so thick and silky. I really love playing with it so much and it just calms me. It’s just so perfect and smells incredible.” You leaned closer and inhaled the delicate coconut and mango smell. “Mm, delicious.”

Levi blushed hard as you played with his hair. He felt comfort from small actions like this. You would play with his hair for hours on end and it’d make him sleepy. He’d nuzzle your chest or lap and just enjoy your loving touches.

You released his hair and ran your fingers over his eyebrows. “You have incredible eyebrows. They are so elegant and pretty. I know so many women who have commented to me that they wish they had your brows.” You hummed a sweet laugh as memories fluttered in your head. “Hell, there extra pretty when you frown.”

Levi thought about how he’d frowned a lot recently and felt a little embarrassed because most didn’t get upset with him. He also remembered how he frowned a little at you when you first met. He felt a little humiliated now as he remembered, but you seemed so taken with him and as he thought about being with you, you were making the moves.

You ran your fingers under his eyes. “You have these hypnotic almond-shaped eyes with the most stunning blue-grey colour to them. I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes in my life. These wonderful eyes are complimented by your raven hair and light skin. You’re like the god Hades. Darkly handsome.”

Levi pressed under his eyes as the bad thoughts dug their claws into his head. “What about them being baggy or hooded? I’ve been told that I always look tired or bored. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. Plus, I hate how I get dark circles so easily.”

You frowned at his words. You felt irritated that people would say such mean comments about Levi’s eyes. “That’s not true! You have such a thoughtful, intelligent and piercing look in your eyes. You can easily pin me with a simple look and make me your loving worshipper. Just one look and I know I can never hide a single thing from you, it’s magical.” You smiled and traced under his eyes. “Plus, the dark circles are sexy. You have this dark and mysterious look about you without putting any effort in.” You shivered in delight. “It’s so fucking sexy.”

Levi’s cheeks burned as he thought about being naturally sexy. “O-Oh, r-really?”

You nodded. “Yes!” You gasped in delight and pressed the end of his nose. “Don’t get me started on this adorable button nose that I want to kiss so much.” You purred and rubbed his cheeks. “Your high cheekbones and soft cheeks are so cute! I just wanna nibble on your puffy cheeks. They’re cute and pink with the best kind of plumpness. You get this natural pout making you model-like. It’s incredible. You’re so youthful looking and you’ll be a stud of a silver fox one day.”

Levi chuckled as you kissed his cheek over and over before lightly nipping on them. “Hey, no more biting.”

You pulled back and giggled. “Sorry. Now, your voice.” You moaned. “So sexy and deep. Whenever you speak against my ear, talk to me or call me on the phone I get so damn flustered.”

Levi growled a little before softly kissing your ear. “Well, I’m happy to whisper against your ear more often.”

You covered his mouth with your hands. “Tone it down for a bit. I have more to say.”

He smiled against your hands. “Yes, my love.”

You rubbed his thick neck and hummed as you watched your fingers press a little into his soft skin. You sighed and shifted on his lap before leaning closer and kissing his neck. “My god you have a wonderful thick neck. It’s so strong and kissable.” You ran your hands down to his shoulder and squeezed the muscle. “So strong.” You ran your hands down his arms and moaned. “These strong arms that hold me make me feel safe and protected. I adore being wrapped up in them.”

Levi hugged you tightly making you giggle in delight. “Well, I am more than happy to cuddle you as often as possible. You know how much I love holding you.” He blushed a little. “I love hugging you.”

“You know, I kind of noticed that because you hug me at every possible opportunity. I love it.” You pulled back and smiled. “Don’t ever stop hugging me, okay?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

You took his hands and lifted them up to your lips. You softly kissed them and moaned against them. “I love your hands so much. They’re so warm, pretty and elegant, even your nails are nice. Whether you’re gentle with your touch, you always make me feel good with them.” You winked at him making his cheeks become crimson, he knew exactly what you were hinting at. “I mean, come on Levi,” you placed one hand on your neck “how many times do I get you to hold my neck?”

He squeezed a little making you moan. “Kinky.”

You hummed a laugh. “Exactly.” You lowered his hand and released a long sigh as your hands roamed all over his chest and tummy. “I will love you no matter what body or physique you have, but my fucking god this body is so impressive. You put in so much work into it and it’s incredible how hard-working and dedicated you are.” You flicked your eyes down to his lap. “Same goes for your strong thick thighs and bubble butt. I feel myself drooling at the thought of both and I want to bite.”

Levi grabbed your chin. “No biting it, not again. Your bites on my bum feel like a dog chewing on a chew toy.”

You grinned. “Cause it’s yummy.”

“Uh-huh.”

You winked at him. “You ready for the last part?”

He gulped hard when he realised what you were going to refer to. “Go ahead.”

You almost purred at Levi as you felt excitement burn through you. “Your cock is the most perfect cock I have ever seen and had. It’s the perfect size and shape. You’re not too long and nice and thick. It looks so pretty and I just wanna touch and suck on it all the time.” You moaned a little and squeezed your thighs. “You know exactly how to use it and get me cumming hard every single fucking time we make love.”

Levi’s cheeks burned bright. “Th-thank you.”

You sighed and shook your head as you looked him up and down. “You are just gorgeous from top to bottom and you don’t even realise it. You turn so many heads when you go places and I often have to hold onto your arm and glare at people to get them to back off so they know you’re taken. You get so many appreciative looks. I know you’ll never leave me, but I worry about my own looks and how I look with you so I cling to you.” You smiled. “Well, that’s how I feel about how you look.”

Levi blushed harder than he had before in his life. He turned his head and looked out at the room as his heart thumped against his chest. He loved you so much and you were his everything. He couldn’t believe how incredible he looked in your eyes. He felt so handsome and lovable.

You cupped his face. “Levi? Look at me.” You smiled as he did as you asked. “You know, your looks aren’t the only thing that’s attractive.”

His eyes widened in awe that there was more to him to love. “Really?”

You nodded as you released his face now you had his attention. “I love how smart and observant you are, not a single thing gets past you. Your stoic personality has people swooning over you left and right!”

He has trouble processing your confession because he’d heard contradictions to your declarations. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I’m so aware of my personality. I’ve been told I’m boring, low energy, frigid and that I have a stick up my arse.”

You pouted and huffed. “That’s bullshit! How dare they! Give me a list of names and I’ll attack!”

Levi hugged you against him. “No! No attacking.”

You narrowed your eyes and whispered. “I will break them.”

“Darling, don’t.”

You pulled back and pouted. “Fine, but they’re wrong. You might be sparing with your words, but you’re so damn witty and on-point when you say things! Oh! And don’t get me started on your dry humour. I’m always laughing hard when you joke around. You are blunt, but it’s fair and I like that. You get straight to the point instead of fucking around.” You sighed and let out the anger and relaxed on Levi. “You’re really kind and caring to people and you just show that in subtle ways instead of showing off all the time and those who show off are annoying. I like this subtle kindness.”

He pulled a little face as he brought you into his negative thoughts about himself. “But, I’m a boring partner. I don’t know how to be romantic. I don’t know how to say romantic things. You deserve some sweet caring man that showers you with romance and love.”

You smiled lovingly and gently which made Levi feel relaxed again and the voices go. “Levi, you are the perfect partner - you’re attentive and caring, so considerate and generous, and you always put me first, and you give me so many loving actions to make me feel special. Just because you don’t speak like a poet, or do sappy over the top gestures, it doesn’t mean you aren’t romantic. So, don’t force yourself to say or do things that don’t come naturally to you. I love the subtle and sincere you. Like, you get me a cup of tea and a snack without asking me. You’ll wrap me in a blanket when I’m starting to feel cold. Levi, you have this natural instinct with me and take care of me right away.”

Levi nibbled his lips as your words floated around in his head. His cheeks were pink like candy floss as his heart raced in his chest. He kept his gaze downcast as he really took in your words. His loving hands ran up your back slowly before tugging you close and allowing Levi to press his face into your breasts. He whined a little and settled there for a while. He released a sigh as his body relaxed for a while and he felt comforted by your words and touch.

He hummed a little before speaking to you. “Are you really happy with me the way I am? Are you sure you won’t prefer someone more handsome? Taller? Someone who is better at expressing himself?”

You held him against your breasts and played with his soft hair. “No, I love everything about you. I only want you.”

He lifted his head a little and looked at you with wide eyes. “Even though I’m a clean freak and a weirdo?”

You giggled at his question. “I love all of your quirks and wouldn’t change anything about you.”

He went quiet again before mumbling against your chest. “Okay…” Levi whimpered when you tried to pull back. “No.” He wrapped his arms tighter around you and pressed his face against you more.

You smiled at his reaction and stayed sitting on his lap. You played with his hair and kissed the top of his head now and then. You tried your best to push your love through your kisses into his head. You knew it wouldn’t heal him, but you wanted to think that each kiss would a little. You felt your heart swell when he sniffled a bit. You didn’t say anything though because you knew that he probably wouldn’t want attention drawn to it. You knew he needed a moment to process everything and you were happy to let him. When Levi got emotional, he needed to face those emotions alone for a moment so he can understand himself.

Levi pulled from your breasts and looked up at you as he felt much better. “Kiss.”

You hummed a laugh and pressed your lips against his. You nipped his lip and pushed your tongue into his mouth. You moaned as you both share a passionate and loving kiss. You pulled back and smiled a little. “I love you.”

“I love you so fucking much.” He lightly kissed your lips before slipping you off his lap and wrapping you up tightly in your blanket. “All right, I’ll put the kettle on!”

You giggled as you watched Levi skip off to the kitchen with a cute smile on his face. “What a cutie.”

[memento-morianon]

memento mori book 1 chapter 7 draft

masterpost of rough draft chapters over here.

cw for drunkenness and violence towards the end of the chapter.

(one of the clan elders stands on stage and hushes the gathered guests. I never did work out an idea of what they say to open the dance ceremony. Something about the death of He-esh, probably. A few words about him. Probably an introduction to the concepts that will be illustrated in the dance, or something about ancestors. Hm. I’ll figure it out eventually. At any rate, the musicians start their quiet music. They have drums made of wood and hide, and string instruments. I was thinking, like, a harp made on a pair of elk antlers with a hollow wooden piece for resonance. Bone flutes are classic, of course, but I worry it will come across a little stereotypical, while the idea of orcs making string instruments with all that sinew and using bones/antlers/wood for the resonance chambers would be more interesting. Also there is at least one non-magic singer here, reciting a prayer of guidance and telling the story of how spirits are guided to the afterlife.)

The singer’s voice rose in a mournful cry, expressing the grief of losing a loved one and pleading for comfort. K’arik emerged from the shadows behind the stage, hunched over and covered in a massive cedar shroud. He stepped as delicately as a deer, so quick and subtle he seemed to float over the stage until he reached the center.

Though he could not hear the song, Evarin knew he relied on the feeling of the drum beats resonating through the hollow stage to keep his time. He turned in a steady circle, pulling the shroud apart and dropping it around his feet as he straightened up and turned a few quicker circles on his toes. His skin was coated in white powder, with red and black painted symbols on his face to connect him with He-esh’s spirit. The costume he wore was made of loose layers of white hide and wool, swirling around him and sparkling with metal beads. At the back of his head, he wore an antler headpiece tucked tightly into his hair, holding a circle of woven cedar above him to represent the soul of the dead. Most importantly of all, he wore a neck collar of leather and bone where He-esh’s tusks were carefully tied in place.

Finishing his spins, K’arik paused and looked this way and that, raising his hands as if he was asking for help. Evarin’s ears perked, catching the light sound of Morianon’s clattering beads as he hopped onto stage. The song turned to the takran, telling the tale of the guiding bird, he who lead hunters to their quarry and spirits to their rest. Morianon’s head was hidden under a mask of wood and leather, shaped like a takran’s skull. He bobbed his head as he moved, taking short, bouncing steps across the stage. He kept his arms tucked under the top of his costume, where beaded embroidery drew the shape of a ribcage on the dark fabric. The music picked up speed to match the energy of the takran, plucked notes and short drum taps accentuating Morianon’s dance. When he reached K’arik, he circled around his friend, leaning down like he was pecking the discarded shroud here and there. K’arik waited for him to stop, and then they turned and bowed to each other.

A strike of the strings cued the guiding dance. A test of improvisational skill that proved the bond between the dancers and the spirits, granting safe passage for the dead as they entered the afterlife. Evarin leaned forward, watching her loved ones dance and show off their skills together. Morianon lead the dance, using his wings like arms to gesture and cue K’arik into each new step. He turned circles and kicked his feet, stopping and jumping back. K’arik followed every motion, eyes locked on his tiny friend, reacting so quickly the delay between Morianon’s steps and his was almost imperceptible.

The audience clapped to the rhythm of the dance, lending their own power to the synchronicity. Evarin’s heart raced to the beat as well, feeling the energy of the crowd grow and spill over. Whether the spirits of the dead were in attendance or not, she didn’t have the ability to tell, but she could feel the swell of her own soul, connecting her to the people around her, connecting all of them to the earth beneath their feet.

Morianon and K’arik danced around the fallen shroud, expanding the circle of their dance further and further away from it. Their feet struck the stage like another set of drums, echoing in the hollow space. Both of their costumes clattered and jangled as their beads swung around, joined by the rippling flap of leather and cloth.

Morianon’s spring molt was too fresh to scatter feathers with every step, but a few still fell loose and spun in the air, tossed by the breeze of Morianon and K’arik’s feet.

So the belief went, a dance that was more complicated brought better luck for the dead and the living alike. It wasn’t enough for the two dancers to merely stay in time with each other; an easy dance was a careless one. For a soul as beloved as He-esh, Morianon and K’arik were using every skill in their shared arsenal. Twirling leaps and skipping steps, sudden halts and reversed motion. The only moves they left out were the sort that only Morianon was capable of, and Evarin was already tense with anticipation for the solo dance he would show off in the second half.

At last, as the song came to a peak, full of gratitude for the guiding birds and the ancestors who welcomed the dead into their arms, Morianon lead K’arik back to center stage and turned another circle around him, ending the dance. They bowed to each other again and Morianon sent K’arik to the shadows behind the stage, flapping his wings and shaking his head. The crowd and the music hushed, but the drums kept their beat as Morianon looked out into the hall. He dipped his head again, stepping around the fallen shroud and mimicking a takran’s curious pecking once more. He stood in the center of it and lifted himself to his fullest height, wings spread wide. The song rose in volume, telling of the scavengers who feast on the dead, taking nourishment and returning flesh to the earth. Morianon flapped his wings and shook his beads again, taking a deep breath and letting out a few short, wordless howls; the call of a hungry takran.

His call cued in the next song and the wolf dancers waiting at the sides of the stage; mostly orcs, but there were a few dwarves and elves in the mix. The drums were barely audible beneath the sound of so many feet thundering over the stage. Two circles of wolf dancers, all clad in browns and greys with wooden masks, ran past each other in a frenzied dance, leaping and shouting as they picked up the cedar shroud and began to tear it apart, tucking the shreds into the belts that criss-crossed their costumes. The audience joined their shouting song, clapping again and stomping their feet. It nearly brought Evarin to her toes before she felt the edge of the seat below her and thought twice.

Morianon had vanished in the circles of wolves, catching his breath, but he wove his way back out and danced around them. After a full turn of the stage, he gave the audience the show they had all been waiting to see. Letting a non-orc dance the part of the takran was against tradition, in every way. The guiding dance was sacred, always performed by a spirit dancer who was deeply connected to the deceased, and a takran dancer who could match that bond to lead the dance. Morianon only ever came to the role when K’arik’s family requested it, but many of the other clan members had asked him to dance as the takran during the wolf circles alone, trading places with their own traditional dancers at the end of the guiding dance.

Morianon leapt into the air with a flap of his wings, performing an aerial twirl and landing on another dancer’s shoulders. He bent low and bounced from dancer to dancer, occasionally leaning down and stealing cedar shreds from whoever he was perched on. The trickster takran, summoning the wolves to a corpse only so they could tear it open and give him access. The audience laughed and whooped as Morianon performed aerobatic stunts and rode the shoulders of the wolf dancers even as they spun and tried to shoo him off. No other dancer in the clan or in town was able to match him. He performed a flip off one wolf's shoulders and landed on another dancer, shaking his head playfully. Evarin laughed and cheered for him, standing on her seat to stomp her approval, much to the amusement of those nearby who recognized her.

The shouts from the crowd and the dancers turned into howls as the energy of the room burst. Tears poured down every cheek, laughter and sobs breaking out in tandem. The wolves brought their dance to its final steps, gathering at the back of the stage and twirling as they brought K’arik back out to the center. They all dropped to their knees and howled loud and long. Morianon landed at the front of the stage and spread his wings again, inviting the audience to join the mourning howl.

It was impossible to pick out individual voices in the howl; Evarin could hardly identify her own cry in the cacophony. She called to her ancestors; her grandparents and great-grandparents and all who came before her, calling out to let them know she had not forgotten, that she could still feel their blood in her veins and their names in her heart.

The voice of the crowd filled the room and left with the hearth smoke, carried up into the darkened sky. It faded into gasps and coughs and slowly the hall fell silent again, everyone staring up into the shadowy rafters and breathing deep. Morianon folded his wings and bowed himself to the floor, leaving K’arik the only dancer still on his feet. K’arik sighed, closing his eyes. His face paint was streaked from his tears.

While everyone was quiet, the elder returned to the stage and tapped his staff, bringing everyone’s attention to the lone echoing thud. (and then he says another special speech/prayer thing to wrap up this ceremony.)

K’arik’s brother came to the stage as the dancers all hurried off to the sides, returning to the changing rooms. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly, signing for those who could not hear.

“Thank you all for coming. I am sure my grandfather has seen and heard you all. May as’els soul be at peace and have joy amongst our ancestors. Now, I and my family ask that you please enjoy the feast! There is more than enough food and drink for everyone! Anyone who wishes to tell stories of He-esh can gather at the stage and entertain us with their tales. And as you grow tired, you may follow the path of blue rune lights outside to our guest halls. Thank you again.” He stepped down from the stage and into the crowd, exchanging greetings and hugs with those who approached him. Evarin wiped the tears from her cheeks and hopped down from her seat, weaving her way to the side of the stage where Morianon had vanished.

She watched a few other dancers emerge first, all still wearing most of their costume pieces. A few guests passed her by as well and expressed their appreciation for Morianon’s dance. She waved them off politely, thanking them, and continued to wait. Soon enough, Morianon and K’arik both left the changing rooms alongside a few of their fellow dancers. K’arik’s face was smudged from the rush to remove his paint and come back to the party. He was the only dancer who had changed into a fully normal outfit, save for his tusk necklace.

“Ev! I could hear you in the crowd,” Morianon hopped off the stage and nibbled at her sideburns lovingly. “I’m starving, are you?”

“Hungry enough,” she laughed.

“I just need to take care of these, and I’ll be right over at the buffet,” Morianon continued, holding up the fistful of cedar shreds he had stolen off the wolf dancers. Evarin nodded and followed him with the other dancers, pausing here and there as guests stepped in to thank each dancer, and especially Morianon and K’arik, for their parts.

Upon reaching the hearth in the middle of the room, every wolf dancer took their portions of the cedar shroud and threw them into the fire, watching the sparks and smoke rise through the chimney hole above. Morianon tossed his fistful into the flames with a solemn but satisfied look on his face, staring at the pieces as they burned and watching the embers fly into the night sky.

“You danced beautifully,” Evarin murmured, leaning into his shoulder. She didn’t mind the dark smudges his wings put on her clothes and cheek.

“Thanks.” Morianon sighed and stepped away from the hearth. K’arik tapped his shoulder and signed a brief message.

“Thank you for dancing with me again. Go get yourself a plate. I’ll be with my family, or maybe with other friends, if you want to join me for the rest of the party.”

“Of course,” Morianon replied, and Evarin nodded in agreement. K’arik twitched his snout and blew a soft snort as a friendly farewell before he stood up straight again and disappeared into the crowd. Evarin and Morianon made their own way through the room, finding the buffet tables and all their bounty.

There were tables of different heights, all piled with the same delicious food (and drink. Blackberry wine, liquor made from pine needles, probably some form of mead, maybe even sunflower liquor? I don’t want everything to always be blackberries and pine, but they certainly are commonplace here). Roasted meat and fish, biscuits and flatbread, jam and dried fruit and jars of pickled things. Evarin wrinkled her snout at the smell of the pickle jars, all of them open for easy access. Morianon gleefully picked out a platter of fish and began to swallow them in large chunks without hesitation. He reached for a jar of pickled fish, but Evarin stopped him with a sharp look and he pulled his hand back.

“It’s a party,” he pouted, “I can eat what I want.”

“And you’ll still get the same consequence you do at home; no sleeping near me or preening my face or any kisses as long as you’ve got pickled fish breath.” Evarin narrowed her eyes at him and he huffed but left the pickled fish alone. Evarin gathered herself a plate of food; strips of roasted elk and handfuls of dried fruit. She glanced over the drinks, humming thoughtfully to herself before she poured a cup of sweet pine liquor. It was a mild drink, far less troublesome than the blackberry wine or the goblin whiskey; almost non-alcoholic compared to the dizzying intoxication of pixie mead. Of which, she noted, there was none on the tables, though she was certain there would still be a few bottles of it quietly making their way around the room, especially as the night grew late enough for those with young children to leave the party.

From the area near the stage, laughter rippled out into the crowd. Guests were getting up one by one, or two or three— some of them already half drunk— telling stories from their memories of He-esh. It was hard to hear the details over the chatter that filled the room, but already someone had started a tale of He-esh traveling north and fighting off a bull moose barehanded, while guests near the stage shouted exaggerated edits to the story. One bull moose, then five, then it all happened in the middle of a blizzard. Evarin snorted into her drink as the crowd burst into raucous laughter at the addition that He-esh had been nude during the entire blizzard brawl against several raging bull moose.

“I’ve got to get up there,” Morianon said with a gleeful lilt. He scarfed down a few more chunks of fish but carried his plate with him to the stage. Evarin followed, eyes gleaming humorously. She nodded to other people she recognized along the way; friends and family scattered in the crowded room, all having their own conversations and eating as they talked.

She sat on a bench as Morianon took his place in line. He bounced on his toes, eagerly waiting his turn. (insert possible other funny He-esh stories here I guess) [and then it’s Mori’s turn. For the sake of convenience, just know he is signing everything as well as speaking it cuz that’s how things go here]

“It’s always an honor to dance for this clan,” Morianon started, getting a few cheers from the audience, “I might never have done it, if I hadn’t met He-esh and had as’el introduce me to K’arik. But, you know, I was absolutely terrified of He-esh at first.” The crowd chortled, many of them probably remembering their own first meetings with Morianon. Evarin couldn’t help a quiet chuckle at her memory of the new Larak child hiding behind a fence post or a taller family member every time she had tried to say hello. “As’e was so much bigger than me,” Morianon continued, gesturing far above his own head, “I could have hung a rope swing on as’els tusks!”

