#and how it makes him less of a worships at your feet with no regard for himself

[sunday-arch]

thinking about sanji, re. romantic relationships right now and of course, gonna preface by saying, we're not acknowledging the gross parts of canon. we're talking about sanji at his essence here --- but, it's easy to say that he's the Perfect Guy. he's doting, loving, respectful, would worship you, kill for you, die for you if that's your thing. he's a True Gentleman. but, the guy has some intense emotional hang-ups and is so marred by trauma that it runs intensely deep as it does with so many in the crew in general.

sanji will be in a relationship, would thrive beneath reciprocated love and affection. the man is on a high just thinking of it, legs trembling, sweat breaking, can't function.

but --- i also think about how there's the possibility of him conjuring up doubts in his mind over whether he's worthy of you at all at the end of the day. he's constantly giving and giving with no expectation of return because all he's concerned with is what can he do to keep you around, to keep you loving him, how does he make himself useful, reliable, etc. the man needs reassurance and validation in possibly excessive amounts because otherwise, he's privately worrying, going crazy thinking about whether he deserves love, deserves anyone's love.

i think that in order for sanji to also be his healthiest self in a relationship, at some point, discovering his self worth is paramount. and actively working on that, and having an understanding partner who isn't going to exploit that aspect about him.

[khaire-traveler]

🗡️ Subtle Talos Worship 🪨

Collect rocks/crystals you like

Bask in the sunlight (Cretan)

Take a walk/hike on a sunny day (Cretan)

Light a bonfire; sit in front of it; focus on the warmth and life it provides

Collect bronze colored items; wear bronze colored jewelry

Assert your personal boundaries; make it clear when someone has done something that made you uncomfortable

Get a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Make something with your hands; work hard on a project or item you're creating (Cretan)

Stand up for yourself and others; stand up for those you love

Assert your boundaries; make others aware when they upset you or make you uncomfy

Set boundaries for yourself; I'll only give this much support to that person, I won't stay on my phone for hours before bed, I won't engage with this media that always upsets me, etc.

Have a stuffed animal of a creature that you associate with protection, defense, strength, or the sun (sun = Cretan)

Have imagery of bronze robots/automatons, swords, shields, large rocks/boulders, the island of Krete (Crete), the sun (Cretan), Volcanoes (Cretan), or light (Cretan) around

Learn self-defense; carry weapons on you (pepper spray, pocket knife, etc.)

Learn how to properly use a weapon of your choice; sword, bow and arrow, short sword, spear, pocket knife, etc.

Listen to yourself, especially regarding situations/people that your gut tells you are unsafe; your GUT, not your ANXIETY

Get to know yourself better; know that you know yourself better than others

Disregard unconstructive criticism; work on not taking hate personally (easier said than done, I know)

Fall asleep/meditate to the sound of island ocean waves

Try to eat healthy; fruits, veggies, protein, etc.; take care of your physical body

Grow your own produce or herbs (Cretan)

Support local farms; buy their produce (Cretan)

Support farming/food (Cretan) or humanitarian organizations; support homeless shelters

Volunteer at a food bank, soup kitchen, or farm (Cretan)

Take regular breaks from screens; make sure to go outside for some fresh air (Cretan)

Make sure to wear sunscreen on sunny day (Cretan)

Go cloud-watching (Cretan)

Exercise; get movement throughout your day, even just stretching

Visit the beach or nearby body of water; stick your feet into the shallows; try to ground yourself there

Ground yourself regularly; check in with yourself and your body frequently

Own a sword - it'd be so cool if you did

Play a fighting-based video game; choose a supportive/defensive character

On a tough day, be gentle with yourself; eat/drink something comforting, take a shower, get cozy under a blanket, watch a comfort movie, etc.

Stick affirmational/encouraging notes in places you'll see them throughout the day

Make a list of your personal strengths and weaknesses; try to healthily reflect on ways you can better yourself

Drink fruit or vegetable juices (Cretan)

Paint or draw an island; purchase art of an island from an artist

Support local businesses

Get involved with local communities; support groups, gamer groups, neighborhoods, etc.

Leave good tips for those working in the service industry; delivery drivers, waiters, hospitality workers, etc.

Treat service workers with compassion and empathy; they've got it rough

Build a sand castle; give it some cool defenses

Support the less fortunate in your community

Volunteer at a homeless shelter; volunteer within your community

Donate supplies to homeless shelters; hygiene kits are always needed

-

This is my list of discreet ways to worship Talos. There are two versions of him most commonly worshipped - that of mainland Greece and that of the island of Krete itself. Both vary vastly; Krete saw him as a bronze automaton Sun god that fathered Hephaestus, while mainland Greece saw him as a giant bronze automaton assigned to protect Krete by Zeus. I gave suggestions for both versions. I hope y'all find this helpful, and take care! 💚

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[metropoliswhite]

No Man Can Take The Sea infodump

I was asked by @rhaegang about the lore that I have concocted in my brain without a place to actually put it in the story. Since I'm incapable of short answers, here is some of my brain rot under the cut! (very light spoilers for chapter 4)

So. In this, sirens are incredibly powerful, almost god like, but they are also very animalistic in behavior and nature, which means they don't have any real concept of wars and premeditation. They are deceitful due to the nature of their power but they wouldn't be able to carry on a long con. They are quite naive, that's why they get hunted successfully and captured despite being so powerful. (also they are very social species that live in group. They are extremely protective and codependant with their flock/pod whatever you want to call it, and isolating them for a long time is a sure way to break them.)

Oliver has the same powers and instincts as any siren (although less knowledge of how to use it because of the way he was raised) but he has a human mind and understanding of the world. It makes him one of the most powerful being in existence because he has powers AND purpose. He can scheme, plot revenge, organize, etc. He's potentially extremely dangerous!

Sirens are also completely unburdened by human moral concepts, they're a bit like cats playing with their food (like they do on Oliver's birthday, playing with the human on the beach by making them dance to death) and Oliver's moral compass is a bit off because of both his nature and education. I see them as similar to fae in many senses, they can be capricious and possessive.

Regarding their music, I already described how they make inhuman sounds replicating the noises of the ocean and it's creatures, but they also do throat singing, breath work and extremely high pitched notes. Trollabundin by Eivør and mongol throat singing have been a big inspiration. (Hamrer Hippyer by Heilung for a pod of sirens celebrating together) They sing and make music to lure, soothe, celebrate… They are very artistically enclined, attracted to poetry and art because it's so close to singing, and lovers of beauty in all its forms, which make them collect beautiful things like jewels, shells, or pretty human boys with big shiny brown eyes…

They used to be worshipped with sacrifices and precious stones, intricate rituals said to guarantee a calm sea and abondant fishes, but people started to get angry at the leaders of these ceremonies for stealing their children and riches (that they of course kept for themselves in large part) and took it out on the sirens. That's when they started to get hunted and captured. They were kept as a symbol of status and power, an entertainment and unfortunately to warm powerful men's bed. They usually don't last long in these conditions though, loneliness and distance to the sea making them wither away. Oliver's mom has been able to last longer due to the location of her captors castle and having Oliver to protect and care for. It is assumed that they are almost exctincts because they are rarely seen nowadays. It is also said that their powers were greatly exaggerated by the priests to submit people to their whims with fear. Before even the priests and religious worship, local sailors knew that sirens were dangerous and not to be approached, but that if you played a pleasant enough rhythm they would join with their singing and let you live. It became a superstition and sailors still carry drums on their ship to this day without really knowing why.

Also the entire story has been inspired by my very deep attachment to the ocean and to a little town in Brittany where I spent all my summers growing up, at the very edge of France, where the wind blinds you and your feet get cut by hard rocks when you step into the waves. A place that used to be the home of sailors with face tanned by salt and proud bigoudènes, living in community and sharing hardships, music and chouchen. Wild, barren, and old but with a beautiful soul.