“Big as a tree!” someone shouted.

“Coulda put a whole rope bridge between those tusks!” another voice called out.

“I never would, of course, for fear that as’e might swallow me whole!” Morianon plucked a small roast trout off his plate and ate it in a single gulp. Laughter bubbled over in the crowd, some guests clapping and goading him into doing it again. He repeated the trick twice more before he held his hands up and tried to finish his story. “Oh yes, I was terrified of He-esh. But I conquered my fear after a few fishy bribes, and now who else in this room can say they’ve sat on that old man’s head and used as’els hair for a nest?” He laughed with the crowd and ducked off the stage, making way for the next person in line. Several folks stopped him with friendly shoulder pats, all chuckling and thanking him for his role in the dance.

“Feel better?” Evarin giggled as Morianon returned to her side, eyes gleaming with tears of laughter and grief.

“Much,” he replied, “did you want a turn?”

“No, I’m fine.” She sipped the last of her drink carefully, letting the bittersweet taste roll over her tongue. Pine liquor had an acrid undertone to it; a unique sort of flavor that made it a less popular drink than the fruity, sweeter things. Evarin found it refreshing, like a breath of cold air that left the mouth feeling oddly dry yet satisfied. It brought her mind back to the funeral of her paternal grandfather; far more solemn and quiet, with only a meager spread of bitter food and drinks.

Morianon kept his eyes on the stage, chuckling softly as someone else told the story of He-esh feeding a flock of takran until as’e was half buried in dark feathers.

“Oh, while I was up there, I spotted K’arik. He’s with his friends, and I think I saw Kith and Ashe with them as well.”

“Are they? Lead the way then.” She followed Morianon back through the crowded room, pausing to drop their plates and cups in the bin by the kitchen door.

K’arik’s family had separated into the crowd, but he stood in a small group with his friends, close enough to a wall bench that they could leave their plates and drinks aside while they conversed. Kith and Ashe spotted Morianon and Evarin first, waving them over and bringing them to the attention of the rest of the group.

“I watched your story,” K’arik signed with a breathy chuckle, “thank you.”

“I haven’t seen you go up there yet,” Morianon replied. “I’m not ready for it,” K’arik responded, turning his glance aside. Morianon tilted his head sympathetically and left Evarin’s side to climb up onto a wall bench nearby so he could join the conversation circle.

“Take your time,” he assured K’arik, “I’m here.”

“We’ve been passing around our own stories,” one of the others signed, “Morianon, have you heard about that time He-esh was so drunk on pixie mead as’e forgot who Elkha was?”

“And Elkha thought it was so funny, they both just flirted like strangers all day?” Morianon ruffled his feathers in amusement, while another friend picked up the story and continued it.

Evarin was quickly distracted from the conversation by Ashe and Kith, the latter of whom crouched down to be closer to her wife’s height.

“We’ve hardly had a chance to see you since yesterday,” Kith lamented. “Have you recovered alright from singing?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Evarin patted her friend’s large hand. “You don’t need to worry over me, you know. Singing is my job, I’m used to it.”

“Oh, we’re supposed to worry over our best friend,” Ashe chided. Evarin shrugged.

“I really am fine. I slept off the headache. But anyway, how have you two been?”

“It’s been hectic over here,” Kith replied, “all the party setup and everything. That fellow, Amahr, I kept seeing an-hil around the village all day, just watching everyone. It’s unnerving. I haven’t felt so small since I was a kid.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel,” Ashe teased, grinning widely. “My clan’s elders have also been trying to talk to Amahr all day. Don’t know how well it’s going.” She shrugged. “It would be amazing if our people managed to establish trade with the centaurs; I’m sure they have a wealth of resources to share, and I can only imagine what they’d want from us in return.” She craned her neck to stare into the crowd, but it wasn’t hard to see the centaur towering over everyone else. An-hil was lingering near the buffet, holding a jar and poking the contents with a narrow fork.

“Can you imagine having access to centaur fabric?” Evarin mused, “The weave on Amahr’s clothing is gorgeous. I think it rivals the work I’ve seen from elves, maybe even drow. If they traded with your folks for beading, and with the drow for silk—“ she caught herself rambling and ducked her head, blushing slightly. Ashe and Kith giggled.

“You sound like your dad,” Ashe said, waving her hand, “he was over here recently going on and on about that tapestry.” Evarin blushed harder and frowned, the hair on her neck bristling slightly as she recalled Ikar’s comment before the party. Ashe blinked and looked apologetic.

“Sorry, I meant it as a compliment.”

“No, it’s not—“ Evarin sighed, “you’ve said nothing wrong. I think the liquor’s getting to me, that’s all,” she muttered, though she had only had the one drink. “It’s just, well, I had an encounter with Ikar before the party and he made a comment about how I take after my father’s side. Kinda got to me, but probably not for the reason he intended, since he doesn’t actually know me.” She caught herself touching the day-old stubble on her jaw, and shook her head reactively. “It’s just been a long couple of days.” Ashe and Kith gave her a sympathetic look and patted her shoulders gently.

“Has anyone told you today how lovely you look in that outfit?” Kith awkwardly interjected. “I’ve always liked how you look in dark red, you know, it’s a good color on you.”

“Oh, good topic switch, Kith, very smooth,” Evarin snorted, “but no, you’re the first. Thank you.”

“I’ve got a better topic,” Ashe said, “tell us about your summer plans, huh? Tropical forests for your anniversary? I’m so jealous.”

“We’re very excited!” Evarin perked up, glancing at Morianon while he laughed at a joke she had missed. “He’s been in contact with someone there for years now, and they’ve helped us work out a lot of details. A place to stay, a guide who knows our language. I know Mori had it rough last time he visited his birth country, but this time I think it will go better.”

“Well, of course. Wasn’t he there for work last time? Always better to go somewhere for love than work,” Ashe laughed, “but you must bring home a few souvenirs! And tell us absolutely everything when you come home!”

“I will, I will!” Evarin waved her hand and rolled her eyes playfully. [oh look a transition paragraph! Or something! Scene change, go! Time for chaos!]

Polite conversation and amused chatter all faltered and stuttered into awkward silence as one angry voice rose over the crowd, slurred and stumbling. Evarin’s ears pricked and she craned her neck to see what was going on. K’arik and his friends didn’t react at first, oblivious to the sudden shift in the room until Morianon alerted them to it and those of them who could hear a little noticed how silent the crowd had become. Above the rest, Amahr was visibly stunned, leaning closer to the wall while he continued to eat from the jar in his hand. “What’s going on over there?” Kith stood up on her toes to see better. Whispers traveled in waves through the quiet crowd, bringing the trouble to even the farthest corners of the hall.

“Ikar’s gone into a drunken rage,” someone hissed to the group, waving down K’arik’s attention and signing their message to him. “Your uncle is causing a scene; he’s just insulted He-esh.” They hesitated and their posture shrunk, eyes falling to the side. “He said He-esh was a fool for choosing you as an heir.” [I will work out more details on the early part of Ikar’s rant later. Right now I’m just gonna focus on the parts that are most relevant to the main characters here.] K’arik’s ears flattened and he straightened his back, jaw and shoulders set tight in anger. The hair on Evarin’s spine bristled at the sight; her dear gentle friend’s eyes were sharp as warrior’s glare, his soft demeanor replaced with the power and purpose of a leader ready to defend his loved ones.

Morianon leapt into the rafters, traveling over the crowd to reach the scene of the conflict. Ikar’s voice was slurred and muffled behind the mass of guests. K’arik strode through the crowd with ease, parting them with a gentle hand as he approached his uncle. Evarin took advantage of the gap in his wake to make her own way to the scene. She ducked into the open area where Ikar stood facing his siblings, red in the face and baring his tusks. His wife stood near him, holding his arm like she had been trying to lead him away, but he stubbornly remained where he was.

“Nothing but foolish choices!” he ranted, “as’e went soft from old age, we all know it. It’s an insult to our whole clan! My own family has been passed over, all for you and yours.” He waved a hand at Th’elir, scoffing at her. “Couldn’t even pick your eldest, had to pick the one that can’t hold a conversation without help!”

“Ikar, if you say one more thing about my son-” Th’elir growled, snout raised in threat, fully baring her own tusks. Ikar huffed, spitting on the dirt floor. He turned and glared at K’arik, who had just emerged from the crowd and fixed his gaze on his uncle.

“I know you know how to sign.” K’arik remarked cooly, staring down his snout and gesturing with sharp motions. “If you want to insult me, do it directly.” The whole hall fell into a quiet chill, despite the press of warm bodies and the hearth fire in the middle. Apart from whispers passing details to those who couldn’t see, everyone was as silent and still as a hunter’s trap waiting to snap closed. Ikar sneered at K’arik, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he snapped in hasty sign, “you want the truth? This clan doesn’t need any leader who shares his bed with outsiders and the children of traitors.” He jerked his chin towards Morianon and set his glare on Evarin. She bared her teeth reactively, revealing the blunted tips of her own filed-down tusks. Morianon dropped from the rafter to land beside her, all his feathers flat on his skin, holding his wings out defensively.

“He’s not worth it,” Morianon muttered under his breath, “this isn’t our fight.” By the way his hands tightened on her arms, Evarin knew he was speaking to himself as much as to her. She backed into the crowd slightly and soon heard her parents’ hushed voices as they hurried through the masses to reach her and stand by her side. K’arik remained stoic, eyes still cold as he stared down his uncle.

“I expected better from one of my own predecessors,” he replied, “did we not learn diplomacy from the same man? I looked up to you, once.”

“You’re as much of a fool as my father,” Ikar retorted, “abandoning our traditions and our clan. Our ancestors used to be lead by great warriors! Now we follow softhearted fools who rely on gentle words and magic rituals.” He snorted and stamped his foot in a challenge. His wife stepped back from him, face contorted in offended disgust. [I didn’t make it very clear earlier, but she is a spiritual leader in her own clan and very much relies on magic rituals. She also outranks him in her own clan]. Izune clicked his tongue dismissively.

“What under the Sun’s burning gaze does he think he’s on about?” he muttered, and Th’elir shushed him. Evarin shook her head in agreement, feeling the tension in the room rise to a suffocating degree.

“Ikar!” Th’elir moved forward, answering his challenge with a stomp. “How long will you insult our family and our clan? You’re the only fool I see here.” She lowered her head, tusks forward. K’arik’s tusks were curled like his grandfather’s, tips facing his own cheeks. But Th’eilr’s tusks jutted forward like a pair of curved knives, poised for battle.

“Don’t pretend you’re better than me, little sister,” Ikar growled, “you’ve stolen what should have been mine. You’re not fit to lead, and your son will destroy everything our ancestors valued! He’s weak! You’re weak! I’m the one who should be leading this clan!” He abandoned the sign language to shout his last words, but if he had anything more to say, Th’elir slammed it out of his throat in a split second. The crowd came to life with shrieks of fear and shock. K’arik lost his cool demeanor and rushed forward with a gasping cry.

Th’elir’s mouth was around her brother’s neck, her hands on his arms, and her momentum shoved him back against the nearest support pillar. He coughed, blinking in delayed surprise. K’arik, his father, and his older brother all hurried to Th’elir’s side, but she stood back on her own, blood dripping from her tusks. Ikar grabbed his throat and stumbled, leaning against the pillar. There was fear in his hazy eyes, and his breath sounded ragged.

“By the Mountain’s great glacial tits!” Izune exclaimed, clutching at his own throat to grab the pendant he wore. “What— !?”

“Watch your tongue,” Tawei hissed, her hands tight on her husband and daughter’s shoulders. Izune gestured wildly at the scene in front of them but lowered his voice.

“Watch my tongue? I almost just watched a murder!”

“Hush!” Tawei hardly seemed to be paying attention to him anyway, her eyes wide and her whole body tense as she stared at Ikar. He stood up shakily, lifting his hand to his eyes and staring in disbelief at the blood staining his palm. It dribbled from the puncture wounds Th’elir had inflicted, coloring his collar as it seeped into his tanned hide shirt.

“Ikar,” Th’elir snapped, lifting her head, “you have insulted this clan again and again. You insult me, my family, and our father. As the clan matriarch, I banish you from this land. If you ever dare show your face to us again, it had better be kissing the dirt to apologize for everything you have done and said.” She huffed, still breathing heavy from her sudden burst of action. No one else spoke a word.

“Th’elir,” Ikar coughed, glaring back. She snorted at him, stomping her foot in warning.

“You are no longer my brother,” she spat, “get out of my home now.” She stood back and her family moved with her, all of them shifting their gaze between her and Ikar, their expressions a blend of shock and resolution. Evarin felt her own breath catch and release in a stunned gasp. Morianon held her close, wings trembling.

Ikar’s wife avoided eye contact with Th’elir’s family as she grabbed her husband’s arm and pulled him away, leading him forcefully out of the hall. Their two sons were still in the crowd with their own wives, confusion and fear crossing their faces. Th’elir turned to them and sighed.

“I have no quarrel with you, nephews,” she tutted, “only with your father. Where you go now is your own choice.” She shook her head and reached up to touch her tusks, staring at the blood that came off on her fingers like she had never seen it before. Tears welled up in her eyes and poured silently down her cheeks. He husband wrapped his arms around her and lead her to a bench, sitting her down gently. K’arik and his brother looked at each other and turned to the crowd, holding up their hands for attention.

“Forgive the interruption,” K’arik signed, and his brother spoke the words for those who could not see, “emotions run high in the wake of grief. Please, remain with us as long as you are able. Our guests houses are still open to everyone, and there is plenty of food and drink to go around.” K’arik’s hands trembled but he pressed on. “We truly appreciate your presence here. To see such a large and diverse crowd at our grandfather’s funeral means more to us than we can say. Thank you all.” He dropped his hands, and his brother put an arm around his shoulders.

The crowd murmured in hushed tones, shuffling back to their conversations. Some left the party, disappearing into the cold night air. Evarin still felt shock clutching her heart and she could only focus on steadying her breath. Tawei’s eyes hadn’t left the doorway since Ikar had been banished. She humphed quietly.

“Well. May the moonlight guide him home,” she said in a haughty tone, nodding sharply. Izune grunted in annoyance.

“Oh sure,” he muttered to Evarin, “she tells me to watch my tongue.” Evarin coughed out a short laugh.

“Mom’s just more elegant with it than you are,” she whispered back. Izune rolled his eyes. He tapped Tawei’s shoulder and turned properly to Morianon and Evarin.

“I was hoping to leave soon, but I think we might have to stick around a little longer after all that,” he said. Tawei nodded, her expression falling into one of sympathy.

“This is my family too,” she murmured, “I should stay and offer support.”

“We were going to spend the night with K’arik again,” Morianon replied, “I don’t know how long he’ll want to stay here.”

“We’ll be alright,” Evarin assured her parents, “you do what you need to do, and we’ll handle ourselves. If we don’t see each other again before the morning, I guess this is goodnight.” She held her arms out and her parents embraced her, pulling Morianon into the hug. The crowd around them was still buzzing over the altercation with Ikar, but they paid it no mind, separating to different parts of the room.

Morianon lead the way to K’arik’s side, tapping his arm for attention. K’arik crouched beside his small friends, cheeks gleaming with tears. “I think we all knew it was coming,” he signed in small gestures, “but it still hurt.” He looked over his shoulder, where his mother was surrounded by the rest of their family. His brother sighed, clearing his throat.

“We’ll find a way to handle this,” he replied, “we’ll soon have other reasons to celebrate, and Ikar won’t be there to cause any more harm.” He patted K’arik’s shoulder and lifted him to his feet. “You are brave, my brother, and stronger than Ikar could ever understand. I am glad to have you by my side as a leader of this clan.” They hugged each other tightly, tears freely falling down their cheeks. Morianon and Evarin waited at their sides, lightly touching K’arik’s waist in support. When he pulled away from the hug, he turned to them with an apologetic frown.

“I don’t think I can stay here much longer,” he admitted, “don’t let me keep you from the party.”

“We wanted to go with you anyway,” Morianon replied, standing straight and ruffling his feathers. K’arik’s eyes softened and he nodded.

“I’ll say goodnight to my family first,” he signed, and then turned and walked away with his brother. Evarin and Morianon waited, watching him enter the embrace around Th’elir. The crowd gave their family a wide berth, allowing them their privacy. Evarin didn’t try to track how long it took for K’arik to return and walk with her and Morianon out into the night.

In silence, they followed the dimly lit paths back to Karik’s family home, passing by other guests who chose to linger at the central bonfire rather than dealing with the crowds. The family home was just as silent and even more empty. The younger chidren had long since gone to sleep and no one sat awake around the hearth. In K’arik’s room, under the soft rune light, Morianon had Evarin help him out of his costume. K’arik delicately placed his grandfather’s tusks on a shelf, letting his fingers trail over the curled ivory before he left them alone and turned out the light.

Though Morianon’s wings were still stained black, Evarin and K’arik snuggled against his feathers as they all laid down together, curling around each other in the pile of furs. Evarin’s chest ached with grief and worry for her friend, more than it had after He-esh’s death. She rested her head on K’arik’s palm, wrapping her arm around his, and kissed his fingers. Morianon stretched his wings over both of them, as if he could shield them from their grief while they all drifted to sleep with tears staining their cheeks.

[rachelordwayart]

A spiritual awakening, but in an incredibly on-brand way...

(CW: religion, depression, health problems, death)

I do sincerely apologize if this is in poor taste—my intention is not to disrespect this person or any religious/spiritual concepts, just to laugh at the absurdity of how my brain is connecting these dots—but I also suspect he’d find this hilarious.

Image ID under the cut.

[Image ID: A rough penciled comic.

Page 1.

1: Caption: "I've never been a spiritual person." The author small in frame, facing away, in shadow.

2: Caption: "The concept of organized religion rubbed me the wrong way, and I could never bring myself to wholeheartedly believe in anything." A TV with Goddess Madoka from Madoka Magica and a thought balloon reading "A magical girl creating hope from despair? I mean, it'd be nice if it were true..."

3: Caption: "But 6 months of weekly health panics can wear anyone down." A dizzying collage of the author in distress, clutching her heart, holding a nasal swab as her nose runs, clutching her arm, clutching her leg, looking woozy.

4: Caption: "I've been searching for meaning." The author depressed in the shower thinking "Maybe if I knew someone loved me..."

5: Caption: "I've been seeing signs." The author with dripping hair answering the door to a woman holding out a pamphlet, saying, "Did you know God loves you?"

Page 2.

1: The author small in frame looking confusedly at the pamphlet, thinking "Seriously, this happens an hour later...?"

2: The author bigger in frame, skeptical but thinking hard, thinking "Maybe...'God' is the one who loves me..."

3: The author bigger in frame, glancing up with tired eyes but a hopeful smile, thinking "I'm still not into religion, but... If I can make myself believe that somebody up there cares about me, then maybe..."

Page 3.

1: Large blocky text reading "The thing is..."

2: Caption: "Within this same stretch of time, I got all torn up over an actor's death" The author choking back tears as she looks at her phone.

3: Caption: "and started obsessing over his old podcast." The author lying in bed, holding back laughter as the offscreen podcast audio plays. "You've heard his competition on TV shows like—" *record scratch* "His 'competition'?" "Ha ha ha"

4: Caption: "So..." The author small in frame, still lying on the bed, the composition matching the previous panels where she had an epiphany. She looks distressed and sweats as she thinks "They're not real and they're not your friends—I mean, they're real, but they're not your friends—" Small text continues the podcast audio. "Ha ha ha" "I like his competition! I never liked Michael that much, but his competition I thought was very good!"

Page 4.

1: Caption: "No matter how hard I try..." Closer on the author looking even more exaggeratedly distressed, thinking in big text "Don't make it weird, Rachel!!" Offscreen podcast audio continues "And you've heard his 'compositions' on TV shows like—"

2: Caption: "Whenever I think about 'somebody up there'..." A mirror to the first panel, showing the author turned away and in shadow but looking up over her shoulder into the light, where a large translucent hand is patting her head.

3: Caption: "I can only picture Gilbert Gottfried." Closeup on Gilbert Gottfried laughing, light radiating from his face, as he says in big scratchy text "Chin up, dipsh*t! You're gonna be f*cking fine!"

[maxwell-grant]

You have done an (excelent) post on how to reinvent Batman as a Pulp Hero. Do you think you could do one to Superman as well? Or do you think it is impossible to do this with the progenitor of the Super Hero genre without transforming him in a totaly diferent character?

Well, you saying it as impossible only makes it seem ever more tempting of a challenge, but yes, it is a bit harder. I'm gonna link my Batman post here as a reference point.

Partially because Batman's a franchise I've thought extensively about for a long time in regards to what I like about it or how I'd like to approach if given the opportunity, which is not something I can really say for Superman until more recently the Big Blue to start orbiting my brain. I don't have years worth of redesigns or fan concepts saved on my galleries and files to comb through to pick and choose here, and my experience with Superman as a character is considerably different, in some aspects more deeply personal, and not really something I'd like to go into in this blog, at least not now.

Part of the reason why it's harder is also because Batman and Superman have very different relationships with their pulp inspirations. Batman was, ostensibly, a pulp character adapted to comics, a dime-a-dozen Shadow knock-off who picked up and played up diverging traits from other characters and gradually ran with them to gradually forge a unique identity. Superman right from the start was rooted in a much stronger conceptual underpinning: the Sci-Fi Superman and Alien Menace who, instead of being a tragic monster or a tyrannical villain, becomes a costumed adventurer and social crusader. Even the name Super-Man was taken from an early story of Siegel and Shuster about a telepathic villain who ends the story lamenting that he should have used his powers for the good of mankind instead of selfishness. I hesitate to call what Siegel and Shuster were doing “subversive” because that term's picked up a real negative connotation, and it's not like Siegel and Shuster were out to upend their influences (they were pulp aficionados themselves), but rather putting a more positive, new spin on them.

Which is why it also becomes a bit harder to do what I did with Batman and align Superman with some of his pulp-esque inspirations, like John Carter, Flash Gordon or Hugo Danner, without just making it "Superman but he's John Carter", "Superman but it's Flash Gordon", and "Iron Munro / Superman but everything sucks" respectively. It's harder to create a character that wouldn't feel reduntant and derivative at best, and actively contradictory to Superman at worst.

I guess if I had to come up with a "Pulp Hero Superman" take I liked, well first of all I'd have to take steps to distance it from the likes of Tom Strong or Al Ewing's Doc Thunder, those two are as good as it gets in regards to Pulp Supermen. I stipulated for Batman a "No Guns, No Murder, No Service" policy partially to distance my takes on Batman from all the "Pulp Batmen" that just add guns and murder and take Batman back to the barest of basics. Likewise, I'm adding a "No Depowered Science Hero" rule here, which means it's a take that's likely going to veer off a lot more into fantasy and probably enough tampering with Clark's character that it does risk becoming a different character.

Frankly I don't think I'm gonna succeed at doing these without just making it a new character entirely, because with Batman you can get away with just upending the character's aesthetic and setting and even origin and still keep it recognizably Bruce Wayne (in fact Batman does that all the time), which isn't really the case with Superman, who needs those to remain recognizably Superman as he goes through internal changes and character shifts. I guess what I'm gonna do here is more taking the building blocks of Superman/Clark Kent and see a couple new ways I can rearrange them to create a Pulp Superman

Perhaps something we can do is to scale back or recontextualize the "superhero" parts without diminishing Superman's role as a superpowered fantasy character.

One way we can start is by picking on that connection between Superman and the sci-fi supermen/alien monsters of pulps I mentioned earlier and play it up further, to create a Superman who's deeply, deeply alien in a way that no mild-mannered disguise or colorful outfit can really disguise, something so dramatically powerful and alien, that instead you could get tales about the kinds of ensuing changes and ripple effects this has on the world upon the The Super-Man's arrival. And for that I'm gonna have to quote @davidmann95's concept for Joshua Viers' absolutely stunning Superman redesign on the left side of the image above

The red, the goldish-orange and white, the alienness, the angelic, sculpted feeling, the halo, that innocently curious expression: it’s genuinely beautiful. Superman as a redeeming science-angel from beyond our understanding, as much past the uncanny valley of limited human comprehension as a Lovecraftian monster but tuned to the opposite key - you could spend an endless procession of human lifetimes trying and failing to understand this being, but all you’ll ever know for sure is that it is beyond you, and it knows you, and it loves you.

Superdoomsday from Earth 45, healed and transformed into the savior it was originally envisioned as? Some descendant of his, or a future of the man himself? An alien who picked up on a broadcast of Superman from Earth, and so inspired reshaped itself in his image to spread his ‘gospel’ to the stars?

Alternatively, to come back to Earth a little, many, many pulp characters and series were built off the antics and personalities of real people, celebrities getting their own magazines or serials or fictionalized takes on them, so perhaps one way to make a "pulp" take on Superman would be to emphasize a bit more of Superman's real-world roots, trends that inspired his creation directly or indirectly at the time. The Jewish strongman Sigmund Breibart and Shuster's interest in fitness culture, Harold Lloyd's comic persona, the rising "strongman" film genre in the early 20th century, actors Clark Gable and Kent Taylor that supposedly named his secret identity, Clark Kent being a socially-awkward journalist based of Siegel's own school experiences.

Maybe one start to an authentic Pulp Superman, who would still be Superman, would be to just ask the question "What if Superman was a real person and/or a celebrity, and they started making pulp magazines and serials dedicated to him? What would those look like?". You wouldn't even have to restrict it to just a story set in the 1930s, in fact you could even play around with the rise of new mediums over the decades.

This third one is a little closer to some plans I have for my own take on a Superman character, not necessarily what I would do with Superman proper but one of my ideas for a Superman analogue. Superman's a character I'll always associate strongly with childhood and childhood fantasy, and to tap into that I would emphasize the other end of the fiction that influenced Siegel and Shuster: comic strips, in their case specifically Little Nemo and Popeye.

In my case I would bring additional influences from some of the comic strips I personally grew up reading like Monica's Gang and Calvin and Hobbes, and I already talked a bit about Captain Fray in terms of how he’s a Superman character despite being a villain. I guess you could call this one "What if Superman was a public domain comic strip character, stripped of the importance of being the founding figure of a super popular genre or extended universe, and also was kind of ugly?".

He's not "Sloth from the Goonies" ugly, I swear I didn't actually have Sloth in mind when typing out this idea, I've never watched that film nor did I know until now that he actually spends the film in a Superman shirt. That's not really what I'm going for. Visually I was thinking of modeling my take on Superman heavily after Hugo from Street Fighter and his inspiration Andre the Giant, to really emphasize the “circus strongman / freak wrestler” aspect of Superman’s inspiration, particularly in regards to how Hugo’s SFIII version strikes a really great balance in making Hugo ugly and both comedic and fearsome in battle, as well as lovable and even a little dopey (without being outright stupid, like his IV self) in his victory animations and endings.

He's still Superman, he still goes on fantastical adventures to help people, he's still a deeply loving and compassionate soul whose face beams with joy and affection and who's got wonderful eyes and a great smile. It's just that this smile has a couple of mismatched stick-out teeth or some missing ones, and he's got a crooked smile some people take as smug or malicious, he’s got a strongman’s gut instead of a bodybuilder’s abs, his nose is a little busted (maybe he’s had too many crash landings), and his hair is a little wild or greasy, and he doesn't exactly have very good people skills because of how others usually react to him and, y'know, he doesn't get the kind of publicity Superman would get despite doing ostensibly the same things. He’s not deformed, he’s incredibly intelligent and capable, but in comparison to how superheroes are usually allowed to look, he might as well be Bizarro in the public eye.

It becomes a running gag that people tend to assume some nearby fireman or cop was the one who rescued the hundred orphans out of a burning building single-handedly, meanwhile he's getting accosted off-panel by police officers who think he set the building on fire, or think they can bully this weird man dressed funny. He goes to rescue old people in peril and occasionally they yell at him that they don't have any money. He doesn't get asked to lead superhero meetings or teams even though many in the community advocate for just how much he does for the world, he gets censored out of tv broadcasts or group shots (even his face is sometimes pixelated when they do show him), people invite him on talk shows and don't really let him talk or assume they got the wrong guy. He goes to rescue a woman dangling off a building, and then he gets attacked by like three different superhero teams who assume he must have kidnapped the poor damsel. He was the first superhero, he is the strongest of them all still, but he never really gets credit for it, it nor does he even want to. None of this at all stops him or deters him, except for some occasionally funny reactions.

This never really changes for him, he doesn't really earn people's approval nor does he have to, instead the stories, outside of the gags and adventures you’d expect from a comic strip, veer more towards others learning to be less judgmental and him learning ways to better approach people. He isn't any lesser than Superman just because he doesn't look like most people would want him to look and he doesn't have to look like Superman. Really I think we could use more superheroes that don’t look all so uniformly pretty.

Again, probably not a take that would work for Clark proper, but it’s one way I would take a shot at doing Superman with my own

I have other stuff in the works for this character but I'd like to keep them to better work on them for now, but yeah, these are three of my shots at developing a Pulp Superman.

Alternatively here's a fourth idea that's more pulp than all of these: Join up Nicholas Cage with Panos Cosmatos again, or whatever weird indie director he decides to pair up with next, and let them do whatever the hell they want with Superman. Give us Mandy Superman. Superman vs The Color Out of Space. Superman vs Five Nights at Freddy's. Superman’s quest to find THE LAST PIG OF KRYPTON. Anything goes.

[acourtofsnakes]

Ret'urcye Mhi - Rogue, Chapter 7 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (F)

Summary: Can things go back to normal after the Mandalorian saw you break down? Or have walls been torn down that can’t be replaced?

Warnings: Light swearing, I don’t want to give it away but no smut but… a ‘moment’ with some certainly hot thoughts and pining but nothing heavy though, reader has a back tattoo, let me know if I forgot anything!

AN: I have brought in Cara Dune in this, and she will be a frequent character. I by no means condone what Gina Carano did, and I am pleased and relieved that she is gone. However, I do like her character, as many others do. She IS only mentioned in this one briefly but will be a main character in a few future chapters. 

Also, Readers tattoo is loosely based on this design!(link)  I’m not sure who the exact creator is, but it was posted by Urban Threads on Pinterest, but if you know, please tell me! ❤️

Word Count: 8231

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @jackgrzs

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi |

Mando’a Translation: Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye

Neither of you mentioned that afternoon. 

It hadn’t come up in the 3 days since, and it hadn’t come up today. You made sure of it. 

Every time Mando looked at you, and you just felt he was going to mention it, you’d change the subject. Or just walk away. You didn’t need to have that conversation with him. You couldn’t have that conversation with him. Or anyone. 

The Mandalorian had sat there, holding you for the hours it took for you to cry yourself out. When the shuddering sobs had given way to hitched breaths and a numb stare, he’d still sat there. Rubbing your back in gentle circles, in time with Duru’s tail gently swaying over your arm. He hadn’t uttered a single word either, just letting you break down in his arms. 

When the quiet ambiance of the ship and the pressure of his hand had lulled you into sleep, he’d carried you to his bed – well, the narrow cot that jutted out from the wall in what was supposed to be the medical area. He’d given up his sleeping compartment to Grogu a long time ago, to keep the little creature warm and safe. 

He’d laid you in, covering you with the blanket and then one more that he pulled out from a unit. 

You were asleep, so you hadn’t seen the way his gloved fingers gently brushed back the hair from your tear flushed cheeks, the way they’d lingered for a moment as he’d looked down at the soft strands gliding over his fingers. You hadn’t felt the way he’d frozen when a sudden want crashed through him, to yank off his gloves and run his bare hands through your hair, feel the silkiness and the texture for himself. 

And you also wouldn’t have noticed the way his breathing went ragged for a moment and he’d lurched back, stumbling away so quickly he nearly overturned a box on his way out of the door. 

Your sleep hadn’t remained easy. Only a few hours later, you had woken up screaming, unsure of where you were, why you were on a thin cot that smelled like metal and smoke and something distinctly unique and almost like sandalwood. It was somehow comforting, soothing. You had inhaled the scent, trying to calm down your pounding heard and regain control of your breathing.  

It was only when you could suck in a full breath that you realised where you were, who’s bed this was. 

A feeling of gratefulness had crashed over you, only to be immediately wiped out by shame. You had broken down in front of him, spat such awful, awful things to his face.

And when you heard footsteps outside the compartment door, the husky baritone of his voice as he called out your name softly, you’d gone still. Like you were back on the run, mere inches away from a hunter and one move would mean disaster. 

He’d lingered, you could see by the shadows of his feet under the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. A wild thought had come to you, that he had his hand pressed to the door and you could just.. open it. Open it and let him come in, let him carry the burden of your nightmares and your feelings even If it was just for a little while. You could share some of those plaguing thoughts that you’d unleashed today. And he would listen. You didn’t know him that well, but you knew him enough to be confident he would sit there, let you talk. He knew what it was like to be alone, to have emotions and worries that you had no choice to bear yourself. 

The temptation was so strong, you craved that contact and connection so much that you were halfway across the room before your snarling argument came back in full technicolour. The things you’d said to him. The appalling way you’d acted. 

No.

You couldn’t see him. You couldn’t face him after that. After what you had said and the way you had cracked. You shook your head firmly, waiting until you heard a sigh so soft you might have imagined it and retreating footsteps. 

It was only then you that you returned to the bed, pulling the twin blankets up high over your shoulders. 

You’d deal with seeing him in the morning, but for now, all you could do was bury your face in the thin pillow and try not to notice how it smelt like him.

Something had changed between the two of you since that afternoon. He had glimpsed a part of you that you normally kept perfectly hidden, even from yourself. 

…

You were on your way to another bounty, one of the last couple of pucks that Mando had left. 

Mando had mentioned it was a hot, desert planet and he’d prefer it if you stayed in the ship with Grogu. It’d be far too hot for the little guy out there. You had obliged happily, more than fine to stay in. You didn’t like to be too hot, it made you uncomfortable and agitated. 

The cockpit was quiet, a peaceful silence had descended upon it as Mando flew the ship. 

You’d found yourself drawn to watching his hands lately. There was something… oddly soothing about it. Watching him work the controls, hold Grogu, clean his weapons. 

You wondered if he missed the sensation of touch, and then wondered if yours and the kids presence here made it harder for him. Meant he had less chances to take off his armour and be free of it. 

Of course, that had then led you onto the thought of wondering if he slept naked when he was alone. 

The thought of him lying there, nothing hiding him, separating him from the world. 

The thin blankets sliding over the body you knew was toned, yet soft enough in all the right places. 

It made your mouth a little dry, your cheeks a little pink and you struggled to find something else to think about. 

Your eyes drifted to his hands again, remembering the sound of the gloves being drawn off the other night. 

They were mesmerising, agile, and you couldn’t stop thinking about them in your hair, on your skin. 

Stars above, get a grip, girl. 

You mentally scolded yourself for these thoughts, trying to steer your damned imagination onto something more appropriate. 

Luckily, your saviour came in the form of Mando himself. He tilted his head back slightly, enough for you to know he was talking to you, “What’s your favourite planet? Or one you’d like to visit?” 

The question surprised you, you had to admit. You weren’t used to people asking about your likes and dislikes. You smiled though, perhaps this was his gentle way to break any tension left over. “Hmm… I think… I’d have to say the planet I’d like to visit most... either Hoth or Coruscant.”

Mando laughed, that gorgeous rough, honey laugh, “Okay, Coruscant I can understand, but Hoth? Really?”

You pouted at the back of his head, “Yes!! It sounds beautiful.”

The Mandalorian laughed more, “Beautiful? Sweetheart, it’s covered in ice. It’s freezing there. All you would see is ice and snow… and more ice and more snow.”

You scowled at him now, throwing the leftover wrapper of Grogu’s cookies at his helmet, “And? Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled… Besides, I like the cold.”

Little did you know, Mando was grinning like an idiot under his helmet, adoring the way you defend it to him, the way you describe something as simple as ice and snow. “You like the cold, huh? Then why are you always grumbling that the heating is broken?” The teasing lilt to his voice was evident, so animated and content, compared to his usual cooler, calm silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “That is… completely irrelevant.” You looked at the back of his head, “What about you? If my choices are so hilarious.”

The Mandalorian made a thoughtful noise, “I wouldn’t say there’s one place in particular… But… there’s a few sanctuary planets dotted around. Places with really pretty, dense forests where you could walk for days and not spot anyone else. They’re protected and safe, no dangerous animals or anything allowed… literally sanctuaries. I’d like to take Grogu there… let him wander and have fun and eat things he shouldn’t without having to look over my shoulder.” 

It was the most you’d ever heard him speak in one go, and there was a tenderness in his voice that brought tears to your eyes. This man truly loved his little green adoptive son and would do anything for him. “That sounds... stunning. I’ve heard of those planets and always wondered what they were like...” 

He made a hum of agreement, fingers working over the control panel as he put it in autopilot. “One day…” He turned around in his chair, “What about your favourite colour?” 

You moved to sit cross-legged in the seat, defying the concept of a chair. “Blue. Darker blues, like a midnight blue.” You swayed your chair from side to side slightly, “Actually, the same colour as the cloak you got me. So well done, kudo’s for you.”

Mando leant back in his own chair, tapping the side of his helmet before resting his hands on his thighs again. “This thing lets me read minds; you know.”

You began pulling the pins from your hair, “Mmhm, and I can fly.” You raise an eyebrow at him, grinning. 

He chuckled, watching you intently behind the helmet though you wouldn’t know that, watching every pin get removed from holding up your hair, “It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, princess.” He tapped his thighs absently, “You wanna know the real secret?”

You nodded, reaching in for a pin that had become stuck deep in your hair, the last one. “Surprise me.” Got it. You yanked the pin out, letting your hair fall down and your fingers through it. You sighed a little in relief as you rubbed your fingertips against your scalp, chasing away any tightness from the day. 

Mando didn’t say anything. He was too distracted, to struck into silence by the sight of your hair. 

The light from the ship and coming in through the windows turned some of the strands to gold, igniting them with that fire that blazed within you – and that he’d been on the receiving end. 

His hands tightened over his thighs, because he was overtaken by a craving, a need to remove your hands and feel your hair for himself. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d had these thoughts. 

Fuck, he’d been having these thoughts since he first saw you. He just hadn’t realised them until that night he’d nearly lost his life and woken up to you passed out on his chest. 

He’d frozen, even his breathing stopping as he felt the warm weight of you, even though the armour. 

He couldn’t bear to move you, to take away that pressure, the closeness of another human that he had missed for so long. 

So, he hadn’t. He left you there. Spent hours watching you sleep, the warmth of your breath slightly fogging up the armour on his chest. 

“Lori? Anyone in there?” You tilted your head, watching the man before you that was staring at you intently, his breathing somewhat ragged. 

He startled slightly, coming back to himself, “Huh?”

You chuckled, “Where did you go? I was waiting for you to knock me off my feet with your revelation.”

He made a noise, “Uh… I.. actually can’t remember...” He tugged at his glove, an odd gesture so at odds with his usual confident demeanour. 

You tilted your head, still smiling a little, “Are you okay?”

Luckily, he was saved from answering by the beeping of the controls behind him. 

You’d arrived at the planet. 

~

It was hot. 

Beyond hot. 

The air was warm, the water was warm, you were warm. 

And already awake, having just calmed your breathing down from another nightmare, when you heard Grogu, his little coos and gurgled filtering down the hall to you. 

The poor little creature had probably woken up from the heat. You had been on this desert planet for a couple of days, opting to stay in and look after the Child whilst Mando hunted down the bounty. The days here were scorching, a dry heat that sucked the life from you immediately. Even the nights were hot, unlike normal freezing desert nights. 

Mando had returned this evening, panting from the heat after coming up from the carbonite chamber. “I swear it’s getting hotter out there.”

The cooling system on the Crest was just as temperamental as the heating, so it wasn’t exactly cool in here. The metal floors, which were normally always chilled, were warm underfoot. Mando had let you keep his room, and it was just as hot, being contained in with itself, so you’d been sleeping with the doors open. 

Not that it made a dent. Every single closed space was like a heat trap, especially Grogu’s little compartment. So, no wonder he had woken up. 

You stretched, then slipped from the cot and made your way to Grogu.

It didn’t take long to settle him, he was all tuckered out from the games you’d been playing today, so after patting his skin with a cool cloth, he had fallen back under. 

You were now at the small ‘kitchen’ area in the ship, washing out the cloth. You huffed, splashing some water on your wrists and pulling out the pin that was holding up your hair, and falling out. Grogu had a habit of tugging the ends of your hair in his little fist. 

You’d taken to wearing a thin floaty dress to bed, one you’d picked up in that market before it had turned into a horror show. The material was gauzy, allowing the heat to escape your body without it sticking to your clammy skin. What helped enormously was the large cut out in the back. It secured at the back of your neck, and then fell open, exposing almost your whole back before joining again at the base of your spine. 

It was probably the flimsiest, most sinful thing you’d ever worn, but it was gorgeous and hey, it did the job. 

You rolled your shoulders, pressing the cool cloth to your neck and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips and you could have sworn you heard a sizzle. 

Footsteps behind you startled you, breaking you from your reverie, and then Mando’s voice filtered through the silence, “Are you okay?”

You turned around, smiling when you saw him because he was still in all his armour… not that you were surprised. He must have been boiling though, under all those heavy layers. 

You nodded, lifting the cloth from your neck, “The kid was awake, but I settled him down, he was really warm.”  

His head was covered, naturally, so you wouldn’t have seen the way his eyes followed a bead of water rolling down your neck, and the unbidden thought of his tongue catching it “Thank you for seeing to him, I didn’t hear..” 

Weird. Normally he was so attuned to Grogu, hearing him before he even woke up if you were sitting together. Maybe he was tired, from his hunting. 

What you didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that he had been staring at the ceiling for the 3rd night in a row. Having thoughts that he should not be having, his body yearning for things it shouldn’t. 

You shook your head, still smiling and turned back to the sink area, “It’s no worries, I was awake anyway so… And you’ve been hunting. You deserve the rest.” You set down the cloth, running your hands through your hair and reaching for your pin to secure it back up. You faced him again, gathering your hair in your hands, “How was it?”

But he wasn’t listening. 

He suddenly moved forward, and then he was in front of you. “Wait.” His voice was low, almost strained. There was a husk to it that hadn’t been there before, but it ignited something within you. 

You froze, your hands still stuck in your hair. You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “What..?” It was only now he was right in front of you that you could see his chest, rising and falling rapidly. “Mando, are you okay?”

He shook his head quickly, his helmet tilted down to you, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, “Let your hair down.” His voice was still that rumbly order, and it was such an odd request that you did just that, letting it tumble back down again. Your own hands trembled slightly as you lowered them. 

A shudder seemed to roll through his body, and he rocked forward on his feet, lurching toward you in a movement that lacked his usual smooth elegance. It was unsteady, unsure. 

He stopped when he was a mere few inches away, the closest you’d been to each other since that afternoon. 

This close, you could practically feel the heat roiling off of him under his armour, and you tilted your head up to meet him, concern in your eyes, “Mando, you need to go and have a cold shower.. You sound like you’re burning up… do you feel flushed?” 

He shook his head jerkily, his hands raising, “Shh… please. I just.. I need to..” He broke off, a sharp intake of air cutting his words. 

Something else began to curl through the worry in your belly, like some instinct knew things you didn’t. You swallowed, your voice low when you next spoke, “You need to what..?”

The Mandalorian was shaking, his body tensing and untensing like he was fighting himself, telling himself not to do this. “I.. I need to touch your hair.” 

Stars, you could feel the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks, like it burned through his helmet but you stayed completely still. 

His words were whispered through gritted teeth, like he was physically trying to bite them back, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-” He sounded like he was in pain, still breathing raggedly. 

Heat flared through your blood, igniting a flame within you that was irresistible. You nodded, letting him see you, “Okay.” Like you could say no to him. 

The vocoder nearly didn’t pick up the huff of relief that escaped his lips and he curled his hands into fists again, “Turn around. And close your eyes.” That rough command was back and you were more than obliging to let him navigate this moment. 

You turned around, facing the kitchen area, looking over the darkened surroundings before shutting your eyes. It immediately threw all your other senses into overdrive, so you could hear every single rasp of his breath as you exposed your skin to him, and the pounding of your own heart. 

“You have to keep them closed. You cannot turn around or look.” There was a desperate plea in his voice, an edge to it that hurt your very soul. He was audibly torn, between his Creed… and this desire that he seemed to have given into. 

You nodded again, aching to reach back and reassure him, “I won’t. I won’t open my eyes or turn around until you tell me, I swear on it, Lori.” You let every ounce of truth and understanding seep through your words, praying that it would be enough to convince him he could trust you. 

Seemingly, it was, because the next noise that you heard could have struck you dead. 

It was the sound of leather rubbing against skin, the friction as they were pulled off, then a soft thump of the material on the floor. 

He had taken off his gloves. 

He was standing behind you… with his hands bare. 

You. A person he hasn’t known for very long at all, and he was partially bare, uncovered. 