[konig-varorson]

Lost Chinese Lore: Grenth Be Just

Preface

Last year, I began a project to dig through the Guild Wars 1 websites of all the languages, mostly hoping to recover trailers that were lost to time (mostly successfully too). I also found some lore articles that weren't available to western audiences. Such articles were known to exist - mainly lore on Abaddon for Nightfall - and those were later (mostly) canonized by ArenaNet in Guild Wars 2.

So I decided to gather and begin slowly translate them. Previous posts on reddit:

Lyssa

Abaddon

Dwayna

Balthazar

Disclaimer: While there is overlap  with canon lore, there is no guarantee this is all canon as well. China is known to have alterations to the story to account for regulations in that nation, so it is unclear how much of this is expanded canon or simply reworked for China and thus non-canon.

For those who would like to see the original text and do their own translation: http://news.17173.com/content/2007-04-11/20070411113342700,1.shtml

Translated Text

The God of Death and Ice - Grenth

About Grenth

Among the five main gods of the Guild Wars (GW) world, Grenth is undoubtedly the most mysterious. He oversees the death of all creatures and all ice in nature, and as such is the patron god followed by necromancers and ice magic elementalists. The statue of Grenth is carved with a demon head and body, with two magic claws clasped together; its shape is enough to make people's skin shiver. Even so, at his feet, there are still many devotees worshipping and thirsting for his great power. Grenth never shows his true face, a black cloak covers most of his face, and even without the cloak you can only see his terrible mask. His eyes emit a terrible green light, it is said that looking directly into his eyes will take away your soul.

Grenth is keen to find and cultivate his followers in all parts of the world, which he considers a great pleasure. There are many people who claim to have seen Grenth with their own eyes and signed a death contract with him, but not many of these claims are true because Grenth is extraordinarily demanding of his followers and not everyone will be appreciated by him. As for what his criteria for identification are, I'm afraid only he himself knows.

Grenth has the power to manipulate all things of death. The necromancer, with close association with death, has long ago understood that to obtain the power of sincerity, we must absolutely submit to Grenth. The god taught them the language of communication with spirits, and could even show them the way to the Underworld. Therefore, all great master necromancers are characters with power beyond life and death. This also makes a lot of people willing to give up their original beliefs and defect to the Grenth who can give them great power.

Worshipers of Grenth

Belief in Grenth is not the same as belief in other gods, because once you have committed to Grenth, it is a committment you cannot turn back on even after death. Elders would always caution their children with these words, "Never make any agreement with Grenth lightly, for that will be an eternal contract." Despite this, the promises of power still bring many people to join the ranks of Grenth's worshipers. Because their actions are so mysterious and they deal with the souls of the dead all day long, they are regarded as bizarre by most people, who may even become hostile towards and stay away from them. This is all a misunderstanding of the world, because worshipers of Grenth are not directly equated with evil. There are times when their inner devotion even surpasses that of monks, only the beliefs are different.

Towards other part of the Grenth's followers, the ice elementalists, people take a very different attitude. This may be due to how most people do not know that these powers come from the god of death. The size of this group is also still relatively small, so it is less likely to attract attention.

Currently, the followers of Grenth are still a relatively contentious group. They rarely have close contact with other people or groups. They are used to solitude and isolation, but of course the perception that they are "lonely" is basically someone else's perception, because they never feel that way themselves - they are accompanied by a large number of dead souls.

The Story of Grenth

Desmina, who had always been despised by the villagers, could not escape the fate of being exiled by the villagers. Faced with her miserable and unfortunate fate, she cried out to the sky in despair: "O God! If I can take revenge on those who scorned me, I am willing to sacrifice everything I have!" At that moment, there was a horrible sound deep underground, and Desmina looked up in horror. The earth began to tremble, and then a crack opened up in the ground, and countless skeletons began to emerge from the crack. Then, the god of death, Grenth, finally appeared from the pile of skeletons. Grenth stretched out his skeleton-like hands and took Desmina into his arms: "I am your god. As long as you obey me, all the undead will obey you."

Desmina agreed without hesitation. As a price to pay, Desmina received the bizarre ability to dominate the undead and curse her enemies. Resentful of the villagers who had mercilessly expelled her, Desmina began to wait for the day of revenge in her dreams. And the days of waiting did not last long.

When Desmina was strong enough to satisfy the god of death, Desmina left the Kingdom of Ice and began to spread Grenth's teachings around the continent of Tyria. As people had never seen him and could not imagine that people can come back from the dead, no one believed her and even treated her as an ominous existence. Even so, Desmina continued her unpopular journey until she stepped into the area that had cruelly exiled her from her home, Cardone.

Unable to forget the bitterness of her past, Desmina settled down in Cardone and built a temple dedicated to Grenth in a cemetery. The villagers, who were deeply frightened, tried to expel her again but could not pass the boundary set up by Desmina. News began to spread that warlike barbarians were about to invade the village. The barbarians numbered in the thousands, but the village had only a few hundred people. The villagers had no choice but to put aside their prejudices and pride and seek help from Desmina. And Desmina thought that the time for revenge had finally come.

Just when Desmina wanted to give the villagers who begged her the curse of Grenth, which she had honed a thousand times for this moment, the voice of the god of death came: "Desmina, go and help them. In this way they will listen to my teachings." Desmina obeyed the god's instruction and proceeded to summon hundreds of undead souls that then crawled out of the catacombs. She commanded to the undead, "You who have gained the power of my life will never be allowed to return until you have completely defeated the invading barbarians!"

In this way, the undead saved Cardone. And this place gradually became celebrated - it was the birthplace of necromancers.

[carnivoraformes]

@bitterseadrop asked, "

How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

Where can your Tav be recruited? Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region? Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

Are there any unique NPCs associated with your Tav that can show up during the course of the game?"

Companion Tav Questions || Status: Accepting

How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

In general: "WHAT IN THE HELLS ARE YOU THINKING?"

Overall her reaction is absolute disgust. You would lose a lot of approval from her for licking a literal dead spider and she will not refrain from pointing out that the PC deserved to get poisoned for it.

Where can your Tav be recruited? Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region? Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

You can first meet her aboard the Nautiloid looking at 'Us' asking to be freed and while she wants to crush it, because: A) GROSS! and B) they are in a potentially bad situation and once less enemy to deal with. You can convince her to spare it if you have a 15 roll on persuasion or a 20 roll on intimidation. THAT SAID IF YOU ARE A LOLTH DROW then it would be a 20 persuasion roll or a 23 intimidation roll.

If you let it go free without handicapping it she will make it clear she thinks they're playing with fire but goes along with it.

Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

Most of her unique comments are really directed towards other drow or half drows. Some highlights include:

At the Druid Camp for example:

During the confrontation between the little bitch who's name I can be bothered to remember and Zelvor: "Aaaah backstabbing, reminds me of home. Every bit as disgusting as I remember it."

And if you deck the little bitch she will approvingly say, "serves him right."

If you deck Zelvor she will disapprovingly say, "what was the for? I personally think we should have left the little brat there to die, now."

At Kagha's comment about the PC understanding the circumstances because they are a drow:

If PC approves: *scoff* speak for yourself.

If PC disapproves and talk to her after: What a bitch, she clearly doesn't understand that not every drow will bow at Lolth's feet while stabbing each other in the back. Glad we're on the same page at least, but does something seem fishy to you? I'm not a druid but as a ranger something just doesn't seem right about this.

At the back entrance of the Blighted Village:

To nondrow pc: "hey would it be alright if I take the lead here? Seems like they need a reminder of where their place is."

Also for non-drow PC's she will also ask the PC's permission to take the lead in future goblin interactions. If they agree she will from that point on be the one doing most of the interactions with the goblins and leading the conversation with them. If they don't she will respectfully understand and you won't lose approval.