Your head exploded, a million thoughts racing through it once, sending your heart into overdrive and your own breathing rapid and unsteady. 

There was a pause, like he was steeling himself and then… then the slightest sensation, like he was catching the ends of your hair, just brushing them. 

That simple movement sent a shiver down your spine, and it was enough to get him to move more. He lifted his hands and then you felt fingers slide into your hair at the back of your head, then slowly, slowly, drag down the length. 

You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you, and then a soft mutter, “It’s so soft..” You barely picked it up, even though the ship was silent. The fingers ghosted through your hair again, and his voice was bewildered, “How do you get it this soft in that tiny ‘fresher..” It was like he was talking to himself. 

You couldn’t help the soft laugh, a release of tension from this whole thing, “I can’t reveal my secrets, Lori. Can’t have your hair being softer than mine. There’s only room for one on this ship.”

He chuckled, and it ran over your bones like honey, dousing them in such a sweet sensation. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another, princess.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t get the chance to speak because then his fingers were running up your scalp from the base of your head to the crown, with a light pressure and the feeling was so unbelievably good, that you couldn’t help it. Your head leant back into his touch and the faintest sigh left your lips. “Keep doing that..” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment crashing over you. Why did you have to say that?

The Mandalorian’s hands had paused, absorbing that soft sigh of pleasure and trying to cool his body. But you had a hold over him, he couldn’t say no. He merely did it again, with a firmer press of his fingers against your scalp, a light scrape of his nails just to get you to make that noise again, to be convinced that you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

You didn’t stop the next sigh, this one louder, more delighted. It was like you knew what the other was thinking, could read each other that well.  

He was driving you insane, rendering you speechless just from playing with your hair. 

You don’t know how long you stood there for, his hands running through the soft locks. 

He lifted it slightly, then made a soft noise. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

A tattoo? Oh right. 

It was true, you did. It was a delicate piece, spanning from the top of your spine to just above your hips, lining your spine. It showed the phases of the moon, drawn in a minimalist style, with small stars and additional lines coming out of every other piece. 

You nodded quickly, “I’ve had it for years.” Fuck, could your voice sound anymore needy?

“What does it mean?” His words were murmured and then the next thing could have had you on your knees. 

You heard a sound that had haunted you since the night he nearly died, the sound of leather sliding over skin. The soft plop as it fell to the floor. 

No way. Has he just..

His fingers, his bare fingers ghosted down your spine, following the line of it with a touch so fleeting it almost made you whine. 

In fact, it did, a whimper rising from deep in your chest. 

He was touching you. 

His bare skin, skin that he had sworn by Creed to keep covered and hidden until marriage, was trailing down your spine as light as wings. 

Pleasure shot straight though you, making your nerves and blood sing, making your knees shake and your belly hot. 

A tug on your hair, a tug that was sharp enough to send a faint tinge of pain through your scalp had you moaning, you couldn’t help it. Your lips parted and the moan fell from them, soft, a little high and drawn. 

Mando swore under his breath, his whole body twitching behind yours, “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” There was a hoarseness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, a straining note like your moan had shot right through him. Which is had. 

What does it mean… what does it mean? Focus!!

“Um… right. When I was on the run, initially in the beginning, I never had a place to call home. Everything I knew had been torn away, and I could never settle anywhere. Every night, I would look up into the sky and watch the moon. No matter what planet I was on, no matter where I was, or if there two moons or 4, it was always there. I only had to look up, and there was something up there to ground me, give me some sense of comfort. It might look smaller, or be a different colour, but it was still the moon. And it made me feel… safe. Like it was a… a companion in a way. I just had to look a little closer, beneath the colours or the distance and there it was. It was always in the sky, so I wanted to get it tattooed so that it would always be with me. No matter if I was outside, as free as I could be, or inside and trapped.” You flushed a little, “That probably makes no sense and sounds so stupid.”

You could sense the Mandalorian shaking his head, his voice still low and soft, “No.. I think it’s beautiful. And I get it. I move around so much too, there’s only a few things that always remain the same. So I know the value of having something familiar.” He ghosted his fingers down it again, trailing all the way down to where the cut out portion of your dress stopped and then back up again. 

When his hand reached the top of the tattoo, he slid it up further, cupping the back of your neck in his broad, warm hand. 

It sent electricity shooting across your skin, that blazed as he wrapped his thumb and fingers around either side of your neck, just a gentle pressure there. 

You moaned again; you didn’t even try to hide it. Your head fell back, exposing your throat to him in a sign of instinctual submission, even though you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. You didn’t mind, you just needed more, more than this teasing touch, more than the faint brush of his fingertips. Your chest shuddered, knuckles white as you gripped the counter in an effort to stay still, “Lori…” You whined his name, hoping it would spark something in him, would force him to do something. 

You felt him shudder again, felt his hips draw back from your body like he was trying to hide just what these noises did to him. 

Fuck. 

It burned you, turned your belly molten and the power that washed over you was heady. You had turned him on just from your hair, your skin and your moans. 

The voice that came out was equally as tight, husky and you might have lived and died inside the low baritone “What is it, princess?”

Your fingers curled around the side of the counter in front of you, and you were glad he couldn’t see your face when you whispered, “Please..”. Your voice was low, pleading and aching. 

You felt him shudder behind you, a tiny groan echoing through the helmet.

His next words nearly undid you there and then, “Like I could say no to you.”

Then his fingers pressed into your spine, caressing down your back over the tattoo with such admiration, such warmth that it arched slightly, chasing more of that sensation. 

Your head was spinning, convinced you were dreaming, that this wasn’t real. 

This didn’t happen between you both. 

You flirted, sure. But that was harmless, playful. 

This… this was real. He was letting you feel his bare skin, uncovered and unhidden. 

And it was tearing you apart. 

The scrape of his thumbnail on your skin tore you from those thoughts, ripped you back to the present as it ran down the curve of your back. If your eyes had been open, they would have rolled into the back of your head. 

Your head fell forward, back arching completely into him and the sound that you let out was sinful. You could only concentrate on the that sharp, pleasurable hurt that you felt in your belly, the feeling of his other hand as it held your shoulder, holding you in that arch. 

Heat pooled low in your belly, and every dream, every thought you’d been trying to suppress about him came blasting into full technicolour. All because of his hands. 

Those damn hands you’d been pining over since saving his life. 

His head was so close over your shoulder that you could hear the low pant of his breath, the coolness of his armour barely brushing your shoulders as you pressed back into him. 

Fuck, did he want this as much as you did? 

By the way his hand tightened, he had to. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did. 

You swallowed, licking your lips to say something, anything, spur him on but a harsh beeping suddenly broke through the thick tension on the room. A light was flashing, and by the time the fog of pleasure cleared in your head, he was gone. 

Gloves picked up and yanked on, boots disappearing up the ladder into the cockpit to check on the autopilot. 

The taut sensation in your body snapped, making you sink to the floor as though the strings had been cut.

You lifted shaking hands to your face, burying them in them with a low noise. Your head was a mess, you couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t stop feeling his fingers on your back, your hair. Hear the ragged pant of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your shoulders. 

It was just touch, just the simple act of touch but it had igniting something so fierce within you. 

Something had changed. 

What the fuck was that?

You sat there on the floor for Maker knows how long, before dragging yourself up and hurrying off in search of a very, very cold shower. 

~

You weren’t quite sure how to face him the next morning. 

You had taken your cold shower, and it had done nothing to cool the fire in your blood so you had to take the initiative, hoping the crash of the water and the fact you were biting down the back of your free hand would cover the desperate moans you made. 

Little did you know, the Mandalorian was going through the exact same thing, back arched, lips biting into his lip to stop the groans. 

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, stop thinking about what had occurred between you. 

Surely it broke some kind of rules of his Creed?

He had touched you with his bare skin. You weren’t married. You weren’t together. You didn’t even know his name. 

Yet he had touched you and.. reacted to you. 

Maybe that was just instinct, his body’s natural response to such things. 

But he had carried on… until you were disturbed anyway. 

Your head went round and round in these circles until your body had calmed down enough to sleep. 

…

You rose early, wanting to be washed, dressed and ready and doing something to occupy you before you had to think too much about what you were going to say.  Maybe just… Good morning?

Sure. Good morning was fine. 

Normal. 

It totally didn’t reveal what you’d had to do in the shower, or the thoughts you were still having about it. 

You had this discussion with yourself all the way up the ladder of the cockpit, and when you rose to your height, you blurted it out in a cheery voice before you could bail, “Morning!”

Breezy. Nailed it. 

The Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot’s chair, fiddling with controls and levers, gloves firmly on. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay in the heat?” 

You nodded, sinking down into the pilots chair and feeding Duru a treat, “Yes, thank you. Finally.” You stroked under Duru’s chin, your eyes straying to those hands as he slide them over some switches. 

The same hands that had cupped the back of your neck and trailed fire down your spine. 

A flush started to creep along your cheeks, so you quickly looked away, “Did you?”

The light bounced off of his helmet as he nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

Polite. His words were polite. Almost... distant. 

Okay… Okay, so maybe he just feels awkward?

You bit your bottom lip, worried if you should say something. 

No, leave it. He no doubt feels over-exposed and maybe shy about what happened last night. Don’t bring it up. Just act normal.

You nodded faintly to yourself and returned your attention back to Duru. 

~

Mando was ignoring you. 

You had been trying to deny it, but he most certainly was. 

Yesterday, he had engaged in talking to you now and then throughout the day, but only passing comments and a few spare words. 

You had spoken more when you were beating the shit out of each other. 

You kept telling yourself that it was just lingering awkwardness from how to go back to normal after that night, but the gnawing in your gut told you otherwise. 

It had been shouting at you this morning when he had parked the ship on a planet, announced he was going hunting and he’d be back in a few hours. 

Then he’d just gone. 

You had waited for him all day, mooched around the ship, played with Grogu and Duru and tried not to worry. 

You sat up for hours, even when the little ones had gone to sleep, waiting to talk to him. 

You’d convinced yourself that you should talk about. You should tell him you didn’t expect anything from him. That you didn’t hate him, that he didn’t hurt you or anything like that. 

Just to tell him whatever you needed to stop this frostiness. 

You had it all planned, had every phrase and comment worked out to stop this atmosphere. 

About 15 minutes ago, you’d heard the ramp open. 3 minutes after that, the hiss and echo of the carbonite chamber. 

Then you’d heard him go and check on the kid, then go to his quarters. 

And now, it was his booted feet on the steps to the cockpit that held your attention. 

You took a deep breath, prayed to the Maker and spun your seat to face him as he rose up. 

The mere sight of that beskar-clad body set your heart thumping, but you coaxed an easy smile on your lips anyway. “Hey, how was the hunt? Cause you any trouble?”

Mando didn’t turn his head to look at you, just padded over to his seat and spun it to the control panel, “It was fine. Easy.” His words were clipped, not harsh, just… efficient. Straight to the point. 

You swallowed, your courage faltering a little. 

Mentally, you scolded yourself. You didn’t falter in the face of a man who’d touched you and now wouldn’t talk to you. You didn’t whimper and pander to a tense atmosphere. 

You sat up a little straighter, pulling your shoulders back and you looked over at him. 

Now or never. 

“About the other night-”

“I’m taking you to Nevarro.”

What?

You had both spoken at the same time, your eyes now bewildered as you beheld him. “What?”

He said nothing, just fiddled with some controls. 

“Mando, what do you mean?” Your voice was shocked, but steady. Did nothing to betray the shock that had just hit your chest like a punch. 

You didn’t hear him swallow, only heard his words, “I’m taking you to Nevarro. We’re on the way now.” He said them softly, evenly. 

Hearing it again only made your heart drop to somewhere around your waist. 

He was leaving you. Dumping you on some planet. And going. 

Your hand tapped your leg as sort of nervous habit, and then the words were out, “Is this because of the other night?” 

It was his turn to sound bewildered, his head just turning to the side, but you knew he couldn’t see you in his peripheral, “What? What do you mean?” 

Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably in your chest, a sense of shame beginning to creep over you, “Because of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t see you, I didn’t see your skin.”

Mando turned to face you, one hand still on the panel, his hair half turned but head rotated all the way to look at you, “No, no it’s not because of that-“

You cut him off, “You didn’t… you didn’t offend me. Or hurt me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if.. if my reaction made you feel awkward or think something. I don’t.. I don’t expect anything from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I never have, so please don’t think that.” You flushed, the shame colouring your cheeks. You couldn’t help it. But this was the reason, right? The only reason why he would be dumping you. 

He shook his head, “Stop. Stop..” His voice softened slightly, “No. It’s not because of… that. I know you didn’t see me. And I know you don’t expect anything from me.” He took a breath, “I’m taking you to Nevarro to keep you safe. That’s all. I have friends there, Cara Dune and Greef Karga. They’ll look after you. They’ve already set up accommodation for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. 

They already knew? 

Something like hurt flashed in your eyes, colouring your tone, “They… You already planned this..?” There was no bite in your voice like you would normally have in this situation, you were too shocked by the sudden change in direction your journey was taking. 

Mando tilted his head, “I contacted them whilst I was on the hunt… I wanted it set up before we got there, so you wouldn’t stand out to anyone looking.” He still looked at you, “Is that okay?”

You sensed you wouldn’t have a choice in this. So you decided to take the high road. You wouldn’t whine about this. 

You smoothed your expression over into a mask of calm, “Yes… I was just a little surprised that’s all. But thank you, really. I’ll… set about packing my things.”

He sounded confused, his head tilting back to watch you rise from your chair, “We have a couple of days yet.”

You nodded, “Oh, I know, I just want to make sure I have everything. And all the things I want to steal from you.” You laughed, even going so far as to nudge his shoulder before escaping. 

You were gone to quickly, so you wouldn’t have seen the way he slumped in his chair, dropped his head into his hands. You wouldn’t have heard the pained sigh that escaped his lips at the thought have having to part with you. 

~

~

~

The Mandalorian stood at the top of the ramp with you, staring out across the dusty, volcanic terrain of Nevarro. Your new home for… however long. 

You said nothing, running your fingers along the edge of your cloak, observing the landscape and trying not to let any emotion show on your face. You had kept up natural conversation the past few days. Saying nothing of the wrenching pain that tore in your chest every time you remembered you were departing. 

Mando cleared his throat, one arm holding Grogu and the other hand resting on his hip in a gesture that was becoming painfully familiar, “Cara and Greef know you’re coming. They’ll be waiting in Cara’s office for you.” 

Grogu was sulking, squirming every now and then to try and get out of Mando’s grip. He had screamed the whole morning, and only calmed down when you hugged him and sung to him on the way here. 

You nodded, also trying to ignore the thoughts swirling round in your mind as to why he was leaving you here. Was it because of your argument? The way you had broken down in front of him? Or was it because of the other night? The way his fingers had run through your hair, and then trailed down your spine, mapping your tattoo. His bare fingers. The things he’d whispered to you, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-”

“I’ve been thinking about this for days..”

Had he known then that he was going to leave you here? Or was it after that, that he’d decided he had broken one too many rules and had to get rid of you. 

Words floated over to you, and you realised he was talking again so you hauled your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“-safe here. No one will come looking for you. Greef has taken all the pucks that have come through with your name on them and Cara will do sweeps every couple of days to make sure.”

You looked down at your feet, a bitter feeling leeching through your veins that was getting stronger with every moment you got closer to leaving the Crest. 

“Hey… look at me..” 

It was that honey softness of the Mandalorian’s tone that finally had you looking up at him, your expression perfectly masked to hide every ounce of emotion in you aside from a calm neutrality. 

He tilted his head a little, turning his body toward you, “Please don’t think I’m dumping you here. I had planned to bring you here since I destroyed the puck and the fob.”

Like that made you feel any better. 

He must have read the flicker in your eyes, because he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your upper arm, “I want you to be safe.” You could almost feel his eyes boring into yours, “I am more than grateful for everything you’ve done for me. And the kid. More than you’ll ever know. But, travelling with me.. it only increases the target on your back. People know you’re with me. I don’t want that for you.. you deserve to be free..”

And what about what I want?

You only smiled, forcing your expression to one of a lighter one and you nudged him gently, “Hey, I get it. You have to get rid of me because I’m showing you up on hunts. Can’t have anyone destroying your infamous reputation.” You rolled your eyes, laughing even if it did send daggers into your heart. 

And his. 

He squeezed your shoulder playfully, then dropped his hand. “You’re hilarious. I told you, the day you beat me is the day the stars implode.” You could feel a line of humour in his voice though, and it softened your shoulders, made you relax. 

He was doing this to keep you safe. He had planned this for weeks so you could have a break, a chance to rest. 

So, you lifted your head a little higher, your smile becoming more real. “Thank you, Mando. For everything. I can’t ever repay you for this, for what you’ve done.” You motioned to the outside. 

He nodded, his hand resting at his sides again now, “We’ll call it even.” His head remained focused on you, lingering on you and then he reached into a pouch and held out his free hand, “Here.”

You let him drop the objects in your hand, a small stack of credits. 

“It’s not much, I know, but it’ll be enough to get you some food and supplies you need. You don’t need to worry about a place to stay, Cara will show you but… You can get what you want and need.” He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly.  

You swallowed, closing your hand around the credits and you slipped them into the pocket inside your cloak. “Thank you..”

The Mandalorian merely nodded again, leaning back against the threshold of the ramp, his thumb absently rubbing circles on Grogu’s belly.  

It seemed that there was nothing else to draw this goodbye out, so you took a breath, straightening your cloak. “Well… I guess I’ll say goodbye then.” You looked up at him, then stuck out your hand for his, realising only a few seconds later how dumb that was. 

Before you could pull your hand back, he reached out and clasped your hand in his own, wrapping his fingers around your distinctly smaller hand. “Goodbye… princess.” You heard the smirk in his voice, and you couldn’t help the chuckle and the eye roll again, not failing to notice the way his hand tightened involuntarily and then withdrew. 

You looked at Grogu in his other arm, who was still avoiding looking at the pair of you, wriggling in his father’s arms. You bent down to draw your face to his level and you stroked his ears, “I’ll miss you, little guy. Make sure to keep your dad on his toes, okay? You gotta make up for both of us now.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling his little hand pat your cheek with a mournful noise. Tears burned the back of your eyes, so you leant back, instead picking up Duru so she could say goodbye. 

Grogu cooed sadly again, stroking Duru’s cheek, looking up at her with his glossy eyes. 

You let Duru but her head against him, chitter a goodbye and then you stepped back, allowing her to climb up your shoulders as you looked up at Mando. 

You just watched him for a moment, his armour reflecting the light on one side and then, with a soft inhale of courage, you turned and walked down the ramp, Duru padding at your feet. 

You had only just cleared the ramp, stepping onto the hard, compacted ground when Mando called out, “Wait.”

You turned quickly, hope blooming in your heart, in your expression though you tried to stop it. 

He had made a step onto the ramp, body poised like it was trying to run to you but he was holding back. He hesitated, almost as if he were torn with what to say – or what not to say, but all that came out was, “Ret'urcye mhi.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that licked down your spine, the way his voice turned into dripping honey when he spoke Mando’a. “What does that mean..?” You prayed he couldn’t hear the slight hoarseness to your tone.

He tilted his head down to look at Grogu, then lifted it back up to you, “It means goodbye…. And maybe we’ll meet again..” 

Your heart swelled a little, a flush of pain going through it but you smiled softer, your expression melting and you inclined your head slightly, “I would like that.. very much…” 

There were a million other things that threatened to roll off your tongue, pour from you but before they could, you turned around, walking toward the town and feeling his eyes on you the entire time, burning into the back of your head like a fiery brand. 

You were about 4 metres away when you heard Grogu start crying, when your own tears broke through and spilled down your cheeks. You kept walking, even when your vision began to blur and go fuzzy.

So you didn’t see the way Mando hugged Grogu closer, whispered, “I know, kid, I don’t want her to go either.”

You’d be okay. It would be fine. 

So you and the Mandalorian were parting. It was no big deal. You had helped each other; you had returned each other’s debts. You owed each other nothing. 

The sound of engines whirring filtered into your ears, and you waited until you heard the Crest lift from the ground before turning round. 

You paused, wiping your cheeks as the ship that had become a haven of sorts lifted into the sky. It hovered for a second, as if hesitating and then shot up higher, taking with it the two people that you had come to mean more to you than you realised. It felt like the Razor Crest had taken your heart with it. 

How comes you hadn’t realised before how much they meant?

Too late now.

You remained watching the sky, long after the ship had vanished into the atmosphere. 

With a shuddering breath, you wiped your cheeks. You kissed Duru’s tail, and then returned to walking toward the town. 

You’d be okay… right?

Previous chapter| Next chapter

[five-rivers]

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

.

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

[stillebesat]

Be My Dad

Sanders Sides: Janus, Logan  A Vague AU Writing Prompt: @wildhorsewolf​ asked: Guess I'm a parent now with Janus being the dad and Logan being the kid Blurb: Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely.  Fic Type: Familial Soulmate!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Mentions of Scars  Taglist in Reblog.

To most souls, a food court was a necessary evil. Loud. Lots of people. But plenty of food options all together in one place. Perfect for those who liked a variety of choices or those who had picky eaters in tow.

It was a place to meet up with friends, family, or business associates. A place where one could sit back and observe society at work. To see people at their best...and most definitely at their worst. 

There was something soothing about the chaos that Janus enjoyed...as a spectator. He could never imagine being right in the middle of it.

Not unless he was doing what he was doing right now. Trying to hide in plain sight in the middle of a crowd.

After all. He was thirty now. Single. Childless.

Obviously a menace to society in a universe that seemed obsessed with everyone being part of a ‘family.’ 

A Universe that had decreed that all adults who remained childless by the age of thirty, would then be subjected to being bombarded with children in need of a proper parent figure to bond with in their lives.

He exhaled, absently brushing against the raised scar on his cheek, barely looking up as a child burst out wailing nearby.

He’d checked earlier. That particular wailer hadn’t had the golden sparks. It meant he was safe. 

For now.

He ran a hand through his hair, flipping another page in his notebook before he continued scrawling on the page. Maybe Virgil had actually been onto something when he said he was vanishing into the wilderness of Europe for the rest of his life. 

Sure, Janus had laughed six months ago when his best friend had turned thirty and begun complaining about all the kids coming out of the woodwork to ask him to be their Dad.

It’d seemed impossible at the time. To have children want to come up to Mr. Shadows Incarnate and expect Virgil to put them to bed and tell a bedtime story.

Now though, he understood why Vee had become more reluctant to leave his house as the year had worn on. Because the mini spawns really had come out of nowhere once his own thirtieth birthday hit. 

And it was awful. 

Wherever he went, it was inevitable that some child would approach him, shimmering golden sparks floating around them indicating that they were looking for a Parent Bond. 