At the entrance of the Goblin Camp:

If PC is not a drow and she is given permission to do so she will take the lead in the conversation, "move aside we have business here."

If PC is a drow/half drow: *whistles* Got to love seeing goblins fall over themselves.

Dialogue Regarding Minthara after first meeting her (if you don't immediately give away the druid grove):

To Drow/Half Drow PC: Please tell me you aren't seriously going to help her? Listen I think you already figured out I am not fond of any drow that worshipped Lolth but this isn't just about that and I hate the druid's attitude as much as anyone but what about the tieflings? They don't deserve this.

To PC of other Races: Please tell me you aren't seriously considering this are you? She will slaughter them! I know you probably think all of us drow are just out to gut each other but she is crazy even by our standards.

Oh god and don't even think about recruiting Minthara because FUR. WILL. FLY.

Are there any unique NPCs associated with your Tav that can show up during the course of the game?

Yeah actually, around the Mountain Pass you can meet a couple of her ranger buddies. The conversation isn't very important, just catching up and maybe a quest to save one of their crew that got caught by another goblin camp nearby and if the player can manage to save them at her request they will gain alot of approval.

You can also meet the drow woman that changed her life around the Colony. The conversation doesn't involve a quest but you can easily gain approval by favorable comments regarding seldarine drow during the conversation.

[avengernomore]

does your muse find any specific features particularly attractive?

where is your muse most sensitive?

is your muse monogamous or polyamorous? would they be interested in a polyamorous relationship?

what traits does your muse value in a romantic partner?

what are some of the signs that your muse shows their care/love without saying they love/care about their partner?

how important is having (a) physically attractive partner(s) to your muse?

does your muse have an ideal "type"?

@yukixxnoxxtsubasa romance & relationship headcanons!

Well, that's a fair few questions, huh?

I'm going to reply to them a little differently because I can see some overlap between a couple of the questions. At least, in the way that I would answer them.

does your muse find any specific features particularly attractive? how important is having (a) physically attractive partner(s) to your muse?

So, yeah, I'm going to start this out by saying that Sasuke doesn't necessarily take physical attraction into account when he's considering dating someone. He wants a connection with someone. He is willing to date someone if he doesn't feel the right sort of connection with them, but he will likely break it off after a few months at the most if said connection doesn't form.

That being said, Sasuke does like certain features on a woman. He's quite a fan of large breasts and plump butts, and generally prefers... let's say bigger, 'softer' women. So that's one rumour that wasn't right about him, he's not really attracted to skinny women. He's a cuddler, after all. He does also value strength in a woman, a woman with abs will definitely draw his eyes for a moment or two, so he is a fan of muscle. Only light muscle tone though, if ya girl has like rock-hard washboard abs he might be a little less interested. He'll still likely flirt with them, though.

where is your muse most sensitive?

I'm gonna assume this is discounting things like the literal most sensitive places on the body, like the dick, hands, feet and anus, right?

Probably his neck. He has a very sensitive neck. You'd likely be able to make him shiver by nuzzling against it or trailing a finger along it.

His forehead is also fairly sensitive, but the only thing he really allows in regards to his forehead are kisses. Not that I know what other sorts of things you could do with his forehead but

is your muse monogamous or polyamorous? would they be interested in a polyamorous relationship?

I mean, I've talked about a verse where he has a harem so...

Honestly, he would probably prefer a monogamous relationship, But, he is willing to have a polyamorous relationship if it's the right sort of relationship and if he feels attracted to the other girl in said relationship. He is straight, so it's extremely unlikely that he'd form a poly relationship where another guy is involved.

I am talking as someone who doesn't know much about poly relationships though so...

...Well I write the character so don't take it with a grain of salt when it concerns my Sasuke, but don't assume that I'm an authority on the subject.

what traits does your muse value in a romantic partner?

Someone who likes him for who he is, rather than what everyone else thinks of him or the fangirl's general picture of him. Someone who will be there for him when he needs them, someone who will give him space when he needs it.

Basically, someone who will treat him as a person rather than someone who should be worshipped or forced to fit into someone else's perception of him.

You'd think that'd be an easy thing to find but from what I've heard apparently it's pretty fucking hard.

what are some of the signs that your muse shows their care/love without saying they love/care about their partner?

Sasuke is very affectionate. Depending on how much he cares about your muse, he might put his arm around their shoulders, their waist, their hips, he might hug them, cheek/forehead/lip/neck kisses, nuzzling against their cheek or neck, holding their hands... Poor guy was touch-starved from his family being killed when he was young and keeping everyone at arm's length after that.

Like, I honestly have a headcanon about the fact that he got a lot of hugs from his Mom and would even sulk for a bit if his Mom neglected to hug him before bed or before seeing him off to the Academy.

does your muse have an ideal "type"?

I mean, I've talked about his romantic type and the sort of physical features he likes in a person but.

As long as you treat him like a person, that's all he really needs. Everything else would be a nice bonus if you have it, but you could learn to read his mood, learn when he would rather be left be (or when he asks them to leave him be for a bit). And physical features can be nice, like I said, but they're not necessary, he's going to focus more on what you're like as a person when he's deciding whether or not to date you. Like you could have what he would consider a perfect body in all aspects, but if your personality was shit, he wouldn't date you.

[dinsbeskar]

This is an absolute masterpiece. I'm actually past capitals, and back to lowercase, I am in such awe. This is one of those things I wish I'd written, it's so gorgeous, so artfully written, the imagery is so beautiful, and you made a blowjob seem like poetry, absolutely astounding??

Okay I have many quotes (I actually copied over 30, it must have been your entire fic, so I've heavily edited down to my absolute favourite bits)

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

Poor Brimby, I mean, who wouldn't when faced with Annatar appearing out of the smoke 😂 he got me good, never mind anyone actually standing close to him 😂

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

The way I would die??? The way I did die just reading this??

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

Oh lord oh my god he is gorgeous and the picture you paint of him is sublime, I'm in love??

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE WAY I DIED

Halbrand my beloved, your chest hair is immortal and beyond compare

You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

What an absolutely gorgeous juxtaposition, I love this image so much!!!

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

I yelled!! Yes we love both, let him do both, worship and degrade us, why am I so feral for this??

You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

Hell yes hell yes hell yes it's the craving for me!!! He loves the attention, needs her like air, godddd it's perfect

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other.  “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

Holy mother of divine sweet jesus, I cannot tell you how much I love this, I died, I was reborn, I died again

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. [...] He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

I YELLED

Bestial Sauron, losing his damn mind, "show me how much you adore me", I am so feral for this adoring husband you write so well, he is sublime

You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be.

YASSSSSSSSS

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

God this is gorgeous, "such ruin"???? He loves it, she loves it, they're both so unwell for each other, you can feel just how perfect they are for each other with each tiny look, action, piece of dialogue 🙌👌🤌👏

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

THIS

THIS ENDED ME, I AM ACTUALLY DEAD NOW

He looks for her consent and finds nothing wanting, she's right there with him, and the contrast between his roughness and gentleness is sending me

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏

Even in the heat of your smuttiest scenes, there is such gorgeous emotion, idk how you do it, sublime

Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

Pfffffft the way I cackled, he really is 😂😂😂

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

This whole paragraph is sublime, what a feast indeed, the image of him is so beautiful, and imagining herself in Morgoth's place?? he deserves to be rewarded, let's reward him 😍🥵

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble���”

SHUT UP I LOVE IT, OF COURSE HE MADE HIMSRLF IN AN IMAGE SHE WOULD ADORE, HIS FLESH TO FIT HERS, I AM DYING

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

Um okay????? Fuck I'm running out of new things to say but I need you to know how much I adored this whole section, they're so mad for each other my heart hurts

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

Fuck me??? "All the heart I have left is yours"???? Amazing, stunning, breathtaking

...as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

THE TEMPTATION YES PLEASE

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. [...]

This whole next section where she describes her fantasy/illusion/dream, which I love btw, like her brain has to fill in the gap he's left to stay remotely sane, anyway the whole thing was so beautifully written it hurt my heart, but the end where she tells him it was wrong, it felt so right. Of course this isn't their love story, they were forged in flames and darkness and this fairytale doesn't suit them (I love it anyway idc)

It's like "in another life I'd have been happy to do laundry with you" but this is where they were meant to be and they relish in it.

“But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands."

I have a very special fondness for this line, he doesn't need his forge to make her beautiful things, and she doesn't need the finest jewels from him to want to wear them, my heart!!!!

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

YES KING GO CLAIM YOUR QUEEN IN ANY TIMELINE HELL YEAAAH

“...whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

Ooooof it's the yearning for me!!! The separation doing nothing but bringing them closer together!!

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, ���and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

YESSSSSSS ALL THE POWER IN THE WORLD BUT HER SAFETY WOULD BE PARAMOUNT, YESSSSS

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Oh my lord this did me in, absolutely sublime, yes queen give us everything 👏🤌👌🙌

Danielle I am in awe, this was amazing, your best yet for sure 💜💜💜

As we are now (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

Warnings: evil!reader, smut, oral (Sauron receiving, he gets rough but reader is completely on board with it), p in v, dom!Sauron but it’s kind of back and forth, reader and Sauron being deep in denial about their desire for a bit of normalcy

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar’s betrayal and infiltrated herself as a smith of Eregion, where she awaited her husband’s return.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You burst into delighted laughter the moment you are in the privacy of your own chamber. The light, the smoke, the speech, the look—be still your black little heart and your poor loins, the look.

It was a good thing you had worked as closely as you did with Celebrimbor and so-called Halbrand before your husband had been forced to leave Eregion, for the Elven Rings were in great part your achievement as well, and so Celebrimbor had deemed that you had just as much right to learn what had become of them upon Halbrand’s return. It was also a good thing you were standing behind Celebrimbor, and that he was entirely enraptured with your husband’s divine appearance as ‘Annatar’ made his grand entrance, because the hand with which you had covered your grin could hardly conceal the shameless glee in your eyes.

To see his deceit at work is always a joy. But even greater is the delight of knowing he shall join you in your chamber shortly, just as soon as he is finished entertaining the awe-struck Celebrimbor for the night. You stand at your window, hoping your wait will not be long. You haven’t had the chance to be alone with your husband since he had returned to Eregion, and somehow the last moments before the promise of reunion always feel like the longest.

He moves within the shadows, as quietly as them. You do not need to hear the opening and closing or your door, or even the steps approaching you, to know that he is there, even before arms snake around your waist from behind and lips press to your neck. You chuckle, leaning into your husband.

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

“How crudely you speak of your dear friend,” your husband pretends to admonish, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you fault a poor Elf for falling to his knees in the face of his greatest desires coming true?”

“Fault him? Of course not.” You lower your voice to a sensual purr, leaning in so that your breath warms his lips as you speak. “In fact, if I were him, I’d have done far more than kneel.” You shrug. “Or tried, at the very least. Surely, an emissary of the Valar is above such worldly temptations.”

His lips are only a moment too slow to catch your teasing ones. You nimbly slip from his hold and walk past him—to no destination whatsoever, for you know you are to be caught nearly at once and relish the short anticipation. You still give a small yelp when he catches your wrist and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. There’s hunger in his eyes, and playfulness, as he secures your waist into a hold not so easily escapable as the last.

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

He can pay you a thousand compliments, and you would still swoon each and every time. On the inside, at the very least, for at the moment you simply remove his hand from your mouth.

“Is that all you wish? To admire me?” you tease still, ignoring the impatient tick in your husband’s jaw. “It would be such a pity if the Lord of Gifts did not receive some form of gratitude in return for the blessings he carries. Does one as pure as you even know of what I speak?”

You hold his gaze as you catch the tip of his thumb between your teeth, giving the pad the lightest lick. Your husband’s throat bobs as he watches.

“Do enlighten me,” he rasps out.

And you fully intend to. His lips are so plump and tempting, close enough that you can all but taste them. You haven’t kissed your husband since before he left for Adar’s camp in Mordor, an obscenely long amount of time already.

“With pleasure,” you whisper—close, so close to giving you both the meeting of lips you so crave...

Not quite.

You push his chest, just enough for him to let you take a step backward with a frustrated little breath. His eyes hold a glint of warning, hunger that might just surface to end your little game if you push it a smidge too far over the edge. But in the end, you like to play, and he likes to indulge you. And it isn’t as though you are dallying about as you slide his outer robe off his shoulders and down his arms. In fact, you are quite unceremoniously hasty, and so your husband straightens his arms by his sides, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a graceless heap around his feet.

Now, for the grey robe beneath, covering him from neck to ankle, humbly adorned with only a simple pattern along the collar... you could, in theory, remove it the old-fashioned way. But you don’t feel particularly inclined to go through the hassle of lifting all that material over his head, and something wild is stirring in your chest, and it’s in your nature, after all, to do things just because.

You produce a dagger from a concealed pocket of your dress, grab your husband’s collar, hook the blade into it and rip! goes the dull fabric with a yank of your hand. Down to his waist the destruction continues, tear after tear as you pull the material away from his body so as not to nick the skin you so greedily reveal with the slashes of your blade.

He does not flinch once, save for a coy lift at the corner of his lips as you toss away the dagger and relieve him of the ruined garb, adding it to the pile of crumpled fabric on the floor. You pay it no more mind than you do his now bare torso, determined to admire him in all his splendor when you finally take him in, head to toe.

“You speak of giving something in return,” he remarks quite casually as your hands next reach straight for the fastenings of his trousers, “yet all you seem to do is take—the very clothes off my back, no less.”

You smirk up at him. “Well, I should like to lay my eyes upon the gift for which I am to repay you first.”

You pull his trousers down in one quick move, proudly stripping him of the last shred of divine decency with which he had clad himself for Celebrimbor’s benefit. He cooperates smoothly as you crouch to yank the pants off his legs one by one, then toss his modest footwear to the side as well, and when you rise back to your full height, your husband stands before you with not a stitch on him.

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

Speaking of which—that part of him is as glorious as ever, and already quite visibly eager. It would require but a graze of your fingers to grow into his full hardness. But you purposefully avoid that particular bit of enticing flesh as your fingers next trace a delicate line up his thigh, taking a detour along his hip instead. You let your nails scrape his skin ever so slightly as they venture higher, feeling his firm abdomen twitch faintly beneath your touch. He is sculpted with perfect balance, the lines of his muscles painting a stunning picture of bodily strength without too dramatic of a bulk, still allowing for elegance. Your fingers ascend to his chest, traveling across its alluring plane, and come to graze one nipple, earning a hitch in your husband’s breath. Otherwise, he stands perfectly still, subjecting himself to your quiet exploration.

You circle him slowly, your touch uninterrupted as your fingers trace his skin on a path to his shoulder blades. In the meantime, you release his newly long hair from the silver headpiece he had given himself, letting it fall onto the heap of clothes on the floor. You come to a halt facing his back, as beautifully muscled as the front, and—for the love of the Valar you have forsaken, there is nothing objectively different about the shape of his buttocks, but you swear they have grown even more enticing than before. You give one an appreciative caress, fingers following the plump curve of flesh between his upper thigh and lower back, before giving it a most satisfying squeeze.

Your husband releases a short huff of a chuckle. You press yourself against him, still groping his behind as you brush his hair over his shoulder to press a kiss to the top of his spine.