It was also as inevitable that he would scare them away just as quickly. 

After all, his halfmoon scar and creepy yellow eyes had caused plenty of kids to scream and run with a single look years before his thirtieth birthday. 

No, at least Virgil had a bit of that shy emo charm that made him more approachable, even if the merest appearance of anyone under four feet had his best friend going pale as a corpse and ducking out before the kid could take more than two steps towards him.

Privately he was certain Virgil would find a kid perfect for him before the year was out, despite his best friend’s attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He knew Virge would make a good dad. Compassionate. Protective. His best friend had a dozen other traits that would benefit him when the right child flared with him. 

Unlike Janus.

Who could make a grown man cry with less than four words and a glower.  

No. He couldn’t imagine having any child coming to him in the middle of the night expecting comfort. 

He knew he was intimidating.

He knew he could be scary.

It wouldn’t be fair to subject a child to that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it felt like a slap to the face that no matter how much he achieved, how many degrees he got, or businesses he owned, or careers he pursued, or money he made…

The universe felt that one couldn’t be complete unless said person also had a screaming, slobbering, dirty child in tow.

Janus ran a hand through his hair, again brushing the crescent scar on his cheek as he looked up long enough to watch a cluster of mothers with their dozen and a half children in strollers rush by, seeking salvation at the nearest set of golden arches with at least four of the kids already screaming for their happy meal toy. 

Even if he did make a connection with any kid brave enough to approach him...Janus could never imagine trying to coerce a screaming brat into eating their chicken nuggets all by himself. Could never stand to walk around with food, slobber or worse, vomit stains on his best suits like a badge of honor. Could never be patient enough to listen to the long and rambling and pointless stories he’d heard multiple parents suffer through while observing them here in the food court.

No. There was no way Janus would allow the universe a say in how he ran these next five years of his life.

He had goals.

Life plans.

And he didn’t need some interfering Being with an obviously unhealthy parent complex ruining that.

The scrapping of a chair being pulled back broke through the gentle hum the noise the chaos of the food court had receded to, causing Janus to look up from his paper in time to see a boy, wearing a faded black long sleeved shirt with matching glasses and thankfully older than the screaming toddler throwing french fries six tables over, plop down in the seat across from him.

A child. With golden sparks shimmering in the air around him. 

Oh goodie.

Janus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. And here he’d thought that the fact that he’d caused a pair of twin girls, a baby, three boys, six preteens, and four other children under the age of five to scream in terror and/or burst into tears before the lunch rush had even started would have been enough for the universe to call it quits for the day on attempting a Parent Bond.

“I have a prospersition for you.” The boy said, making eye contact. Janus blinked, pen pausing mid stroke as he raised an eyebrow to the child. Prosper...prosper? Oh. “A prop-osition?” He asked, careful to pronounce the word correctly. 

The boy nodded once, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Prop-osition” he repeated, saying it properly this time. “Will you listen to it? Please?” 

Oh, now there was a please? The kid hadn’t even said hello. Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering the raised scar on his cheek, eyes darting about without much hope for any sign of a frantic adult looking for their wayward offspring as he sat back, tapping his pen on the table. “I’m busy.”  

The boy’s eyes flashed. “No you’re not.”

Janus scoffed, gesturing to his papers. “I assure you that I a--”

“Are doing what you do every Friday. You’re not busy. You just sit here. All day. Reading. Writing.”  

Observant. Janus frowned, again glancing around for a guardian figure. He didn’t think children thought much beyond eating, sleeping, and playing with their peers. “That is considered being busy by most people, I don’t have time to tal--”  

The boy shifted to his knees, the golden sparks dancing around him as he carefully placed eight quarters on the table before pushing the pile over to him. “For your time.” He said, looking up to meet Jansus’s eyes once more.

Clever. Not quite the amount he usually took for a consultation, but he doubted a child could come up with that much cash. Still. It was the first time one of these golden sparked spawns of the devil decided to pay him instead of screaming bloody murder. 

Janus exhaled, laying down his pen, sitting up as he clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I’m listening.” Though he doubted anything good would come from this proposition. He could already predict the direction this would go.

The boy relaxed, though he stayed half kneeling on his chair. “I need you,” his mouth twisted slightly, grey eyes glittering. “to pretend to be my Father.” 

Father? Ha. Called it. “No.”

Golden sparks flared as the boy lifted his chin. “You didn’t even ask ‘Why.’”

He smirked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed the coins back. “I don’t need to.” It was obvious why the kid wanted to play pretend. After all, the sparks surrounding him were only visible to those like Janus. Single. Between the age of thirty and thirty-five. Childless. If the kid needed a fake dad...well this wasn’t his first rodeo with the concept. “You either need protection from some bullies, which--” He gestured to himself. “You think I look scary enough to intimidate them.” Though not scary enough to keep the kid from bugging him in the first place. “Or else you have lied to your friends about who your Dad is or what he does and so--”

“You’re wrong.”   

Janus cut off, tilting his head. “Am I?” He was certain he wasn’t. 

“You are.” The boy kept eye contact, grey blue eyes hard as stone. 

It would be an intimidating gaze once he grew older, Janus was sure. “Enlighten me.”

The boy pushed the coins back across the table. “The Aquarium is having a Father/Son day today. I want to go.” 

Not what he meant by enlighten, but he’d humor the kid. “So?”

The boy rolled his eyes, shifting to his knees so he could better rest his arms on the table. “I can’t exactly partisiis--partissee--par--” 

“Participate?”

He nodded. “I can’t exactly participate if I go by myself, dummy.”

Dummy? Who just helped the kid pronounce ‘participate?’ 

Janus shoved the quarters back to the boy before picking up his pen, tapping it against the table. He could see the kid’s problem though. It made sense why the aquarium wouldn’t want to let hordes of little demon spawn run around tapping on the glass, licking the floors, and breaking things unsupervised. “I’m not spending fifty dollars to play your Dad, kid, just so you can look at some fish.” 

A pet store would work just as well and wouldn’t cost a dime. If he was willing to go along with this.

Which he wasn’t.

He didn’t even like fish. Not since that stupid childhood fishing accident that had given him the lovely scar on his face in the first place.

No way would he willingly go along with some brat to a place filled to the brim with the creatures.

Despite how brilliant of a scheme it was. One Janus would have used himself though under different circumstances. 

Though he supposed, if he felt like admitting it, which he didn’t, but he still---it….hurt in a way, that the kid, even having the sparks, just wanted to use him to get in to see some boring fish instead of trying out a real Trial with him to see if they had any sort of parental bond. 

It was a stupid feeling. 

He should be used to being used. 

The boy adjusted his frames, barely blinking as he shoved the quarters back across the table, staring Janus down. “Adults get in for only ten dollars today. Kids get in free. If.” He emphasized the word. “Their Father brings them.” He shifted in his seat, pulling out a twenty and slid it across the table. “For your ticket.” He said simply, eyes flashing. “I’m only asking for your time. I don’t want to go on a Trial with you. I don’t need or want a Dad. I just need an adult with the time on his hands to pretend to be one and let me esplore the place for two measlely hours.”

Double ouch. At least some kids attempted to do an actual Trial Run with him to see if their sparks would Flare before being so blunt in telling him he wouldn’t be their Dad. 

Janus frowned, already shaking his head. “Kid, I don’t--” 

The boy pulled out another twenty, placing it on the table. “Two hours.” He said simply.  

“You don’t even know me--” Sure, he knew the boy knew he was in the Trial stage of life since the stupid floating sparks thing, even if he couldn’t see his own, went both ways. But that didn’t mean that he should just shove--

The boy placed a third twenty on the table. 

Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering his scar as he glared at the child. “You’re seriously bribing me? Where did you even get that much cash?” Hopefully it wasn’t stolen, but he’d applaud the boy for being so prolific in his thievery. 

“Not important.” The boy stated, pulling out a fourth twenty without breaking eye contact. 

Why was he being so persistent?! Any other child would have run away by now. 

“Why me?” He demanded, leaning forward, sneering in a way he knew made his eyes look even more creepy. “Why not bribe some other--”

The boy hesitated, a fifth twenty already in his fingers as his steely gazed wavered. “If I tell you why, will you go with me to the Aquarium?” 

That was hardly a fair exchange. The answer could be super simple and he’d be stuck with the kid for two hours. “I’m going to stick with my ‘I’m scary theory,’” Janus said instead, gesturing to his face. That was the usual reason kids gave in most circumstances. 

The boy frowned, lifting his chin. “I can be scary enough on my own without your help.” He said shoving the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an angry red corded scar that wrapped around his arm from wrist to shoulder. “We match, kinda. Your scar looks similar. Makes it easier to pretend that you’re my Dad. That we were in the same accident.” He pushed the pile of money towards him. “And if anyone suspects you aren’t my birth father, then the sparks will show them that we’re on a Trial and that our scars mean we’re meant to be.” 

Meant to be. 

It took a lot of effort to not touch the crescent mark on his cheek. To ignore the fluttering in his chest at those words.

They’re just pretty little lies. 

Sure, there were ongoing theories that families all shared a similar trait that marked them. Whether that was having a mole on the same part of their stomach, sharing a taste in mustard, having an allergy to hay, hair having the same cowlick, or having similar looking scars--Janus kept his hands firmly on the table as he pulled his eyes back up to meet the kids. 

It was hearsay though. Nothing had ever been proven. Not when the sparks flaring between parent and child was a far more accurate indicator that they were meant to be a family. 

No, he highly doubted anyone would Flare with him during this five year tortrue period. Not even this kid despite the sparks dancing between them. 

Janus took a steadying breath. It was fine. He didn’t need a family. Not even a pretend one for two hours. He was better off alone now that Virgil had harred off to who knew where. “How long do I have to wait before you run out of twenties and give up?” He said, keeping his voice cool. “Because I’m not taking your bribe, kid, regardless of the amount. You’d be better off hiring a nanny or something.” 

Though he was curious just how much the boy thought it would take to convince him to go along with this farce. 

The kid made a face. “I don’t want to be coddled the entire time.” He snapped, the fifth twenty vanishing as he shoved his sleeve down. “All anyone ever does is treat me like I’m breakable since--” he gestured to his arm, the scars once more hidden. “And I’m sick of it. You look like you’d happily let me fall off a bridge if I wasn’t careful and I just...I just--” He shook his head. “I need to not be cared about for a bit.” 

Let him fall off a bridge? Ouch. Janus focused on relaxing his clenched hands, one finger at a time. “So you have a death wish? I’m not gonna be complacent to--”

The boy growled, slamming his hands on the table, steel grey eyes hardening even as they shimmered with unshed tears. “No. I just want to look at the fish.” He hissed. “I want to esplore. Learn. SEE. Without having a grown-up hovering over me like I’m freaking china. All you would have to do is stay near enough to keep any other metaling adults away. That’s all I want. For two hours. To be treated like a normal kid.” His hand clenched as he took a breath, bottom lip trembling. “I thought you of all people would understand that.” He whispered, eyes flickering to the scar and back.

It took a lot of effort to not touch his face. To maintain eye contact. 

Sure.

He understood. 

Janus had wasted years chasing that particular dream throughout high school and well into his first couple of years at college. 

It had all been for nothing. 

People judged the book by the cover. Few ever took the time to look deeper. 

And it sucked that Janus was being forced to reckon with the fact that if he didn’t go with this kid and pretend to be his Dad, he’d be like every other adult unwilling to give the boy a chance to be ‘normal.’  

…Great. Just. Great.  

He’d just been guilted into spending two hours looking at the fish. 

Janus broke eye contact, cursing under his breath as he shoved his papers into his book bag and stood, grabbing his jacket and hat off the chair. 

Maybe he should follow Virgil’s lead and disappear into the wilderness for the next four and a half years if the kids were going to start pulling this type of act on him. 

“You got a name, kid?” He asked, fishing out a single twenty from the stack before shoving the pile back at the boy. Enough for the ticket. That’s it. 

The boy caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You mean--”

How could eyes hard as steel one second go so soft like freshly fallen ash the next?

You know what. He didn’t want to know. If the kid knew how to do puppy dog eyes, then he knew how. That was that, but after today Janus would not be falling for them again.

“Name.” He repeated, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow him as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Else I’ll make one up and I guarantee you will not like it.” 

The boy was by his side in a flash, golden sparks swirling. “Logan.” He said, adjusting his glasses with a small smile. “My name is Logan.”

[beelspillowpet]

If your requests are open and your willing to, would you be able to do the brothers reacting to a trans MC? 👉🏻👈🏻 preferably female to male, but either way is fine! Sorry if your not comfy with this type of request >~<

Anon, just because you were afraid that I would turn down your request, I am going to PROVE to you how much it doesn’t bother me I'm going to do the 7 brothers AND the side characters. Because you BETTER BELEIVE we have a cast of supportive people!! Yessir!!!

I myself am the twin sister of my late twin brother, who was also FtM! I’ll be using his memory as inspiration, if you do not mind? Thank you for requesting this!

~

Lucifer

At first he presumed you were just not girly. He didn't really mind your behavior or way of dressing, so long as you got your tasks done on time and were on your best behavior.

When you cut your hair and stopped wearing that nail polish (despite Asmo’s pleading) he still thought nothing of it. You wore pants, and started trying your best to drop hints, and thankfully, Lucifer isn’t an idiot.

So what you’re telling me is that we’ve made you uncomfortable when referring to you as a woman? If that is the case, MC, then we would be more than happy to refer to you as anything you request. You only need to say the word.

He is dedicated to making sure you’re happy and comfortable here. He and his brothers may be demons, but they aren’t heartless. They were once angels too. He goes through the process with you, if you were shaky or unsure of what to do in the past. If you want HRT, surgery, need a new wardrobe, he and his brothers will be the first to provide. Whatever to keep you happy in your skin.

Mammon

Oh. Honestly speaking, he’ll still love you regardless of what form your body takes. He liked the way you looked, but secretly he can’t wait to see how you’ll look after you transition.

Before we even get to that point though, it takes a lot of hint dropping for him to get it. And even then, he has to go and ask the others what you’re trying to tell him. Of course he gets picked on a little bit for it, but once he figures it out he’s really happy you were comfortable enough to tell him.

Hell, he might get a job just so he can help you be able to afford all the things you’ll need to properly transition. Some of the details make him blush quite a bit, and if you’re uncomfortable with touches or any signs of affection during your process of transitioning, he will politely refrain from making his human uncomfortable.

He’s taking you to Majolish and you are going to get your ENTIRE wardrobe redone. Courtesy of The GREAT Mammon! You should feel grateful that he’s working this hard to make you happy. I mean c’mon, he LOVES you! He can’t wait to love you more after you’ve become the man you always were deep down inside.

Leviathan

He does notice that you act different from other women. Not that he minds it, not at all. His Henry is still the same old Henry. Just a little bit different. He’s a little bit different too, there’s nothing wrong with that. Right?!

It’s when you start preferring to be called Henry as opposed to your birth name, do the cogs start churning in his brain. He would have suspected at first that maybe you just were very good friends with him and loved TSL almost as much as him.

He’s seen a few heart-warming anime about it. Specifically one about a girl becoming a boy, and the struggles he went through while attending school. The title wasn’t too important to him, but now that he had a reference for what you were dealing with, he was a bit happy. He just wanted to wait until the moment was right to bring it up to you. Perhaps his Henry was really a Henry after all!

When the moment comes, he’s proud to say the least. He throws his arms around you happily, and promises to be there by your side every step of the way. He’s not exactly rolling in money, but an Otaku finds a way. The Lord of Shadows is your best friend ever, and he can’t wait to see the before and after pictures of your full transition!

Satan

It started with a book you read with him. He didn’t fully comprehend your situation, but he knew you didn’t act like normal girls. It reminded him of a character in a book he read a few weeks ago. The guy didn’t really act like a girl.

While sweet and thoughtful, this character didn’t hit the nail on the head in some ways. When talking over the book with you, you explained just as much to him. The energy was there, but it was backwards for you. He picked up on it immediately.

So what you’re telling me is, you understand this characters struggle with themselves, and can relate to it. But something about it is backwards? A little smile appears on his face as it fully dawns on him. MC, I think I’ll be able to assist you in any way you need.

With Satan’s wonderful connections across the entire Devildom, it wasn’t long before you were getting some of the best treatment possible. The prices seemed a bit scary, but he assured you everything was being taken care of behind the scenes. If you needed to worry about anything, it would be the tiring, long process to come with transitioning. He’ll be sure it goes relatively smoothly for you, though!

Asmodeus

Oh he gets it immediately. Darling why didn’t you just say so in the first place?

He’s dragging you back to your room, rambling the entire time about how he can’t wait to take you out and go shopping. He puts together a devious little page to gather up donations and the like to support your transitioning. His fans would be HONORED to pitch in, right?

In the mean time, he stops pampering you with makeup and his other routines that you used to tolerate for the sake of being cordial. He still pushes for the nail polish, since gender is simply a social concept and he’s ready to crush it into dust any chance he can get. But it’s not about him, it’s about you.

Soon your room is painted a new color, your dresses and skirts and frilly outfits are tossed out for more appropriate attire for your sex, and he’s taking photos for his Devilgram page to show everyone how beautiful you are, even while going through the long process!

Beelzebub

You and Beel got along fabulously. He seemed astonished that a female was interested in all these manly habits he indulged in. He heard from some of the guys on his team that you were interested in playing Fangol. As evidenced by how you always showed up to his practices and games, no matter if they were home or away.

He figured you were just a really big fan of sports. But then you even started working out with him, and giving him suggestions and tips on how to get even more out of his workouts at the gym. You were really passionate about this.

Let’s not kid ourselves, he probably does not pick up on any of the signs. You have tot ell him, and you have to tell him firmly. You are a man, just like him. When you do tell him, however, he’s eager to help you transition. Imagine having another guy in the house who loves Fangol as much as you do!?

He isn’t much aside from emotional support through the transitions, and he coddles you when you have those bad days. If you want to eat something, he’ll rush to the kitchen and cook you a full meal before you move an inch. You’re allowed to lay in bed today. Let him handle the heavy load of work for you.

Belphegor

Oh wow, look at that. He picked it up almost immediately.

I mean, there’s no way a girl would act the way you do, right? Dress the way you do. Be the way you are. He doesn’t care though, and just wants you to be happy. If that means you transition into a man, then hell, he’s on board with you.

He may be a lazy bastard, but he knows when it’s time to get up and work hard to get something. That was what he was like as an angel, anyways. Working at Hell’s Kitchen is the worst, and you hear him complain about as much, but he smiles and assures you that it’s all for a good reason.

His final gift to you to apologize about the Incident, is money. Now at first glance it seems like something Mammon would do. Probably. In reality though, this is the money that will be going towards your HRT. He doesn’t know if you want to fully transition or not, but if you want that top surgery, he can help pay for that too. He’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy and healthy in your own body.

Diavolo

It really is a house of men, isn’t it?

He’s glad though, truly, that you were comfortable coming to him about it. Don’t bother ever opening your wallet to pay for any therapy, medication, or surgery. As the Prince of the Devildom, he would be more than happy to get you doctors of all sorts to help you. No questions asked!

It might be a bit overwhelming at first, but the news is exciting. If the Prince accepts you so readily, it gives you hope that other demons will as well. Pretty soon you’re going through your processes, and Diavolo couldn’t be happier to see it happening.

You really is a wonderful guy, and he’s glad he’s getting to experience the changes you take in your life. 

Barbatos

To say he didn’t suspect this would be an understatement.

Ever silent and respectful though, he never spoke a word of it. You are probably uncomfortable with people assuming it, even though it’s true. An insecurity that humans seem to deal with, although unfortunate.

However, when the news is broken during a meeting between you, Lucifer, he, and the Prince himself, a smile creeps on his face.

He’s happy to hear that you are so comfortable speaking about this sort of thing. He knows it must be tough, having hidden your true feelings for so long. He prepares a delicious tea with small treats, to celebrate your coming out, and transitioning.

Simeon (and Luke)

Oh dear. God loves you, still. Don’t worry about this. He doesn’t see you as an imperfection.

They assures you constantly that you have their full support, and that will never change. You are not broken, you are not unwanted, and you are not strange. You are a regular trans man in their eyes, and they will defend you on that.

Simeon almost takes on a fatherly role to you, wanting to make sure everything goes as smooth as possible. He probably has done a bit of research in preparations for your transition, and all the nasty little side effects that come with it are worrying him.

However, once it’s all over, Luke and Simeon are glad you came out on top. And my, what a handsome man you make!

Solomon

He figured, but didn’t want to assume. I mean, who the hell is he?

He’s got a few spells for this though, make it quick and painless. One wave of a wand and POOF! Woman no more!

Oh but that’s probably dangerous. The shifty bastard. You would much rather do it the regular way; and not have your insides and outsides shifted around by some crazy sorcerer.

He doesn’t protest much, but that does suck. Hehe. Oh well. You can count on him to support you through it all!

[shurelyasreverie]

Uh uh! How about a injured/hurt reader x ahri? Like reader is a tanuki and usually shy and has a crush on her and Ahri knows that but she likes to play a bit with readers feelings but one day someone/something's is trying to attack Ahri and reader jumps into action to protect her (nearly death experience) And at that point she realized that she could lost the reader.....God what did I write there 😅. It can be a oneshot or Headcanon....what you think suits better! Reader can be female but it's also ok if it's gender neutral.

I really hope that's not too much.. or too specific!

Thanks for the request, anon! I'll let you decide the race of the reader (I don't exactly get the tanuki concept and I'm not sure how I feel about writing non-humanoid readers) but I hope you enjoy!

Ahri x Injured!Reader: True Feelings

You've always let Ahri string you along with her antics, but is there a chance Ahri loves you as much as you love her?

Word Count: 2166

T/W: Mild violence, death

In the fresh morning, you walked through the forest. Greeting the many animals and spirits that you passed, they would acknowledge you pleasantly in return. Finding a deer, you smiled as you patted their head. Settling in a clearing in the forest, the animals and spirits came to surround you. Such a pleasant start to the day, how could it get any better than this?

“Pet.”

Your hand stopped moving as the animals turned to look behind you, some of them immediately fleeing from the scene. Heart racing, you turned to look behind you. There, standing in all her glory despite being in the shadows.

“Ahri...”

“I need your help again,” Ahri stated and you swallowed.

“Of course,” you nodded. She smirked, already turning her back to you and you followed her. After taking a step, the deer took your sleeve by its teeth, sending you a warning look and a message of caution before you continued your way. As you walked out of the clearing, the animals and spirits cleared as well.

Catching up to Ahri, she pouted.

“What took you so long to come to my side, pet?”

“The entities of the forest are anxious,” you frowned. “You've made quite a name for yourself among the mortals, Ahri, and not a good name, either. Hunters are looking for you.”