“I find myself in quite the predicament, I’m afraid,” you murmur into his skin. “So exquisite is the gift, I cannot imagine how I am to pay in kind.”

“A gift, by definition, is not paid,” your husband says, giving you a pointed look over his shoulder. “But you may begin by putting an end to this teasing.”

You grin, giving his behind a sharp pinch with just a bit of nail scratch. That finally earns you an undignified gasp from his throat, followed by a scolding tsk as you turn him around by the shoulders.

“I am merely beholding your ‘natural form’, my lord,” you mock Celebrimbor’s earlier words, caressing your husband’s face and chest as you meet his scalding gaze with your sensuous one. “So I may know how best to worship it.”

You all but lunge forward to catch his lips, finally, after the wait of separation as well as your self-imposed delay—

A large hand clamps around your neck. It is your husband, now, who keeps you at bay, lips hovering one tantalizing inch above yours as he grouses, “I believe you mentioned something about kneeling.”

He pushes down on your shoulders with just enough force that you gasp as your knees bend, dropping to the floor at once. He might as well have reached down your throat and ripped the breath from your lungs with his fingers. You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

You swallow nothing at all, eyelids fluttering as you stare upwards like a believer at prayer. He does this sometimes, playing along until he doesn’t, flipping the tables and taking charge in the blink of an eye. It almost feels like a physical stroke of your clit, creamy arousal gushing from your core in an instant.

It’s such a slippery slope. The submission. The rawness of it. You’ve both known what it was to be at the mercy of another before, one who had no such thing as mercy. But you do not despair, and you are not afraid. For this is not Morgoth, nor are you a slave. You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other.  “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. He takes in his fists your hair and his own hard length, keeping you where he wants as he drags the tip of his cock from the base of your neck to your chin, as though splitting the skin upon the blade of his desire. Arousal smears a trail up your throat. He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

As if you had not already. As if you do not always. But you are beyond glad to remind him. Your tongue darts past your lips to give the slit a sole lick. As he releases his cock to plant his hand onto your shoulder instead, you take hold of his length yourself to flatten it against his stomach. You spare a moment to admire it, so promisingly full and flushed with want, then press your lips to the underside, right at the base, and work your way to the tip with a string of doting kisses. How you love this most sensitive part of him, and cherish each and every twitch with which it responds to your affections.

His hands tense impatiently on your head and shoulder, but he needs not handle you into further action as you finally take his cockhead in your mouth, sucking gently. Then firmly, and over again, until you’re truly fucking him with your mouth, your hand working in tandem to cover the length you cannot swallow with each bob of your head.

The crease in his brow betrays his pleasure, though he stands above you tall and stoic as ever. Even when you swirl your tongue around his tip the way you know drives him wild, even when you reach underneath to fondle the sensitive sack at the base of his manhood. You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be. And so you take him deep, as deep as he can go inside your throat, all while piercing him with your wanton gaze.

Your husband curses. His fist in your hair tightens, tugs at the roots with just enough force that it stings most deliciously. Control is ripped from you once more as he drives his cock into your throat at his own merciless pace, and if you could, you would smile at your victory in breaking his composure. You grab hold of his buttocks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he buries himself in your mouth, over and over. You’ve gathered more than enough skill over your years together to withstand such an act whilst still drawing some air into your lungs, even if only the barest minimum. Still, a tear slides down your cheek, and you groan around his length, knowing the sound will only add to his pleasure.

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

The enormity of your need for his pleasure is what does him in. He doesn’t stifle, doesn’t deny you the sound of his wrecked groan as he ceases upon a final thrust, cock shoved so deep down your throat that your nose is buried in the fair curls at his base. You shut your eyes as he spills and spills, relishing the throbbing of his flesh on your tongue and the essence of him gliding down your throat. Breathing can wait. Not forever, but for a while.

Your husband, of course, allows it long before you’d have truly struggled. But you still pant for breath the moment he pulls out, and your forehead drops to his thigh as you wipe the mess left on your chin. Not a moment later, your husband tilts your head back, demanding your misty eyes to meet his.

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

He bends down, grabs your waist and hoists you from the ground straight into his arms, at last claiming your lips as you wrap your legs around him with an elated moan. It is as though his end did nothing but spur him into wishing for another, this time whilst buried in your depths. Barely a moment later, he lays you down on your bed, his bare body pressing your clothed one into the mattress. His hips are already nestled between your legs, grinding relentlessly as you write and whine beneath his ravenous kisses of your mouth, then of any bare inch he finds of your neck and chest.

He fists his hands in the shoulders of your dress, and he needs no blade to rip the fabric down your chest unceremoniously. You gasp, mildly indignated—you had been rather fond of that piece. But the sacrifice is well worth it for the unbridled desire on his face as he admires your bare breasts, as though it were his first time seeing them. “This is all I could think of,” he rasps out, “whilst I stood waiting at the gate. What I would do once I could finally touch my wife’s skin, her flesh...” He kneads one breast, staring in marvel as that wonderfully pliant part of you yields beneath his fingers, “This lovely, soft flesh of yours. Look how it calls to me.”

His thumb swipes over one pebbled nipple, indeed straining upward as though reaching for your husband’s touch, just before he descends upon it with the heat of his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, arching into him greedily. “But my flesh has remained unchanged... for centuries,” you strive to argue as his tongue lavishes that most sensitive peak, teeth tugging in a mean tease at the flesh around it. “Tonight,” you gather your resolve, “I was supposed... to be exploring... you!”

With a great push on that last word, you flip him onto his back. Your husband lets loose a wicked laugh as his head hits the pillow and you roll on top of him, panting.

“It is hardly my fault that you are so easily distracted.” He grins up at you without an ounce of shame. Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

“As if you are any better,” you retort, and swiftly prove yourself right. You dive much like a vulture aiming to snatch its prey, one hand sinking in his hair as you catch the brand new pointed tip of his ear between your teeth and tug, hard. Your husband gives a sharp grunt, hands flying to grip your hips.

“Hm, I’ve missed these,” you say, suckling at the tender skin as if to soothe the sting you purposely inflicted whilst your husband groans beneath you. “Remember when I made you spill simply from biting them?”

“A most admirable feat,” he growls, “for which I have not the patience at the moment.”

He means to lift his torso off the bed, but you hold him down with a firm hand pressed to his chest. “Ah-ah,” you shake your head, slowly rising to sit up astride him. “I wish to stay right here,” you say, gathering the skirts of your dress pooling over his crotch to help yourself to his newly straining erection, “and admire the view.”

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

“Admire?” your husband raises a coy eyebrow, even as he throbs in your fist. “I thought you wished to reward me for my generosity,” he reminds you of the little game you had been playing at the beginning. You are no mighty Vala who can offer him everything he has ever craved on a silver platter, but you need not be, when you are what he needs most desperately.

“What better reward than this?” you smile, and sink onto his length in one swift move, pulling a moan from yourself and a brisk curse in Black Speech from him. Having engulfed him to the hilt, you plant your hands onto his chest, savoring the divine stretch. 

“How does it fit, my love?” your husband asks, thrusting up ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect,” you moan. “So... so perfect.” As always, but you can’t deny you’ve landed at an angle which hits especially right, even before you’re begun to truly ride him.

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

You say it with false modesty, though this is barely a fraction of the lengths to which he had gone for you in the past, as well as barely a necessity. Even a shaft as inauspicious as the handle of a hammer could become an instrument of your pleasure in your husband’s hands, if it were wielded with his incomparable skill and intimate knowledge of your flesh. But whilst form alone is not everything, there is such a thing as a more or less natural fit for any given body. And this particular appendage with which your husband has endowed himself… the length and girth, every vein, every ridge, is specifically tailored to suit your needs. To stretch you perfectly, just on the right side of the light burn he knows you relish without causing you real pain, to rub and press exquisitely against your walls in all the sweetest ways and spots he knows by heart that you would most enjoy.

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

He says it like a vow. This time, when he rises from the mattress to gather you close, closer, you make not the slightest move to stop him—distracted again. But you are beyond caring. Beyond teasing games. There is no slow seduction, no calculated rhythm to the manner in which you begin to move, hips rolling frantically into your husband’s.

“Yes, my love,” he urges fervently. “Take what you need.”

As you do, he makes quick work to relieve you of the remnants of your dress, jaw clenched as your heat swallows him over and again in its velvety depths. He pulls and tears at the fabric, throws it away as if it were standing between him and the healing of Middle-Earth itself, and his wife is at last bared atop him, bouncing prettily on his cock.

“Nothing beneath,” he remarks, a most delicious reprimand as he gropes at your waist, urging you in your movements. “Is such the custom among the ladies of Eregion these days?”

A short laugh finds its way through the string of gasps and moans that leave your throat. “I’ve not worn undergarments since you arrived at the gate.”

“Of course not,” he purrs, the twisted pride in his gaze going straight to the onslaught of pleasure already between your legs. “My beautiful wife, waiting for me with open arms and a bare cunt. Soaked the moment you laid eyes upon me, were you not?”

All the answer he gets is a pitiful whine, and your lips sloppily catching his in a needy kiss. Seated in his lap, with your arm wrapped around his shoulders and your hand sunk into his hair, you are in control over the pace of your thrusts as well as utterly helpless with adoration. He holds you in the circle of his arms so fiercely, tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you pull away to take in your beloved’s expression. His beautiful lips, slightly parted in pleasure. His eyes, darkened to near slits with unbridled desire for you. Only for you.

“I love you,” you all but sob, your hips clashing into his so ruthlessly, you would fear for the anatomy of any lesser being of male form subjected to such treatment. Your mind is as frantic as the tempest in your core, on the verge of unraveling. “I love you, I love you so much—”

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

If that wasn’t enough, the heat of his seed filling you to the brim does you in. Your peak has you clenching around your husband’s throbbing cock as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

You slack against him, breathing heavily into his neck. Incoherent fragments of endearments leave your lips, but not even you can tell what you are saying. Your husband cradles your head, shushing you softly through the aftershocks of your release, and lies back against the pillows with you securely in his arms. You hum tiredly as he pulls out, and use the little strength left in your limbs to shift downward so that you may rest your head on your husband’s chest. He needs no heartbeat, but it soothes you to feel it beneath your cheek, strong and slowly settling down after the wonderful exertion through which you had put his form.

“I take it, then,” he says into the blissful silence that has fallen between you, “that my new visage is to your liking.”

You give a soft, tired laugh. Lifting yourself enough that you can gaze down at your husband’s face, you cup his cheek with an adoring smile.

“I liked you rough around the edges, imperfectly human,” you murmur, fingertips grazing the fine lines at the corner of his eye. “I like you smooth and pristine, descended from a great cloud of golden light. I like this face as well as any other, so long as I am looking in my beloved’s eyes.” You press a short kiss to his smiling lips. “It does not hurt, of course, that he tends to be unbearably fair.”

A small chuckle rumbles from his chest to yours. “I do try. But I admit I wonder,” he goes on, growing thoughtful, “now that I am able to change at will once more... whether you would prefer me as I was.”

His question gives you pause, your brow knitting slightly. He does not find such a prospect hurtful, you feel, but he is rather curious to know the answer.

“Would you prefer me as I was?” you ask in turn. “If I were... changed somehow, as you have been?”

His eyes caress your face as his knuckles graze your cheekbone, deeply tender. “I cannot say I would not mourn, if only for a while, the exact arrangement of lines and curves which shaped your form when I first held you in my arms,” he confesses, soft-spoken. “But I would prefer my beloved as she wishes to be.”

Many times, he has been loving to you, but there is a particular flavour to the moments when he is so plainly… sweet. His words move you in a way that makes you feel oddly fragile, sending your heart aflutter as only a being much younger and less scarred than you might be able to feel. You lay your head on your husband’s chest, closing your eyes to savour the sentiment. Yet, as his fingers graze your skin in loving patterns, a trace of old sorrow creeps into your heart. How lucky you are to be lying in your husband’s arms, discussing whether you would prefer one face over another, when you had once wondered how many Ages would have to pass before you could finally be at each other’s side once more.

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. “When they took you. For a long time. Ill of mind. As though part of it had shattered and the splinters kept shredding at what little was left of it. I began to... slip, between reality and waking dreams that felt so real, I could no longer tell the difference. At times, I was grateful for it. Because in the ruins of my mind, you had returned to me with a crown upon your head, and you took me in your arms and I was whole again, if only until the fiction fell apart and left me even more bereft than I had been before. Sometimes, I fell into memories, reliving Morgoth’s torments as though they had never ended, but even within those I longed to remain forever. For there, you were with me, and no pain could compare to that of being without you. But once... once, I lived not the past I craved, nor the one that had come to pass. I was... someone else. Someone I had been before Morgoth. And so were you. In fact... there had never been a Morgoth.”

The hand with which your husband was caressing your hair comes to a hesitant halt. You feel him tense, in body and in mind, feel his disquiet upon hearing such words. But he remains silent, and allows you to gather his hand in your own.

“It came to me in glimpses, moments over time, strung together into one story,” your voice is soft in a foreign way as you begin the tale, your fingers idly playing with his before your far away eyes. “What I first felt was light—the light of the Trees, warm upon my face. The skies of Valinor, clear abovehead, the soft grass grazing my bare feet where I sat by the creek. I was… singing. A song of my own making which I cannot remember, and which I am not sure I ever truly knew. But it was cut short, for I was startled by a sudden presence. Rising in haste to my feet, I turned to find the mightiest of the Maiar of Aulë himself standing only a few paces out of reach, his beautiful face awed as well as a touch apologetic. You had not meant to disturb my peace. But so enchanting you had found my voice as you were passing by, you said, that you wished to capture it in one of your creations.

“And so, at your invitation, I began to visit the great forge where the wonders of your mind were brought into being. I was so… shy, I barely dared to address you. But there was such peace in the silences we shared, such ease, that even though we were near perfect strangers, I felt as though we had already spoken every word in the world, and nothing remained to be said of our existence which we had yet to confess to one another most openly.

“You asked me to sing as you shaped metal, as you gave form to wondrous gems. And when I did, you looked at me as though I were the most precious being to have ever breathed in the light of the One. At times, you would forget yourself, and whilst precious materials awaited to be shaped before you, your hands would find mine instead. And they were able to do so with ease, for the more times I joined you in your forge, the closer together we stood.

“But you would not tell me what it was that you meant to craft, shrouding the work of your hands, somehow, from my eyes, even when I looked closely. Only because I let you, though. I knew I could look past the illusion and peek at any moment, but I made a game of it—trying to guess in what manner of adornment you meant to capture my voice. And each time I returned, you would gift me the very jewel I had last guessed, whether wrongly or not. Not the creation you meant to achieve in the end, but lesser ones crafted in my absence, during uninterrupted hours of toil. ‘Lesser’ being but a manner of comparison, for they were the most exquisite I had ever laid eyes upon. But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands.