“Let them,” she sighed in exasperation.

“Can't you stop what you're doing? Surely there's an alternative.”

Ahri sent you a stern look and you immediately averted your gaze. “You know I simply can't do that. We are similar but you should remember I'm not like you.”

Both of you were connected to the forests but what truly made you two stick together was your common ground in your lack of memories. You have no idea where you're from or where you originated. Any family you had must've abandoned you. However you found understanding in the forest. How the forest spirits danced along with you, at the natural cycle of life as the woodland creatures lovingly fostered their young. You understood your place and made this your home. The many creatures accepted you, you were now one with the forest.

But Ahri didn't. For whatever reason, she didn't see the life and love that surrounded her. Had she not felt any love when the icefoxes took her in? No, all she saw here was power. Magic that she learnt to manipulate to ease her prey into a fake sense of security before devouring their essence. It was only through their essence she could gain the moving emotions that you gained through the forest.

You hid in the shadows, looking away as you overheard Ahri sweet talk an isolated man by the edge of a local village. Complimenting his figure, using a seductive, sickly sweet tone in her voice as she worked her magic, you quelled your feelings of jealousy. Ahri never spoke to you like that, unless she was purely joking, laughing in your face every time you were charmed.

You then heard her attack and you grimaced, closing your eyes. Turning your back to her as she absorbed the man's essence and memories, you kept guard to make sure there were no onlookers. That was your role, you had been doing this arrangement with her for so long. But why? Why would you ever agree to letting her take the lives of so many innocent mortals?

“Pet, it was the most remarkable thing,” Ahri gushed as she appeared by your side. Taking your sleeve in eagerness, her fingers wrapped around yours, leaning into you excitedly. As you walked back into the depths of the forest, Ahri had a hop in her step. “He was so happy despite such a humble life. How I felt his mood elate whenever he saw his wife or kids. As much as I loathe taking such lives... it's so addictive...”

Ah... that was why. As you watched her smile softly, in a daze as she went back to memories that weren't even her own. Seeing such happiness on her face was why you always followed her.

You love her.

It felt special, being the only one that could follow her around. At first, you were almost certain that she was going to strike at you when you turned your back, absorbing your life source and memories but she never did. Instead, she found your use elsewhere, as a bodyguard who she managed to wrap around her little finger. You knew it, but you couldn't help it. Even if you didn't approve of what she did, if it's to see that smile... you'd do it all.

“You're quiet, pet,” Ahri observed with a smirk. “Come, amuse me. What's on your mind?”

“You should embrace the forest, Ahri. Maybe then you wouldn't have to feed on innocent souls.”

“Why must you always bring this up?” Ahri's ears twitched and her smirk immediately disappeared. “You know my answer, I tried and I failed. The spirits don't accept me like they accept you.”

“I just want you to be happy-”

“And? The memories of mortals make me feel the most ecstasy than just living each day here. If it's my happiness you're truly caring for, then you should approve of this.”

“That happiness is temporary. There is a happiness that is more, one that you can make yourself-”

“Know your place, pet,” Ahri seethed, her eyes narrowing. You held your head down in submission, your heart cracking as your face burned. You willed yourself not to cry as Ahri walked on ahead.

You heard Ahri deeply inhale and then exhale, her composure recovering. “Now, pet. Where shall we spend the rest of the day?”

Your mouth instinctively opened but you froze. Looking around, you noticed how desolate the forest had become. Where were the spirits? Where were the animals? Even the little animals that would scurry around the forest floor had disappeared. And then you saw it among the bushes. The malicious glint of metal.

A hunter was here.

An arrow was aimed straight for Ahri's heart. You yelled and she whirled around as the hunter emerged from the foliage, standing at full height as he released the arrow. You lunged, tackling her to the ground as the arrow flew towards her. As you hit the ground, Ahri got back to her feet, releasing her magic on the hunter. He fell to the ground. Ahri heard him choke out his final words. “Cursed fox...”

You let out a breath of relief but immediately grimaced as you felt a sharp pain in your chest. The shock was wearing off as you looked down, an arrow embedded between your ribs. Your torso felt warm as your clothes stained red, before eventually feeling numb.

You blinked to try and maintain focus as Ahri fell to her knees by your side. Your eyebrows furrowed, you had never seen her look so anxious before. Eyes wide, she searched your body, locking on your wound as she started to shake her head furiously.

“No, no, no, no,” she said to herself repeatedly. Too afraid to take the arrow out of you, she changed her position to at least give you comfort. She laid your head on her lap as she caressed your cheek. “Why?”

“Why, what?” you croaked.

“Surely there's a healing mage nearby,” she muttered, already trying to lift up your torso but you stopped her.

“We won't make it in time,” you admitted.

“Doesn't mean we can't try,” Ahri argued, only stopping when you coughed up blood. Her eyes looked like they'll almost pop out of their sockets. Tears welling in her eyes as her face contorted in melancholy. She used her fingers to gently wipe away some blood from your mouth. “Why would you do that?”

“Isn't it obvious?” You mustered a soft smile. “You already know that I love you.”

Your hand slowly reached up to try and touch her face. But you lacked the strength to make it, Ahri caught your hand and pressed her cheek to it. Her tears started to flow, they felt warm on your fingers. “How? I... I treated you so terribly... I've... I've used you...”

“I know a good soul when I see one,” you whispered, your voice was now unreliable as you choked through every word. “I'll be watching you up there.”

“Don't say that,” Ahri snapped, now sobbing into your hand. “Please, stay with me, (Y/N).”

You blinked for a second, almost failing to register what she said before your facial muscles relaxed into an easy smile. “You used my name...”

Ahri nodded hurriedly at your small burst of strength, your smile widening.

“I'm so... happy...”

Your final words were said with a sigh before your eyes closed, face falling. Ahri's tears stopped temporarily as she watched you for a few seconds. Softly calling out your name, you didn't stir. Then her tears came tenfold.

She let her tears fall on your face, pulling the arrow out of you and hurling it to the ground in disgust. The arrow that had taken your life... she'd rather it took her instead. Watching you for a few seconds, she tentatively brought her arms around your torso, pulling you into an embrace. She pulled your head into the crook of her neck as she cried into your hair. She didn't even do this when you were breathing... she had no right to hold you now. But now, she wanted to do all she didn't before. Why was she constantly pushing and pulling, keeping you on edge? Why did she never tell you...?

Looking up, Ahri's bloodshot eyes noticed a deer peeping out from the leaves. Ahri swallowed. She had never gotten along with the many forest spirits, she even felt a disconnect with the icefoxes that raised her. But they loved you... she knew that... would that be enough?

“Help me,” Ahri whispered and the deer tilted it's head. “If not me, then help (Y/N). Please. They're not-”

She couldn't finish her sentence. The deer slowly walked into the clearing, approaching Ahri. Leaning down to you, the deer sniffed and nudged your body with it's head. Ahri's grip on you tightened, refusing to let you go. Behind the deer, the animals and spirits started to emerge out into the clearing. Standing in a small crowd away from her, they were motionless, seemingly paying homage to you as some dipped their heads in respect.

“What are you standing round for?” Ahri screamed as her blood started to boil. Her grip on you only tightening in anguish. “Help (Y/N)! You care for them don't you?! They don't deserve this... you know that...”

The green orb of a forest spirit drifted to Ahri and her face hardened. Trying to swallow her pride and nerves, she gently lay you down in front of the orb. “Please... I'll give anything. Just let them breathe again.”

The emerald orb started to swell in size, glowing brighter and brighter until it was too blinding for Ahri to watch directly. Looking away, a flash of green light made her wince. Opening her eyes again, she immediately looked down to you.

You were breathing.

It was slow but shallow. Ahri lifted your bloodied shirt to see a fresh scar where your wound had been. Ahri regarded the forest spirit, now her tears being of joy.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for doubting or ever misunderstanding you, I-”

You stirred. Groaning under the light as you tried to open your eyes. Your gaze settled on Ahri who cast a shadow over you, heart immediately hurting as you noticed her dishevelled appearance. Wiping the tears off of her face with your thumb, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“I... what happened? I thought I...” you looked down to see your bloodied clothes, but you felt no wound.

“The spirits of the forest love you,” Ahri whispered. “I daresay, almost as much as I do.”

You almost drew your hand back in shock but Ahri only smiled bitterly. “It's quite surprising, isn't it? Don't worry... I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“The memories of so many mortals... how they feel so much fondness whenever they gaze at their partners. I understand it now.”

Careful with your torso, she slowly helped you up to your feet. She giggled at your furrowed eyebrows, jokingly pushing them up with her fingers. You shook your head. Did your temporary death really mean that much to her? Your heart soared.

“I can see you still doubt me,” Ahri held that teasing lilt in her voice again. Turning her back to you, she looked at you over her shoulder, offering you a hand. “How about I show you my true feeling instead?”

Taking her hand, you let her lead you deeper into the forest.

[novantinuum]

On the corrupted!Steven theory...

So, originally when I mused on this yesterday I was just playing around with random possibilities.

After combing the series for info about corruption, though, I’m mildly spooked at the increased potential for this to... perhaps be a thing? I’m not saying that this is what I for sure believe will happen- to be honest, I’m not even sure Crewniverse would go this direction at all- but just for funsies, let’s see what kind of “evidence” or “foreshadowing” exists that might support this potential story path in the context of canon.

(EDIT: 10/7/19 

I honestly no longer think this creature is a worm at all whatsoever, it’s either more akin to a horned caterpillar or potentially has limbs. Either way we can see so little right now that it’s hard to tell. I’m not editing the rest of this post because I want it to exist in its original form- but do keep this in mind reading the rest! XP)

1) The design of this worm creature.

Let’s start simple. Let’s start tangible. 

For future reference and simplicity, I will be henceforth be referring to this creature as... “Wormy Boi.”

So, let’s see what we’ve got here. I’m definitely not the first person to point out this fella’s pink nature, and the jarringly human-like nose they’ve got. (Compared to other corruptions, which have had distinctly non-humanoid features.) In the photo above, we also have Wormy Boi sporting glowing pink eyes, which then send out a flare of pink light/energy. So, seemingly a powerful entity.

If you watch the short segment before they sit upright, you’ll see that Wormy Boi is super, super big. They’re in the background, but BOY do they loom. The shadows cast upon them especially push that sense of size. They’ve also got a whole bunch of spikes on their back and framing their face.

So, then. What evidence could be made for this being a corrupted!Steven, as opposed to some other run-of-the-mill monster?

Steven Universe Future is a limited series, described as ‘tying up loose ends.” To me, as a viewer, it would make far more sense for the antagonists/conflicts to deal with big concepts that have already been established since there’s such a limited amount of time we have left with this world. Introducing a completely alien species in the last act of the show would feel offbeat from both a writing and a viewing perspective. Corruption- on the other hand- is something we don’t have full answers to yet.

We don’t see any gem, yes- but Steven’s gem is- of course- on his belly. If this theory were to be true, that would translate to the gem being on Wormy Boi’s underside, far out of our sight in this shot, due to how massive they are. As an addition to this, not showing the gem gives an air of mystery to this creature’s true nature- which makes it seem like there’s something surprising to discover here.

A corrupted diamond would surely be MASSIVE. Also, very powerful. The beam of pink light hints at Wormy Boi being quite a powerhouse.

The spikes on Wormy Boi’s back and around their face highly resemble rose thorns. We all know how much the Crewniverse loves their rose symbolism, and design wise, this aspect would make a lot of visual sense for a corrupted Steven. Running off of that:

The face/nose shape and the five horns on this creature’s head give off a very Steven-like silhouette. 

The nose, of course. The face has a very Steven-like shape to it, overall- although noticeably more angular and sharp. The mouth is reminiscent of the Watermelon Stevens’ mouths. And as for the horns, there’s five of them positioned equidistant around their face, just as Steven’s hair is always formed from five lil’ bumps at the same positions.

Okay, moving on.

(Read more under the cut!)

2) We do not yet understand the true nature of corruption.

“I guess it’ll take more than a kiss to heal damage from the Diamonds…” -Pearl, Monster Reunion

Corruption is still- bafflingly- a huge mystery. The Gems we’ve watched the CGs bubble since season one have been healed, yes, but there are still many gaps in our understanding of it. With Steven Universe Future’s promise to address some lingering story threads, it would make sense if corruption was on the plate for further discussion. So, what DO we know?

We know it’s something the Diamonds can do. Interestingly, it doesn’t seem to require all four diamonds. Three of them together were able to cause all the damage to Earth. There’s also no statement made that more than one Diamond is required to cause effects like that. 

In Legs From Here to Homeworld, Blue and Yellow Diamond weren’t actually aware the corruption was something they were capable of producing. They seemed to assume they obliterated the Gems on Earth. Corruption is then, even a mystery to them. That’s... odd, isn’t it?

Pearl states that it’s “something nearly impossible to describe.” Garnet goes further to say... “It’s sorta like... if MC Bear-Bear didn’t tear the fabric of his arm, but the fabric of his mind.”

"A sound… A song?” There’s a lot of association between corruption and music.

It causes Gems to lose touch with their usual forms, instead warping into a more outwardly "monstrous” version of themselves that appear to be “just a bundle of fight-or-flight reflexes and survival instincts.” As seen by Centipeetle in Monster Buddy and Monster Reunion, it appears as if corrupted Gems try to regenerate with their original forms if unbubbled, but are simply not in a state where they can maintain that.

As seen with Jasper in Earthlings, extreme emotional distress very much seems to speed up corruption’s effects. This is less of a stated fact and more of my read on that episode, but I believe it to be an important tidbit, especially since Garnet states that corruption’s damage is mental rather than physical, at least at its core. This can also be seen in Monster Reunion with how Centipeetle’s partial healing backfires when she remembers the trauma of being corrupted and reacts strongly.

Now, when it comes to healing corruption, Steven tries to heal Centipeetle himself, and does make some nice progress... helping her regain a hold on herself as he treats her with love and compassion and understanding... but it’s ultimately not a healing that can occur in isolation, helping her on his own. She needs more support before she can heal from this corruption to a state where she can truly be herself again.

And that eventually comes in the form of the other Diamonds. So, all four diamonds can help relieve the corruption if they help these Gems all together. 

3) How could this theory potentially fit into the story anyways, you nutter?

Well, here’s the part of this post where I make some broad conjectures. I honestly am shooting fish into a barrel here because again- we know barely anything about how corruption actually happened initially, and my thoughts are very jumbled. Please forgive me.

"I don’t really know how the corruption works. It’s like they’re sick. They don’t remember who they used to be.” -Steven, Gem Hunt

So, corruption seems to be a mental ailment of Gemkind, turned manifest. It also seems to have a deep connection to a Gem’s emotions, with Centipeetle growing smaller and slightly calmer upon feeling more secure in Steven’s presence, and corruption speeding up as Jasper grew more and more emotionally overwrought and self-deriding about herself. 

When it comes to the Diamonds and how they perhaps caused it originally- without fully realizing- we know that at least Blue and White have abilities focused on causing others to act in certain ways. Blue has sway over one’s emotions, and White has a knack for forcing her thoughts and self upon others. (I’m not sure how Yellow’s ability would play in here.) Mayhaps, mixed with their grief and guilt and anger, their power simply pressed all of that hurt emotion onto all the Gems on Earth in one whole fail swoop...? Tearing their minds in the process of it all?

The question I still have, though- is whether a single diamond could produce effects like this. And whether a diamond could turn that ability on themself.

Could Steven accidentally corrupt himself? Why might that happen?

Well, let’s look at our boy here. 

He’s got a wide circle of support at this time in canon, but notably, he’s notorious for bottling up his emotion and not letting others in to help him- instead dropping everything to help them with their problems. Just to name a few examples (a few):

The Test. He feels betrayed and hurt at the Gems for a moment about the way they’re babying him with the rigged test, but instead of admitting the hurt he feels about the scenario, bottles that up to help them feel more like good guardians.

Joy Ride. He opens up to the Cool Kids about deep, incredibly troubling stuff that’s long been on his mind, but he’s never once talked about it with his family.

Mindful Education. The perils of bottling one’s emotions is literally the whole plot of the episode. The kid has a full out sobbing breakdown while he’s plunging to his death. Connie gets through to him a little here, but later episodes show that the resolution we see here is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Steven’s internal issues. 

Storm in the Room. Externally, Steven tries so hard to put on a guise of content and positivity, but once alone in Rose’s room feels safe enough to let the full brunt of his emotional trauma come out in an almost explosive manner. Geeze, get this kid some hugs. 

Gemcation. Steven actually fails bitterly on putting on his customary smile in this episode, simply because the weight of his problems have become such an impossible burden to him. When the other Gems are trying to help him open up, he isn’t immediately responsive to their efforts. 

What’s Your Problem? Amethyst spends the whole episode trying to cheer Steven up and find out how he’s doing, and instead Steven downplays his own feelings on the matter and ends up helping her sort out her own emotional issues.

So to sum: Many an Emotional Issue, a chronic tendency to avoid outwardly addressing said issues in favor of helping everyone else instead... and to avoid accepting other people’s help.

Even if he’s surrounded by all these people who love him, the fact of the matter is that Steven still feels as if he has to face his own inner demons alone.

Now, let’s look at the lil’ teasing synopsis that was given for Steven Universe Future:

“After saving the universe, Steven is still at it, tying up every loose end. But as he runs out of other people’s problems to solve, he’ll finally have to face his own.”

Blatantly sounds like we’re gonna finally get some addressing of Steven’s emotional state, now doesn’t it?

4) A concept on what could, theoretically happen

“Maybe… it IS a guy in a monster costume. I don’t mean literally, silly! What I mean is... there might be a conscious Gem still inside there, somewhere. What if the monster is turning back and forth into its original form? If it is, it might not be as corrupted as we think! There might still be a chance to save it!” -Steven, Gem Hunt

Suppose Steven- by some as-of-yet unknown means- ends up accidentally corrupting himself. His sorry emotional state only further amplifies the effects of this corruption, and makes it really hard to retain control. Wormy Boi as a form could be like... all his inner demons made manifest, a metaphoric mirror into his current mental state. But- as he is half-human- he’s not entirely unaware of what’s happening. Perhaps... as the quote above could be sneaky foreshadowing for... how he’s turning back and forth between this corrupted form and his normal form. 

He likely wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this, doesn’t want everyone to visibly know the sheer depth of how much he’s hurting. But just like the corrupted Gems were only able to be helped in community, with the support of the CGs and the Diamonds in preparing the fountain, Steven can’t fix this on his own. 

He can no longer face the dark alone.

At some point, everyone has to take a brave step. Reach out. Accept help. 

Steven’s helped so many people, and surely he deserves that same love and care in return, too.

And perhaps, when he’s eventually healed from this- and has gotten the opportunity to be open with his family and friends about the hurt he’s facing- he’ll be left with “corruption scars” as well. I think it’s an important thing to address, that no one goes through experiences like these without lingering effects. Stuff stays with you. Healing is not always linear. But life is a continuous journey, and with the support of people who love you surrounding, you too can make a change... can continue to live to the fullest at every moment possible.

I think the above would be a lovely moral for Steven Universe to tackle in its last run of episodes, no matter how they approach it- daft corruption theory or not.

Now, in the end- a reiteration. This is just a wild theory. I’m not trying to be any authoritative voice saying that this is for sure what will happen, because in reality I have no idea what Crewniverse is cooking. However, I do think it’s fun speculation, and I am kinda spooked at how well things fit. 

Whatever happens, I’m sure it will make me weep like a baby, though. Hoh boy. Grant me sanity in these coming months as we wait for answers.

[kaisa-ryo]

Megumi Fushiguro NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Nothing can be better than looking at you, studying every part of your face up close. Watch how your eyelashes tremble, how your chest rises and falls, inhaling and exhaling air. So familiar, so lovable. What a beautiful and so necessary face at this moment. From time to time he wants to run his fingers over it, remember it, photograph it. I want to look at your face for a very, very long time. Then he drops those thoughts because he needs to focus on trying to sleep.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

Lips.

God, he so enjoys watching you bite them, lick them, paint them with glitter. This is essentially a small insignificant part of the body, but so demanding for courting and kissing. Yes, kisses ... Megumi so wants to touch them and do it yourself: bite, lick, paint with glitter ... After all, they seem so soft and delicious.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

Into a condom. Even if it is not always convenient and completely satisfactory with an elastic band, Megumi still prefers to protect herself. In addition, it is useless to oppose this if you do not want problems in the future. But if you ever ask him to do it without a condom, he might even agree, though not right away. First, make sure that you really want it, since he was not ready to ever do this. So don't be surprised if he gets worried during the process.

D = Dirty secret

From time to time he thinks about how you will take full control over yourself. It makes him mentally convince himself what a lustful bitch you are for him. He understands how you revel in your own perfection, how this thin erotic veil allows you to devour him with your eyes, hypnotize. It almost makes you a god. But the deity should not so protrude his sexuality in front of his beloved. Therefore, if you do so, then in the morning Megumi will throw some reproach in your direction, but at the same time he himself will remain satisfied and completely satisfied.

E = Experience

There is. If in high school he was a cold-blooded bully with a good appearance, then it is possible that Megumi had favorites back then. Not to say that, under the influence of hormones, he wanted to fuck every girl, because on his mind he had only the goal of maintaining justice with vague and false concepts. Yet he tried it once. She was a girl with high status and good connections, which were beneficial for him to achieve his goal. Sex without commitment is not the best experience that can be obtained, because apart from the pleasure of the process, you do not feel attracted to your partner. But what you just do not go to achieve the goal, right? The guy did not particularly remember that incident, but a clear understanding of the foundations of the art of submission remained.

Now he doesn't want to remember school life, because both character and actions were not sugar at all. In addition, the intentions of what then and what from now are different, one should not exceed expectations. But speaking of being intimate with you, Fushiguro has acquired a real bond that makes intercourse more sensual.

F = Favorite position

A deck chair is a great option. It seems like an ordinary missionary, but both he and you have something to hold on to. And as a bonus, he sees your face, by which he can give an accurate analysis of how well you are now.

G = Goofy (Are you serious at this moment?)

Yes. Despite the main goal of getting pleasure, it is also important for him to control it. He is not afraid to death that everything will go downhill. It's just that perfect sex hasn't bothered anyone yet. In addition, it is not at all difficult for him to do as he wants. Therefore, he feels a great need for complete control over intercourse. If everything is done correctly, he feels proud of himself, which cannot but please him.

H = Hair (Is the hair ok?)