“On the day your work was finished, my heart was filled with such sorrow thinking our hours together might come to an end. For however plainly our eyes and joined hands had spoken of our feelings, such was my timid nature that I had never dared voice them, and you had never risked bringing offence to my virtue by speaking of yours. Not until you had completed your work, and you finally revealed to me what your end had been from the very beginning. It had not been one jewel you meant to craft, but two. Two splendid rings—neither of power, nor of symbolic importance to any but you and I. With your gifts, you had woven my voice into the gems, and in a way impossible to capture into words, the light reflected upon it shone with the echo of my song. Only then, as you placed one of the pair into my hands, did you confess that you had loved me since the moment you had first heard my voice, and your greatest desire would be for those twin jewels to become the symbols of devotion with which we become wed. Nevertheless, were it not my wish to bind myself to you, the other ring would be mine, to gift, if I should like, to the most fortunate being with whom I would choose to share my soul, whilst you would content yourself to love me from afar, and wish me nothing but the greatest of joy for so long as existence should be. At once I confessed that such a thought was not only absurd, but also too painful to bear—for my heart had been yours since the moment I had laid eyes upon you.

“And so we wed in song and merriment, and we danced under the radiant branches of the Trees, celebrated by your kin and mine alike. We made love in a meadow, soft and slow, and for hours you caressed my skin with petals yielded by a blossom tree in honor of our union. Even that act of passion was somehow so clean. So pure. So...” you search for the right way to describe it, “...wrong.”

It’s as though a spell breaks upon that last, dissonant word. You roll off of your husband, settling onto your side to face him as he does the same. His expression is hard to read, some blend of unease and intrigue in the furrow of his brow.

“For the first time, when the fiction ended, I did not weep,” you tell him, your voice no longer dreamy, but returned to a more familiar fierceness. “For I knew not those beings I had seen. Devoid of purpose, endlessly demure. Light and songs, desire kept secret beneath bashful smiles,” you scoff. “I wanted back the husband that I loved, not some unrecognizable version of him wearing his face. Not some children’s story of infuriating innocence.” With a small shake of your head against the pillow, and a soft, mirthless chuckle, you shift closer into your husband’s arms, both of you adjusting so that you are embracing on your sides. “So, no, my love,” is the answer you ultimately give, “I do not wish for either of us to be anything but what we are, here and now, in body as well as spirit.”

Your husband only hums, deep in thought. He has not said a word since you began to speak, and the longer his silence stretches, the more you begin to wonder whether your confession has displeased him, somehow. Perhaps he does not wish to hear of this romantic scenario your mind had invented, despite its protagonist being but a different version of himself. Or perhaps...

You’ve rarely spoken of what came before. It is a surprise as well as a relief, then, when he does so without seeming too unsettled by the fact that you had alluded to his former self in the first place.

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

You smile slightly. You know that all too well.

“Nor was I some helpless maiden who shied away from the slightest of amorous attentions,” you assure him. “I doubt it, either way,” you shrug. “I can hardly remember.”

Elven memories do not dim. You do remember what your life before Morgoth was like, but the details of it—the faces, the words spoken, the feelings… those have long been tucked away in a deep corner of your mind, never to be spoken or thought of again. For what use was there to it? That life had been burned away, along with everything you used to be.

“Either way,” you go on, brushing off even the merest thought of that distant past, “it was but a dull fable, conjured by a broken mind. I healed soon after. Reminded myself why I needed to remain sane and strive to do all that I can towards our goal, whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

“Let us not dwell on the past, or things that never were,” he murmurs in his deep, comforting tone. “I am here. And I shall not leave your side again.”

There is still an oddly meditative lilt to his words, a certain sense of wistfulness that does not quite hold the same flavour as the longing you had felt so many times shared between you. But you make no attempt to pry at the sentiment with your mind. Especially as he closes the distance between your lips, kissing you with utmost gentleness.

The kiss deepens, lasts for ages, but remains achingly tender. Utterly disarming. Your legs intertwine, bringing your hips flush together in the tangle. His flesh finds yours, and before long you are joined. There is no power play, no teasing, not even the desperate, nearly pained gasps, wails or groans you so enjoy to wring from one another. Only every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, soft moans melting onto each other’s tongues, the languid pleasure of moving together to an end that envelops you in its warm embrace, leaving you trembling in your husband’s arms and him moaning your name like a most sacred prayer.

In its wake, you are beyond words. All you can do is bury your face in your husband’s chest as he holds you close still, his fingers drawing soft shapes on your skin.

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

You shut your eyes, nuzzle further into his neck, his words sending a shiver through your very soul. This life you have shared is not easy. Not pretty. But in the end, it shall be glorious, better than any other that you might have lived. Truly.

It has to be.

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> A true gift

[ohlookanothergenshinblog]

I request literally anything involving Thoma, ultimate malewife

I got you! Thoma supremacy!!!

also i haven't edited this so i'm sorry if it's trash :/

Thoma is many things - the fixer of Ritou, the Kamisato clan's housekeeper, and your favorite character.

Ever since you first laid eyes on the protector from afar during the Inazuma archon quest, you knew you had to have him - wallet be damned. He was just so perfect: he was handsome, he could cook, clean and fight. He is the ultimate malewife.

This admiration (or obsession) was not unnoticed by the object of your affection; your adoring, lingering gaze flustered the mondstadter. His supreme God, the one he had sworn to dedicate his life and blood to, was blessing him with their love - it was a dream come true. It strengthened his loyalty and worship for you; how could it not? The most divine being in Teyvat chose HIM, not his Lady, not even the Raiden Shogun who had long served you.

This man will never disappoint you - he will give life and limb serving you. He will even find a way to come home to you; nothing is coming between him and your loving, tender embrace. So when you next pull on a banner - regardless of whether it's the event, weapon, or standard banner, whether you do a single or ten pull - don't be surprised to see his smiling face.

When you first use him as your vessel, everything within him burns in the best way. Yes! THIS is what he was born for; everything he has done, everything he has worked for was all to be used by you - to serve you.

Thoma is a difficult yandere to pin but I'd imagine that he's a bit delusional; anything he can grasp onto as proof of your love for him, he will. For instance, say that you use him to grind for materials, he will take it as a sign that's what you want him to do. If it makes you happy, and if it makes you more likely to bestow your praise upon him, he'll do it. So don't be too surprised to see more materials - ascension or otherwise - in your inventory than you had before. In this regard he's a little bit like our Fatui malewife, but this is where the similarities stop (other than their physical features).

Because Thoma, despite taking pride in your affectionate title for him - 'ultimate malewife' - is a lot more sane than Childe. He is aware that actively sabotaging or attacking your other acolytes will drive you away and make you less likely to use him as your vessel. Thoma is also kinder and more patient - these qualities help him maintain the honour of being your favourite. This may be by him producing a higher damage than your main DPS or increasing the amount of drops from bosses or a higher amount of chests found whilst he's in your party. He has nothing against your other followers and understands that you also hold affection for them - he has no issue sharing your attention. Just be sure to pay special attention to him every now and then, or you may find some unusual voice lines of him pouting.

Thoma, despite being an incredibly busy individual, always finds a way to serve your every whim with the enthusiasm of an eager puppy. Your joy and praise reduces him from a respected member of the Yashiro Commission to a beggar for your love. He would kneel at your feet and gently kiss your shoes with nothing but love in his eyes if it meant you'd give him even a glimpse of your radiant smile.

He was born to serve you, and serve you he would.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Sokka kink list, please queen 🙏

It’s finally here.

I swear, I’ve gotten dozens of messages regarding a Sokka kink list, how he is in bed, favourite positions, boobs or ass, etc., which I’ve put off forever because he really has no limits and is a very all-around-guy.

This is long, and to be honest, it couldn’ve been longer, but I decided not to bore everyone with my essay. 🤭

When it comes to Sokka, he’s not necessarily rough.

For instance, compared to Zuko who is very much into hair-pulling, spanking, raising the temperature of his fingertips to play along that line of pain and pleasure, Sokka just plays dirty (although there are exceptions).

Sokka’s about that dirty sex; the messier, the better.