Hygiene is as important to him as every other aspect of his life, especially if it somehow, no matter how, concerns you. You never need to remind him of this, as he himself tries to take care of the intimate area as often as possible. Therefore, he is unlikely to have problems providing comfort for both of you.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

There is. These are mostly cute things that are usually not considered very important, but for you they are like a trophy. For example kisses on the forehead, crown of the head, knuckles of thin fingers, neck and shoulders. It is like a ritual dedicated to love for your beauty and uniqueness. Even if the process is not very sophisticated, you get pleasure every time. Towards the end, you realize that you have gained much more than the warmth from light, but sensitive touch.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

There is such a thing. And you don't have to be far away. If you have not done this for a long time, but for some reason he is afraid or does not want to offer you, then do not mind masturbating to one of your photos in the gallery.

K = Kink (Kinks and fetishes)

The guy is not indifferent to your body, no matter what shape it has. Feel his smell, touch, stroke, listen until all these tenderness reaches light bites, squeezes, licks ... He feels everything much more sophisticated than it seems. And nature is such that subconsciously very subtly feels desires. Even if they are not at all.

He likes it when you walk in sexy pajamas, stockings that accentuate the shape of your legs or open clothes, although he doesn't always approve of this, because he knows perfectly well that he is not the only one who likes your body.

I like to give you different jewelry because they look so perfect on you. It is not for nothing that people say: "It is not clothes that paint a person, but a person's clothes."

For Fushiguro, this is both the main aesthetics and a source of inexhaustible pleasure, which is noticeable with the naked eye.

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

Not a lover of variety, so the option with a bed is the most ideal for him. Moreover, the bed is large and soft, which allows you to do a lot without any discomfort. You often feel tired after sex (unless you're a sex addict), so in the case of a bed, you don't have to worry about passing out on the table or floor. Yes, with the bed, you are subject to almost all poses!

Fushiguro is also not cold to the sofa, which is not much different from the bed in terms of sex. On it he can relax while you ride it, clutching his shoulders or pants. The sofa is also a good control plane, which can be easily used if you understand that you need to get up. It's still convenient! Why do you even need a shower and a table?

M = Motivation

When you walk around the house in the open in only panties and a bra. He doesn't like it very much, but heck, he really doesn't want to admit that he is actually embarrassed and it still turns him on. And when he comes to pick you up from home to take you somewhere, and then finds you not ready, in only one underwear, he will be indignant at why you are still not dressed, then he will turn away, covering his face with his hand and making a slightly trembling exhale. At this time, you will notice how his cheeks and ears turn red and giggle softly, pulling on a T-shirt. Once you specifically asked him to fasten his bra, knowing that it will start. After all, in front of him, a close-up flaunts your completely naked back, which you can touch and stroke. It seems that another second and he will lose control of himself and go into a rage. Holding his breath, he will begin to gently stroke the delicate skin and excitedly run his fingers up and down the spine, feeling his legs trembling from the touch. You will have to bite your lips in order not to turn around, and all this time with concentration to look in the direction where your shadows are reflected in a black silhouette on the wall a few meters away.

Also no less exciting for him is your passion for something. If you diligently write an essay, essay, read interesting books, even just tap your nails on a hard surface - he will be immersed in your actions. After all, the main thing for him is not the process of action itself, but how you perform it. When Fushiguro sees you at work, he enjoys every second of what is happening.

N = No (Which won't do)

What he considers to be risk or abnormal.

Megumi is for healthy sex and will not settle for BDSM, role-playing or sadomasochistic procedures. Especially complete submission. It does not arouse and does not cause orgasm from the word at all. He believes that such an idiotic variety was invented by mentally ill people, after whom everything is repeated for the reason of "fashion", public manipulation and self-hypnosis. In addition, in order to decide on such an idea, you either need to be a crazy psychopath, or stop respecting yourself. At least Megumi thinks so and has no doubts about it.

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

In this regard, Fushiguro tries to maintain balance.

Yes, he likes to hear your drawn-out muffled moans. I like how you all wriggle under it and beg you not to stop. I like the way you cum. But it is no less exciting to see how you walk with your thin fingers along the entire length of his penis, and then clasp your lips and swallow it as deeply as possible, periodically circling the head with your dexterous tongue. Therefore, he is not inclined to prioritize. He continues to give you pleasure simply because he thinks it is right, and when he himself wants to feel pleasure, you will guess it yourself by his eyes, facial expression and swaying his hips in time with your movements.

P = Pace

As a rule, Megumi tries to do it in full force. Physical strength is still a man's trump card in love, and should not be underestimated. But it needs to be properly stimulated. Energy should not be pushed to the limit. Fushiguro was used to stretching his orgasm, speeding up and then stopping for ten seconds. Then the surge of feelings becomes even stronger. Too much speed will immediately lead to overwork, and the orgasm becomes smooth and short. It's too predictable. Of course, the guy is not a fan of variety, but that does not mean that you absolutely cannot pamper yourself, right?

Q = Quickie

Average. The most common.

And what else do you need? High speed does not allow you to feel the process properly, and low speed dampens all excitement and quickly gets bored. Medium is perfect for both of you.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

Not ready.

You shouldn't force him to try new sensations. This will cause him discomfort or even anxiety, which will not lead to the best outcome. Once you talked to him about this, at the end he said that he didn’t like it and asked him not to bother with this topic anymore, since even the thought of it introduces him into slight stress. Not because of the experiments themselves, but the very fact of their fear. He is currently struggling with this because he wants to be completely perfect for you. However, it is unacceptable for him that it is easy for him to control the process, but it is so difficult to start experimenting in terms of sexual relations. He will definitely deal with it. Not right away, but it will cope.

S = Stamina (Stamina)

Pretty decent

Getting pleasure is enough for both of you, so you have the strength to wash in the shower, make tea, read a book and just lie around, warming your bodies with hugs. It even happens that there is enough strength to walk along the street, restoring not only physical balance, but also emotional one. Still, a walk in the fresh air with conversations on various topics does not let you forget that your love is real and is not a farce for sexual gratification.

T = Toys

It treats all their varieties badly.

Another trinket invented by the unbalanced and sexually addicted. You both have enough and an ordinary hookup without stupid "decorations".

* In fact, once the thought flew through his head about how you would react if he shoved a vibrator into your vagina as close to your clitoris as possible. And how he later, in all seriousness, assured himself that he would not offer you such a thing for anything. Recalls a magazine article about sexual fantasies among teenagers at thirteen. As a result, having mentally slapped myself in the face, I never thought about it again.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

Yes!

He doesn't like to admit it, but oh my god, how your pleading and sobbing drives him crazy. At such moments, he seems to be in seventh heaven. He would like to listen to them, but then all the pleasure from the upcoming orgasm will disappear. He wants to satisfy his desire as soon as possible, but he really doesn’t want your sweet voice to stop at such seconds ... And when you finally finish, everything inside him contracts. Because now you shout his name instead of muffled moans. It feels like he is special to you. Yes, only he can make you make a mess in your body, which was just so obedient. Only with him can you finally plunge you into ecstasy.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

At first, he is silent, as if swallowed his tongue. But by the middle it already starts to grow. But if you only knew how uncontrollable he is in the end ... although, why am I crucifying here? Of course you know.

At this time, along with orgasm, he realizes how fucking he is. So inside him begins a feverish flow of internal current, and at the same time a fire flares up in his heart, turning into a high.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

When you first slept, the spontaneous thought came to you to look into his phone. Nothing criminal, you just wanted to make sure you were the first.

Waking up first and looking at the phone, which surprisingly had no password, you checked the list of contacts that were not embellished in some way, and in general there were not as many of them as you expected. But you, apparently, so much enjoyed digging into his personal life, feeling like a real Sherlock, that you decided to look at Google. There already began something from which you simply could not help but emit an unrestrained laugh: more than ten tabs related to sexual relations, the structure of the vagina, the consequences of the "first time", precautions for intercourse and a bunch of other things. You could hardly restrain your laughter so as not to wake up your loved one, who apparently became a real Alpha and a sex guru in just one evening.

It's been a long time since that moment, but you still haven't admitted to him that you then got into his phone.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

14.5 cm during erection ± 1

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

Megumi cannot be called “lonely-touchy-with-a-broken-heart”, but “addict” is certainly not about him. This is an unexpected manifestation of desire when he himself begins to kiss your neck, in the hope of showing your initiative. Usually you make love at your request or at a noticeable hint. Fucking you in bed, he is not looking for any benefit for it and is not chasing cheap bonuses. He thinks that he is simply satisfying his sexual need, and does not go further so that you, too, do not get hung up on sex as an important part of your life.

4/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

Quickly, if you are not trying to distract him with conversations (you are not always sure that you did everything right and completely satisfied him).

If you want to annoy him with requests, for example, if you are cold and you tell him about it, he will immediately cover you with a blanket. But you are more cunning and you do not need a blanket at all, but his strong arms.

— Mmm... and I wanted to warm myself in your arms...

Then Fushiguro will roll his eyes, sigh loudly and hug you from behind.

— I want you to kiss the top of my head! — you will rather smile when he reluctantly, but still will do it.

— Will you sing me a lullaby? - then the guy will understand that further you are just making fun of him.

— Maybe you still dance?

— What a good idea! Stand by that closet.

— Sleep, princess.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

[officialgomezaddams]

Morality

I honestly dk what this is but its set in AOTC kinda want to turn this into a little series $wag also shout out to my fellow nihilists this is for you bb

Palpatine had always kept watchful over her but never loomed. It would have been too obvious. When he met Anakin, it was like a breath of fresh air, a realization that this little boy was destined to restore the balance in the force and his daughter, Y/n, would be the one to defeat him. He had begun the idea of his daughter once he joined the Darkside, already knowing that the possibility to be overthrown was something he couldn’t let happen. The dark energy, the power, was simply too much to let go of. The moment he saw the nine-year-old boy, the lord was happy to know that the power would stay on the dark side. 

Dooku trained Y/n as a padawan, and when he left the order, he took Y/n with him, kidnapping her into the night. When she asked why they were leaving the temple as he dragged her into a ship, he simply replied, “Sometimes when politicians can’t do their job, we must do something ourselves.” Over the years together, he would open up more, telling Y/n about the death of Qui-Gon and every step that drove him to leave. 

“The Jedi rely on selflessness. To strip one’s ability to have connection and emotion. They lose themselves in conformity. We need to take control of the life we’re given. Emotion, passion, drive. Those are how we will be victorious. Corrupt politicians pull the Jedi around like kites on strings. You can not try and save a house that its lousy foundation has torn down. Tear it down and build a new one.” 

It was her job to ensure just that, a new foundation set within the heart of the Darkside. Relentless training to mentally and physically defeat the chosen one. Palpatine would often tell her that her destiny was a part of the Sith Two, that the strongest one of the two would survive, and it was to be her. Darth Sidious found comfort that his creation would take over the Darkside once she had killed him and the Count. The most decisive Jedi ruling on the side of the night. 

She didn’t quite understand it, but to stay on the Darkside made the most sense to her. It wasn’t about power. It was the lifestyle. Why be selfless if there was no personal gain? Why spend a life living for something else? Shouldn’t one live their life for themselves? Everyone, she determined, had to want something. As long as she did what she wanted, it was enough. It had to be. Because without drive and her idea of what was truly right and wrong, how would she get anything done? 

She rationed that it all didn’t matter. She would never know who was right because, in her mind, the concept of being right varied too much. The Jedi thought they were right, the sith thought they were right, the politicians who voted against their people’s needs thought they were right. She had to suffer through Palpatine’s long lectures about how awful the senate was and now terrible the Jedi Order is. But who was to say he was right? That was only his opinion. Who was to say the Jedi were right because a frog that was almost nine hundred years old said so? 

“I’m just…” Anakin went on, pulling a piece of grass out of the ground. “I mean, I don’t know. Padmè is beautiful and wonderful. She’s everything that could make someone perfect: marriage, it’s so permanent. I know I’m supposed to be excited, which I am, of course. But what if we were not supposed to be together.” 

His speech made her frown. “Sometimes, it’s better just to dive in and see where you land.” She offered. The dreams with Anakin were a peaceful escape to a Jedi’s life. Neither knew why their dreams brought them together or what they even meant. Neither of them bothered, living the same training life on opposite sides. A sweet dream was the perfect reward. “And who are you going to be with then, me?” She teased back. 

The setting of the dreams was in the meadows of Naboo. The pastel-colored flowers stood dim in the moonlight from the starry night above. Anakin laid with his head in her lap as they talked about their personal lives, never going in too deep about what their destinies were. Anakin no longer had the pressure of being the chosen one, and Y/n never had to admit she would kill the chosen one. 

“I wish,” Anakin admitted, now looking up at her. “I want so bad to meet you Y/n, not just in my dreams but in real life. If I could have you by my side, all of this would be less confusing. I’ve fallen in love with you, a woman in my dreams. Why can’t you be in my reality?”

“Don’t say that,” She whispered. Whenever Anakin talked about his little girl-thing, Y/n wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what their relationship was, and she always felt a slight nic in her heart. Y/n knew that she was in love with Anakin, but to hear about another woman making him the happiest he’s been in the majority of the years that she knew him, that it wasn’t her, the one sneaking in kisses with him in the shadows. It brought out an ugly feeling of jealousy and possessiveness to Y/n that she didn’t know she had. 

“I promise, one day, I’ll be with you in all the ways you want.” She spoke with a smile. She would often daydream about what life would be like to meet him real-time. They would run up to each other and crush each other in a hug. She imagined it all.

“Tell me about it,” Anakin edged on, closing his eyes as if it was going to play out in his head.

“Well, I want to go somewhere like D’Qar, somewhere quiet where I won’t have to worry about neighbors or anyone I don’t want finding me. Or us, because you’re coming with me no matter what your soon-to-be wife says,” You teased, making him laugh. “Maybe- Sometimes in my dreams, there’s no Padmè, it’s just us, and every so often there are kids, but it’s just us. Tucked away where we can be together, and nothing can bother us or stop us from being together.”

The silence that sat in between them began to scare Y/n, “Is that a future you would want with me?”

His eyes met hers, a peaceful moment in the chaos of their lives. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, behind her ear. “If I were able to, I would.”

“And why can’t you? Why can’t you have the things you want, Anakin? Is it wrong to be happy?” 

Waking up from the dreams was always the most challenging part, the reality of it not being a reality. Y/n woke up already in a bad mood, mentally kicking herself for pushing too far in. Of course, he wouldn’t want to. He’s getting married to someone else. You’re too late. It had always been Y/n’s plan to end up with Anakin in some way or another. From the first dream to now, she decided to leave the Sith once she had killed the chosen one. Somedays, she would pace around, impatiently waiting for whoever held the title to cross her path so she could just finish the job and take the next ship to wherever Anakin was. 

She tore the necklace he had given her off her neck, clutching the carven japor snippet in her hand with a grip so hard she could have cracked it if it wasn’t made out of stone. She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to cry. Anakin had given Y/n the good luck charm when they were at the age of thirteen. Y/n was upset that once everything was over that he may not want to be with her, the reputation of her choices would drive him away. 

“Well, you can’t be that bad,” He commented, pulling out the carved stone from his pocket and shyly handing it to her. “I made this for you,” Anakin explained as she put it around her neck, “So that when good things happen, you can think of me. It’ll be my way of keeping you safe, and in return, one day, you will come to me safely.”

She opened her eyes and stared at the carvings, remembering how Anakin said he made it just for her, so she better not lose it. Y/n wanted to break it, throw it away, and never see Anakin again. She wanted more than just the dreams. She wanted the sunsets and the early morning and the rainy days - all of it. Maybe they were wrong, they weren’t supposed to meet, and it was just a nice dream. 

She couldn’t do that. She at least owes him a simple greeting, and then she can get rid of him. Putting the necklace back on and wiping her face to make sure she wasn’t crying, Y/n walked out of the room, ready for whatever the sith wanted her to do. 

“Just be patient,” Her master told her as they waited outside the still open ship. Geonosis was overrun with battle, the sith fighting tooth and bone to claim the planet as its capital, the major droid foundries, and its Mandalorians. Nothing could be more perfect for the sith. The two force signatures caught Y/n’s attention. Looking up at Dooku, she told him, “Well, let’s make it quick then.” 

“The chosen one will be here,” he whispered back. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

“You’re gonna pay for all the Jedi you killed, Dooku,” A familiar voice said as you both turned around in unison. “Y/N?” A pit dropped in her stomach. It was him, Anakin. Anakin’s blue saber was pointed at the ground, more focused on her than the older man. 

The necklace he gave her burned her through her robes. Anakin was finally there in front of her. This Anakin was different from her dreams. He stood with more pride and confidence. He was also the chosen one. “I-I didn’t expect to meet you like this,” She told him, knowing full well once on the ship, she would be interrogated about her knowledge of the boy. 

“Why are you with him?” The venom in his voice almost made her feel guilty about being who she was. “Are you-? Don’t tell me Y/n-” He couldn’t find the words to express his confusion and disappointment, “You’re a Sith. How can you be with them? You lied to me! Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? Can’t you see what they’ve done!”

“The Jedi know no facts,” She spoke, looking over at the Count, waiting for his head nod and sign of approval to ignite her orange saber. The whole weapon was made for destruction, a perfect saber to kill the chosen one. Its orange glow was representing strength. The curved hilt that matched hers of her masters was perfect for duels and close fights. “Only assumptions.”

It hurt her to have him looking at her in disgust. As if she was suddenly less than him because of her beliefs. “Anakin, you need to calm down,” She warned him as he charged towards her, only for Dooku to step in front of her, raising his hand to send bolds of electricity into the boy’s body and fling him into a rock wall. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Her master spoke before walking up the platform of the ship. 

Y/n only had seconds to understand that not only her master had abandoned her, Anakin was also lying limp in a pile of rocks, and the other Jedi was making his way towards her. She pointed her saber straight ahead at him, taking careful steps around him, trying to think about how this all would end. Was this it? When is supposed to kill the chosen one who happened to be the boy Y/n had fallen in love with over the past ten years? She knew that once she killed Anakin, she would have to kill the two sith above her, starting the two over with her as a master. 

“I heard the little green guy talks highly of you, Kenobi. What a pity it will be when I kill his two strongest men.”

Obi-wan shook his head, “You’re not Dooku’s apprentice. You’re just an assassin to him. Y/n why would he elect a child to be his successor?” He spoke as if he could read her mind, his blue eyes pleading with her. 

“You don’t know anything!” Y/n yelled, making the first strike. His saber skills were advanced, but quickly she was able to disarm him and left two marks on him, one on his arm and one on his thigh. She walked up to him, the two staring at each other. Was she about to kill this man? She had never killed a human before. Taking down droids and other creatures were casual to her. Humans? This man was edging her on with his eyes, both understanding that she wasn’t able to drive her saber into his neck. She couldn’t just kill a man who had done nothing to her. That would be wrong, right? But if it was so bad, why was she encouraged to do it? 

Before she could thoroughly choose, Anakin came at full force again. This time his master had tossed him his saber, making the fight two against one. “Why won’t you join our site, the right side?” Anakin asked, swiftly dodging her but failing to make any advancements to disarming her. 

“I don’t believe in any right sides.” She told him, knocking the green lightsaber out of his hand, evening out the fight. “I believe in one thing. Power of human will.” 

She walked into the ship quietly, ignoring the little green Jedi behind her. She didn’t care about the older man, Yoda or Count Dooku. She walked past the sith and made her way right to the pilot’s seat before sitting down. 

Dooku followed her, giving her space as she sat down. Crossing his arms like a disappointed parent, he asked, “Well?”

“I cut his arm off,” Y/n spoke, taking out the necklace and looking at the charm in her hand. She left right after, watching him lay unconscious against his master, missing apart of his right arm. She had hurt him, and for a moment, when she was looking at the injured pair, the padawan’s master had the same look on his face as before. An eyebrow raised as if to say, Do it, kill us. I doubt you’ll do it. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” He said. Y/n could have done it. She would have just pictured them as droids and slice the two in half. It would have been quick and painless. She could have plaid her life out, kill the chosen one, rule the sith, and live her life. Why didn’t you? She kept thinking as she admired the gift. 

Looking at the charm, the future she talked about seemed too far away, especially now. The end with the boy she loved, Anakin, who also was the boy she was supposed to kill. But for right now, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet, until she knew for sure that her fantasies with Anakin were just wild dreams. It was her own life. Why couldn’t she have the things she wanted? 

[arigatouiris]

remember... me? // nakahara chuuya x reader

Author’s Note: Being awol for so long could only mean I was drowning in Bungo Stray Dogs and am now a hoe for Chuuya and Dazai. No regrets. I’m on season three rn and I’m only going to go on and read the manga after this, so I’m just THIRSTY. Hope you like this!

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

Summary: Ever since laying his eyes on you, Chuuya sensed a familiarity that almost suffocated him. The ever-growing sense of deja vu didn't disappear even as he had you locked in his arms, or even as he stayed away; there was no explanation to it, whatsoever. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love? But then again, what didn't he?

Warnings: angst to fluff, soft chuuya, mentions of sex, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of blood, swearing (because Chuuya ofc), slight amnesia? ah, you’ll see, ig that’s it? 

Even before you fell in love, you had always known that it was a bad idea. As unfortunate as you were, every time you felt a close connection with someone, it ended negatively. Whether it was the first boy you had ever kissed, who had broken your heart ruthlessly by kissing another boy a few days later, or the first person you thought you were in love with who had broken your heart by declining your proposal. Love had always left a remnant of displeasure and fear in your heart, and even without these experiences, you were certain that the concept of love was scary as it was. It wasn't as if Nakahara Chuuya was any different. Well, at least, he wouldn't be.

As soon as you opened your eyes, you noticed how the sun blossomed right outside your window. You knew from the telltale signs of dawn that it was your cue to leave; getting dressed would take less than 30 seconds, and heading out the door would take another 30. In less than two minutes, you'd be out of Nakahara Chuuya's hair, and live your life without the worry of any unnecessary attachment sticking to your psyche. However, for a moment, you lay there, admiring the lone tear that leaked out of his left eye, and you mindlessly wiped it away before it reached his cheek. You wanted to smile at his apparent softness, something you knew he'd try to hide with everything he had. You quietly got off the bed, careful not to throw the covers off his naked torso, and just as you were putting on your pants, your eyes darted to a very asleep Chuuya on the bed, obviously naked from the events of last night, before a thought crossed your mind—oh, how you'd kill just to linger around, but duty calls. A person so devastatingly afraid of love had no business to wish for fluff, it was just roll-call. A sigh exited your lips as you traversed on, mindful not to lay any loud step to awaken the sleeping beauty. To Chuuya, you were someone he had met just the night before, you weren't aware of his opinions on one night stands, but you were of the firm belief that they had to remain just one. Goodbye, Chuuya, you thought before sneaking out the door, almost as easily as you came in.

When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. He felt a long-forgotten feeling at the back of his eyelids as if he had cried—but Chuuya stopped doing that long ago. He never cried again, he had seen and lived through too much even to consider letting his emotions loose. Yet, why had there been that feeling lingering behind that morning? His eyes searched for any sign of you but when he found none, his heart sank; he was familiar with one night stands, but he hadn't imagined that you adhered to such rules so stringently.

Ah, f*ck, he thought, as he sat up on the bed. He let out a shaky breath before feeling his eyes burn once more. His left hand reached forward and wiped off an incoming tear from his right eye before he frowned. What the f*ck? He thought before groaning. Something must've gone into my eye, he thought; desperate not to think of you. You had left behind your smell and as people say, memory and smell are intertwined. However, Chuuya didn't know that.

A short while after his shower that morning, Chuuya's phone rang indicating that he was needed elsewhere. The stupor that he had been transported into was over, and the feeling that he may have forgotten something had to be buried.

    "Yeah?" Chuuya grumbled, ignoring his aching stomach; he knew he was forgetting something, something almost vital to his existence and identity, but his common sense reminded him that post-sex emotions can be overwhelming.

    "Oh, rough morning, Chuuya-kun?" Mori's voice from the other end did little to ease his growing uneasiness.

    "What is it, Mori-san?"

    "I'm starting to worry about you. Chuuya-kun. You disappeared last night and just left. Regardless, your private affairs are your own, after all. I need you to look into something."

Took him long enough to come to the damn point, "What is it?"

    "There's a large collection of ammunition that the mafia's stored by the bay. Rumor has it that someone's discovered that location and is intending on... borrowing our merchandise. I can't have that happen, you see. It's our produce, after all."

    "Ah?! You can send someone else for something so small! Why can't you send the Black Lizards or something—"

    "Oh, Chuuya-kun! I'm asking you because I know I won't have to ask again."

Chuuya hated taking orders from someone else, but he liked to believe he held some amount of agency in these areas. Letting out a long breath, Chuuya ended the call once accepting what needed to be done. It was simple enough, considering he didn't have anyone to kill or torture for information. As long as this meant he could work alone, Chuuya was glad. His life had reached a certain blissful limbo ever since Dazai's disappearance, not that he was complaining. Walking over to his hat, which was gracelessly laying on the floor, he felt the familiar smell reach his nostrils again—your smell, to be precise—and he almost froze as he reached to pick his hat. A sense of deja vu burned through his veins; strangely, these moments were occurring far too many times for him even to count. Some days, Chuuya could sense mornings repeat themselves, and nights disappear. Days would sometimes come to a standstill and sometimes, he'd lose them entirely. Time was breaking itself down rapidly, and sometimes, it grew numb.

Chuuya then did what Chuuya did best and ignored the entirety of it before letting his legs carry him to his next destination; he had always been a journey first, destination later type of guy, but Chuuya had mellowed down through the years. He wasn't the same free-spirited, arrogant 15-year old—he was now a man.

On reaching the bay Mori had mentioned, Chuuya's eyes narrowed when he spotted members of the Port Mafia having already been posted there. If people are here, then why'd Mori-san tell me to come here? Chuuya walked toward them before tapping a seemingly large man on his shoulder and waiting to hear from him.

    "Ah, Chuuya-san! Thank goodness you're here!"

    "What the f*ck's the hold up? If our guns are here, then just relocate—"

    "We'd do that, but... there's a deranged person inside who's locked themselves in there! I think they've got an explosive and that could jeopardize everything! The guns, the dock, uh... Mori-san will—"

    "Shut up, will ya?" If this was already annoying him, Chuuya could only wonder what the rest of the task would do. "Did you take a look at this deranged person?"

The man shook his head, "N-Not really. They've been here all morning, in fact."

    "Oh? No one's seen this person get in?"

    "I don't think so—"

    "Tch, useless." Chuuya turned toward the entrance of the building and noticed how the shutters were closed.

    "Also, one more thing, Chuuya-san," the man admonished, "There was a letter that was slipped out of the shutter. It was addressed to you."

This got his attention. Addressed to me? That's why Mori-san sent me here. Chuuya took the slip of paper before opening it, and on it was written with a neat cursive — 'I'm willing to speak to only Nakahara Chuuya, not anyone else. You do not know my ability, so if anyone approaches the building apart from him, I'll blow this place up.' A smirk landed on his face at the seemingly suicidal note that this person had written, and half of his mind wondered if it was Dazai who had played this ridiculous scheme. Letting out a breath, he waved his hand before walking toward the building and standing right in front of the shutters.

    "Alright," He said loudly, "Open the damn shutters. It's me. Nakahara Chuuya!"

When the shutters did open, Chuuya stepped inside without a second thought; once he took close to six or seven steps inside, the shutters closed right behind him, keeping the light away. His eyes didn't waver, though. He had spotted the person in question's silhouette before the light left the room.

    "This is mighty stupid," Chuuya said, laughing, "Blackmailing the Port Mafia? You're some idiot, aren't ya?"

    "It isn't blackmailing, really," Came a familiar voice, and Chuuya froze. "It was a bad calculation, is all. I got a tip that there were illegal weapons here and I wanted to find out myself if that was true, but little did I know..." You stepped out of the shadow, with a sweet smile plastered over your face, "...that the Port Mafia was involved. By the time I could think of a justification, I trapped myself here and willingly gave myself to you."

It took him a couple of seconds to register what to say. He wasn't always thrown for a toss, Chuuya was sometimes quick-witted, but you seemed to have that annoying wit that reminded him of a certain suicidal moron. Your smile was infectious. But then again, so was the plague.

    "You're not very smart, are you?" Chuuya countered with a straight face.

You only tilted your head in that annoyingly sweet way and said, "It wasn't a problem last night, was it?"

Chuuya's face brightened at the sudden recollection of your interactions from the night before. He turned his face away from you, not before regretting the action since that caused you to laugh at his sudden change in behavior. Chuuya wasn't shy, he didn't have a shy bone in his body—but, Chuuya could be put in awkward situations that made him feel bashful. Once your laughter ceased, he noticed how sullen your expression got suddenly. A dim look of hesitance plastered all over your face and there it was again—the deja vu—he recalled someone having written in a book he had once read that deja vu was simply a remembrance of the future. But then why had your facial expressions struck a chord in him the way that it had? Letting out a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket before dialing the one person who could end this.

    "Mori-san? Yeah, it's me. The issue's solved."

As soon as he placed his phone back inside his pocket, Chuuya chose to accept what he was feeling right then. Yes, it had been a one night stand with you, but something had been altered in the due course of time that he had spent with you. Ever since he laid eyes on you drinking alone in that bar, wine that he knew was cheap and low-class, ever since he had offered to buy you wine that you swore you'd love more than the cheap stuff you were drinking, Chuuya knew that interacting with you was a poison that he willingly swallowed, as if his life was dependent on it. Your quirky smirks, the way your eyes crinkled at the pressure of his gaze, the way you licked your lips after tasting the wine he had recommended, the way your eyes widened at the tenacity of the flavor, and the way your eyes met his, just a moment after, and a smile crawled its way to where a surprised look was—Chuuya was quite aware what this feeling was.

But, you had gotten out of bed hours before he could open his eyes. You had run away from the possibility of Chuuya getting to see those very reactions from you again. If you had denied him those experiences in the future, could Chuuya even ask them from you? It felt deeply insulting that you didn't choose to give them to him yourself, but for some reason, Chuuya didn't mind taking another step forward.

    "What is it? You want me to repay you for saving my life?"

Chuuya scoffed before straightening his posture. "That's right. You owe me."

Your eyes twinkled at the teasing tone of his voice, "Oh? And what is it that I owe you, Nakahara Chuuya-san?"

    "A date," He said, almost too quickly, knocking the air right out of you, "I want a date."

You were staring at Chuuya as if you were a blind person staring at the sun for the very first time. You weren't just surprised at his blatant honesty, but you were surprised that he had outright asked you out as if it were some demand. There was no hint of hesitation lodged in his voice, but that was Chuuya; he never hesitated before doing something he was sure would result in success. You had to give him more credit than that, honestly. You would have honestly laughed if your heart wasn't accelerating like a fawn running for its life, but at the same time, you were glad. More or less.

    "I'm... surprised."

Chuuya scoffed before turning around to leave, "Yeah, I don't like it when I wake up to an empty bed. If we f*cked last night, then I'd like to know it was stellar. Or I'd rather it doesn't happen."

If that's the premise, so be it, you thought, a soft smile etched on your face. A smile Chuuya had seen many times before but simply had forgotten. When you walked out of there, no member of the Port Mafia followed you or even gave you a stink-eye, you were left to wander on your own. However, a hand gripped your wrist just as you were about to leave—your eyes widened to see Chuuya's intense gaze burning yours.

    "Not a word to anyone about this."

It took you a second to realize he was talking about the ammunition and not him asking you out. When you blushed right then, you were glad he didn't spot it; or if he did, he didn't make too much of it. There was no need to say anything more, you knew when to meet him and what time as well. Just as the previous night. Chuuya never had to wait three days to know if someone was interested; Chuuya took what he liked because, for the most part, it definitely liked him back as well.

*

Unlike what most people believed about Nakahara Chuuya, he hated being angry. Even though he sported a constant frown across his face that he seemed to carry with pride, anger was quite rare for him to carry around with it. Anger made him feel vulnerable, dangerous—in a way that he didn't like; it deprived him of control, agency, dominance; it was a paralyzing emotion that rendered him helpless. He didn't need anger to get anything done—in fact, Chuuya was beyond that. However, that night, when he waited two hours for you to show up and you didn't, Chuuya felt a different sort of anger.

An ire born out of devastating humiliation was no ire at all. It was a rage nestled in a dark place, reminding him of the Corruption that he desperately wished to forsake. Chuuya not only felt humiliated for being stood up, he felt a deep, growing sorrow—a sorrow that didn't involve tears or screaming but silence, which was the worst indicator. Quietly, he left the bar where he had first met you and walked out only to notice that it was raining. One of the things he prided about himself was his ability to deduce things quickly—sure, he wasn't as witty as Dazai was, not that he'd ever admit that, but he was smart where he needed to be. Recalling details about you that most people would have forgotten seemed simple not because he was as talented as he thought he was, no, it was because you were impossible to forget. A drug that he just couldn't shake off.

His legs then carried him toward an area that seemed so familiar that he felt a wave of nausea itch at his throat. Chuuya clawed at his collarbones to stop the feeling from spreading but the nausea had reached his head and he felt as uncomfortable as when he had too much wine in a single night, on an empty stomach. Reaching a particular door that screamed at him for some godforsaken reason, Chuuya didn't bother knocking; the confidence bubbled inside his chest alongside the nausea. He spotted you on the couch, a bottle of wine in your hands—the wine he had recommended to you the night before—and your eyes widen at his sudden appearance.

    "Chuuya!?"

    "You f*cking stood me up—"

    "How did you remember where I lived?"

Perhaps it was your choice of words. He was always good at guessing what people meant from the words they use, it had always been a certain gift he carried with himself. However, Chuuya didn't care right then. The ire rendered him blind. He rushed to you and knocked the glass off your hands, having it spill all over the carpeted floor before grabbing your collar and pulling you close. He was seething but for some reason, just the sight of you—surprised and quite possibly drunk from the wine—burned down his ire as if it were embers sparking off a tree trunk on a rainy night. Your silky robe slid off his hands with ease as he let you go, before darting his gaze away from you.

    "Chuu—"

    "I don't f*cking understand it either, alright?" He said, eyes stuck to the spilled wine on the floor. "I don't understand what this is, I don't understand why I can't let it go. I've had sex with women whose names I don't even bother to remember, but I can't forget your stupid f*cking face, or your stupid f*cking smile or the way you annoy the crap out of me. I can't forget how you'd rather drink cheap wine at the store and drink the wine that I f*cking recommended to you in secret, so I know there's something there, alright?!"

    "Chuuya, I'm sorry—"

He looked at you with a deep frown, "What is it, then? Was the sex bad? Was it me—"

Your hands sprung to his face and it hit him again—the wave of deja vu—the feeling of your skin against his; it was intoxicating. He breathed in deeply, trying to recollect where he had smelt you before for it to have become so deeply rooted in his mind.

    "How is it..." You began to mutter something under your breath but Chuuya's hand lifted your chin and forced you to meet his gaze, "Chuuya, I... I'm sorry. It's not that. It's not any of that. You're amazing. You're... I love you."

His eyes widened. Words that he normally would have run away from suddenly felt like home—he swore he had heard them before. He had heard them, from you, a long time ago and the smell of it resonated with the way you carried yourself. Apricots and honey, a smell so utterly natural yet devastatingly intoxicating, Chuuya was certain that whatever it was had to be love; because if it wasn't, then he didn't know what love was. Moving in, Chuuya's lips captured your own, and your hands quickly reached his hair before pulling him closer as if your life depended on it. A lovely trick designed by nature, Chuuya used it to silence you from uttering words right then. There was no need for words when action spoke so loudly. It didn't take long for his hands to reach your neck, pasting your body to his; and for this to lead further to a place of no return. Not that you minded, of course.

When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. There was no long-forgotten feeling, there was no remnant that he desperately needed to remember—there was just you. You were breathing beside him, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, looking as peaceful as he had ever seen you; a sight he believed he had seen many times before. The intensity of which made him wonder if this was what people meant when they said soulmates existed; perhaps, he knew you in a past life, and had reunited with you in this one. Whatever it was, he felt content. His hand reached to brush a strand of stray hair off your cheek before noticing you inch closer toward him, blinding him with your scent again.

As established before, Chuuya was good at guessing what people meant by the choice of their words. He instantly remembered something odd that you had let loose the night before, something that made him wonder if there was a reason why he felt so intensely for you. Reaching forward and placing his hand at the back of your head, he pulled you to his neck, feeling your arms wrap around his naked chest. Chuuya's gaze fixed at the wall behind you before trying to decipher just what you had meant by 'How did you remember where I lived?'

A second later, you stirred before looking up at him and he cocked an eyebrow at your emotionless stare.

    "God help me..." You said, "You're so pretty."

    "Don't call me pretty." He argued, and you swore he could kill you with his morning voice and you'd be glad.

    "Hey," He began, clearing his throat, "What did you mean by... what you said yesterday?"

    "That I love you? Aw, Chuuya... Don't you know what that means?"

   "No, you idiot. You asked me how I remembered where you lived. Why would you ask me that unless I..." His eyes widened. "Unless I somehow forgot..."

    "Wrong choice of words, I guess. Forgive me, I was down three glasses of wine before you got here."

Chuuya laughed at your words right then before pulling you closer, feeling more content with your explanation than the gnawing suspicion that raged inside his brain. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love?

But then again, what didn't he?

*

Blissful days were cursed, or so he believed; Chuuya noticed how quickly they passed. He could, on some occasions, watch the days as they passed, exiting his body and seeing himself interact with the everydayness of things. The only thing that brought him life was to return home to you. Even with the ever-growing blissfulness, Chuuya didn't malinger. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that every word that exited your mouth was a red herring—something that you were deviating from a fact that he had missed. He hated feeling like he was missing an important detail, but each time you smiled at him or stole a kiss, Chuuya was taken back to the very moment he fell for you.

Suddenly, as if his mind was taking him somewhere else, he recalled something. He didn't know if it was entirely a made-up scenario or something that happened in a past life because if it happened in this one, he'd have remembered. He spotted you, stumbling in front of a broken wine bottle, the owner of the store screaming in your ear—and you were trying to sound convincing. Chuuya watched himself walk over to you, and turn to the owner of the store before quickly understanding what had happened. You had dropped an expensive bottle of wine, and you had no means to pay for it; it caused him to chuckle a tad bit before throwing some money (or more) at the owner, causing you to turn to him with wide eyes. "It's alright," he had said to you, "I've got money."

Chuuya watched as he walked away from you, but missed how you had removed one of your shoes and thrown it at the back of his head. He froze before turning to you with a deadly expression, but instantly blinked when he noticed how heavily you were blushing before thinking, 'Holy shit, she's cute,' before having you walk over to him and scream—

"What do you think you're doing, pretty face?"

Chuuya stared at you as you chopped onions without shedding a single tear; he had no clue how you had learned to art to do so, but boy, was he glad you knew how to cook. You reached forward before using your wrist to wipe off a tear from his eye, scrunching a bit before realizing the onions must have done it. You giggled before turning back to them, chopping them quietly. That wasn't it, Chuuya thought, narrowing his eyes. That wasn't how he met you. He met you at the bar, where he spotted you drinking cheap wine and he walked over to you and recommended something else. He didn't meet you in a wine store—he didn't have a shoe thrown at the back of his head. Yet... His hand reached the back of his head and his fingers grazed the area where the shoe supposedly landed, It feels like it actually happened.

He shook his head before entwining his hands around your waist, before kissing the back of your neck. He wasn't usually so affectionate, but you didn't mind. Every time Chuuya touched you, it left scorch marks that were welcome; it was passion breathing fire, reflecting the color of his hair, the aura of his heart.

    "What're you thinking?" You hummed, unaware of how intensely Chuuya was watching you.

    "Nothin'."

Blissful days were cursed, Chuuya knew this for a fact. He could watch happy days pass by with him barely breathing, existing, feeling; but the bad ones lasted ages. He remembered walking into his own home one day, drenched in blood, covered with soot and mud, the urge to feel human contact was strong just then. He knew he could call you, he knew that he could rely on you especially since you had said the words 'I love you' to him over and over again, despite him having not said it in return. He wondered if that bothered you, he wondered if that made you want to leave him but you made no sign so far that you were displeased. He watched you like a hawk, after all, with that growing suspicion that drowned him on nights like these. He rang you in a moment, before feeling the phone vibrate next to his ear, his eyes ghosting on a dark patch in front of him. He needed your hands, your body, the smell of your hair; he needed the familiar apricot and honey to cover his nostrils whole. He needed you, just before asking you why you lied.

    "Chuuya? It's 4 a.m., what's—"

    "I need to see you."

You were quiet on the other end, wondering if he had figured it out. He must've, you thought, a bitter smile formed on your lips.

    "I'll be there in—"

    "No," He wasn't going to risk it, "I'm coming to you."

*

Your eyes glanced all over Chuuya's bloodied appearance before hearing the sound of your heart break—it was a soft sound, like a twig snapping under the weight of a stone. Your heart fell as he gave you his hat and removed his coat before you threw it into the wash. You led him to the bathroom, having him strip, and let him sit aside while you filled the tub. You knew he was watching you, you knew he was going to tell you the very same thing he had always told you.

    "We need to stop this."

You didn't know why, but you laughed. Every single time that it had happened before, you had cried and asked him for an explanation, or even threw things at him—but this time, you laughed. This time, you desperately tried being away from him until he magically appeared at your home, shocking you to your very core at how your powers were slowly slipping off of him. You turned to spot Chuuya's eyes fixed at your form before a nasty frown formed on his face. You touched his cheek before whispering, "The bath's ready."

He sat in the water before letting out a groan, indicating that this was what he needed before he could reprimand you and leave you once again. However, just as you were about to leave, his hand gripped your wrist, another action that shocked you, and he stared at you.

    "Wash my hair."

You nodded wordlessly before following through with it, wondering where this was going. All the other times, Chuuya would leave instantly after saying those words. All the other times, he'd ensure that he wouldn't see you for another month or so—before realizing that he had never met you. You weren't a cruel person, you were just desperately in love, having uncovered an ability that you thought could save you from torment. Yet, it presented more than it took away. One of the things you admired most about Chuuya was his hair, of how soft and luscious it was despite it being coated with blood on many days. You admired how well he took care of himself on the days that he could, and how he'd managed to put on that responsibility to you as well. You only began taking care of yourself because of him; and in a way, he had saved you.

    "I..." Here it comes. "I didn't meet you for the first time at the bar, did I?"

You were quiet. But, silence at an occasion such as this was admittance.

    "I've met you for the first time an exact three times. When you broke the wine bottle, and when you were scrambling around during a case, that's when I learned you were a journalist. And then... And then the bar,"

You didn't answer.

    "I was chasing this guy, this..." He leaned his head over and sighed, "...this guy who ran off from the Port Mafia with some documents or some shit. He... He found you, and I... I thought I lost you," You couldn't tell if he was angry or just overwhelmed, "That's when I left you for the first time."

    "Chuuya..."

    "I left you one more time after. I can't remember everything..." His eyes met yours, steady and intense, "...and that's thanks to you, isn't it?"

    "Chuuya, I—"

    "You have an ability," He said, finally, "An ability to make people forget you."

You sat there, behind him, with your hands sunken in his locks. Your heart was rummaging against your chest and you bit your lip enough to draw blood; if he asked you why what could you say? Was there even a reason why you did what you did? Despite having him forget you for a total of three times, he had somehow magically returned, somehow asking for more and staying longer than he did before. It was almost a curse than anything else. The more you used your ability on someone, the less of an effect it would have each time. It was only a matter of time Chuuya figured things out. And now he had.

After the bath, he silently wore a change of clothes that you surprisingly had. He wanted to ask if this was from the first or second time he had met you, but he didn't. He turned to spot you standing a few feet away, before meeting his gaze.

    "You did that for me, didn't you?" He was expressionless. To see Chuuya this way broke your heart. "So that it doesn't bother me."

    "Also because I genuinely wanted you to stay away from me." You let out a laugh.

    "I didn't f*cking stay away, did I?" He demanded, taking a step toward you, "No matter what stupid trick you used, I kept coming back!"

    "You were the one who left first." You snapped, gritting your teeth.

Chuuya bit back his words for a moment before turning away. This action always melted your heart, when Chuuya turned away from you because you had stolen his words away.

    "Things are different now, aren't they?"

    "Yeah," They were different. He didn't leave. "Yeah, they are."

Silence followed a deep revelation such as this. His eyes didn't leave yours and you stared right back—it almost reminded him of the shoe-throwing incident. He chuckled before earning a frown from you.

    "For being played around like that, I should be the one glaring at you." He scoffed.

    "Chuuya, I love you."

It was at that second he remembered something. He believed you'd leave him because he hadn't told you he loves you or even bothered to say it back even when you had said it multiple times before already. However, at that second, he remembered that the first person to say those words between the two of you was Chuuya himself. I'm not going to leave, he thought before letting out a breath. He kissed the side of your head before wrapping an arm around your waist.

    "Don't f*cking do that again." He scolded you.

    "I could have stayed away from you each time, but you're like... a disease." You laugh.

He rolled his eyes before raising his voice, "Who're you callin' a disease?! If anything, you're a goddamn manipulator. F*cking stupid."

He rested his head on your shoulder before smelling the apricot and honey attached to your skin. It was just as intoxicating as the first time.

    "I ain't leaving so..." His voice was muffled with how his mouth was pressed to your shoulder, "...I love you too."