He’d be the first one to overstimulate you as he’s pounding away, watching your body twitch as you cum around his cock. The feeling of your spasming walls and pretty cries would cause him to spill inside and paint your walls white.

But you’d be a fool to think he’d be done. 

Quick to pull out, spread your legs, and begin to eat you out like a starved man before repeating the process over and over again. He doesn’t care that cum is dripping from his mouth as he plants a sloppy kiss, desperate to get back inside of you to make you fall over that edge.

Unlike Zuko or Aang, who could get a traditional list with the rundown of their kinks and fetishes, Sokka is an experience.

His quick wits and flexible nature shows in his sex life, as he’s 100% a switch, leaning sub.

He has no problem getting down on his knees, kissing the bottom of your feet and praising you to the spirits or bending you over on the bed and railing you.

But it would be a lie to say he doesn’t love being dominated a bit more.

Easiest way to turn him on- pull on his hair and whisper in his ear how excited you are to hear him beg and he’d be on his knees ready to serve.

Sokka also loves experimenting

You want to have a threesome, pegging, blindfolds, orgasm control?

Name a place and time and he’s down. 

Now, I don’t think he was always this relaxed and liberal in his thinking ways (regarding sex).

I really do think his willingness to experiment in the bedroom is a direct reflection of him growing as a person and being less rigid in his ways of thinking (dropping some more ‘traditional’ or ‘old-school’ mentalities revolving sex). 

But I also believe he has a naturally high sex-drive, the highest out of the guys. And I think the fact that he has a high sex drive plays a huge role in how he views sex and why him (and Suki) are so willing to experiment and try out new things.

I do think Sokka and public sex is totally a thing

The idea of fucking you (or getting fucked), where anyone could see, is totally a turn-on for him.

And it doesn’t always have to extend to sex.

Those playful careesses, rubbing yourself on his lap and feeling him harden, just to stop and walk away. That mix of pure fustration and him silently begging for you to finish him off is right up his alley.

Praising

My gosh, does Sokka worship.

I’m talking, kissing every inch of your body and gushing about how perfect you are. Sure, he’ll throw in a cheesy joke in there, which will in turn cause you to laugh and him to begin praising your laugh too.

And that leads us to our next thing, sex with Sokka isn’t intense as much as it is warm and fun.

If you’ve read Limerence, you know sex between Zuko and Yue is overall intense with soft moments of vulnerability. But with Sokka, it's the complete opposite.

It's you and him throwing sarcastic remarks and jokes. Sex is filled with laughter and smiles before his eyes roll back because you’re currently riding him like a pro.

If you want some intense and rougher sex with Sokka, you either have to tell him or go for a quickie.

Quickies are probably one of Sokka’s favourites because, more often than not, the quickies are happening in a very public place, the riskier the better.

And this ties in with his favourite positions.

For him, it’s about chasing that high for both him and his partner, therefore, simple is best. Not to say he doesn’t mind trying out new positions, but when you’re in a crunch, the classics are the way to go.

[callipraxia]

Aaaaaah we're getting so close to Everything...time for Northwest Mansion Mystery!

Looking closely, I can, in fact, see a slight difference between the colors of Priscilla and Pacifica's dresses. This is no way means Priscilla had a point. Jerk. Also...is it really true that the showrunners were surprised that people interpreted Preston's bell as evidence (or, more accurately, just a revelation) that Pacifica was a victim of child abuse? It...is within one of the series' occasional humor types to have Pacifica regard the confiscation of one of six credit cards as horrible abuse, but...this episode is a fairly dark one, no? There's humor (as I type this, Dipper is telling Pacifica to her face that "you're the worst," proving as good as his two-seconds ago-word, and there's the stuff with the absurdity of everyone worshiping the Northwests) but it's one of those jokes where the moments you laugh at in the beginning turn around and punch you in the mouth by the end. Events in this episode are all played fairly straight and the episode ends on the note that "Fiddleford appears to have just been brushed off while warning Dipper about an event which the camera implies is a prophecy that Bill Cipher is about to create Hell on Earth." Two episodes from now, you also show us some flat-out child abuse on screen. You...really should not be surprised by the standard interpretation of this one, dudes, and should have written in what Pacifica was so afraid of if you wanted any chance of people interpreting it the way you say you wanted them to....

I like that Pacifica ended up not wearing any shade of green at all, lol. Pacifica might not have won, but neither did Priscilla.

...I don't get flirting, do I? As far as I can tell, Mabel makes herself look foolish repeatedly, Candy's hardly any better, and Grenda's "flirting style"...just, uh...looks like bullying?

I can only assume that the picture of Archibald Corduroy was never actually of him at all, and he just possessed an empty landscape painting for dramatic effect. Also, a bit...morally ambiguous of you, Archie, to come back in a hundred fifty years, long after the actual individual who wronged you was in the ground...his descendants were no better, but that's somewhat beside the point. Not to mention the efforts to kill completely innocent bystanders, including the staff and children....

The bleeding taxidermy is genuinely a little unsettling. I seem to recall finding the evil skeleton that way the first time I saw it crawl out of the fireplace.

...Ford, why did you a) bother writing that at all and b) why did you write it in invisible ink?

Why is there a picture of either the skeleton of a king and/or Death Regnant in the Northwest house, being used to guard their secrets? Ok, yes, out of universe, it's to look creepier, but it feels like something that can be made into a plot point if one wants badly enough, all things considered.

"That is messed up, man!" Truer words were seldom said, Dipper.

"A forest of death, a lesson learned..." I love the rhyme, it's a good rhyme, but the trouble is...not sure it's actually a good lesson? The rich would be more likely to learn "we must appease the peasants because they will chop off our heads, being violent and vengeful as a class inferior to our own" instead of "don't renege on a contract in a magic town," much less "it's morally wrong to do that."

"Last you, me, and the butler a week" Erm...Priscilla's right there, dude?

Interesting that his axe stayed behind after he ascended.

I understand why Dipper probably didn't think much about brushing Fiddleford off, given he'd just been jigging and saying nonsense words, and that he says weird things all the time...but on the other hand, Dipper, didn't I write a few hundred words yesterday on the theme of how you know he's lying and have seen him drop the act multiple times? This is the Author's Assistant. He fixed a laptop Bill ground your feet into. He had almost remembered what you wanted to know in his last appearance. This is what happens when you go being attracted to people, I guess? You forget your usual obsessions/that something big is clearly being warned? And don't notice that you're standing two feet away from a tapestry of Bill burning the world?!

Powers, you appear to be wearing an American flag lapel pin while pretending to be from the Middle East. You really can't help yourself, can you? Fun fact: I didn't even notice this detail ever before, and yet I still once wrote a joke about Powers covering one of Fiddleford's attack robots with an obnoxious number of flags. Powers just...is the type, somehow.

Whew. That was a ride...and nothing compared to what happens after I hit that play button again. I do not know if I even have the energy to continue on now, commenting like this through the Sheer Intensity of two of the finest bits of animation ever televised. And I have some other stuff to do, and my battery is low...Might have to make this a week-long project...anyway. Now for some (hopefully) coherent remarks for @zkang288...

We get a lot of semi-conflicting information about the Northwests through the show. When we first hear of Nathaniel, we are told he was the garbage man and died trying to eat a tree. Here, we see what appears to be him (? Time period means it can't be much further down the line than his son or grandson) (edited to add: saw a picture of Nathaniel’s statue. I think it was him, the statue looks like Flashback Man) appearing canny, manipulative, and aware that someone's dying curse might well come true. We also learn in the Journal that the Northwests hoard artifacts...and then, in this episode, we see a prophetic tapestry with Bill in it. Now, this could all be pure coincidence - Ford remarks he saw multiple examples of indigenous art with his "Muse" on it, and we know Bill has been associated with this area for a long time. All things considered, though - including how two Northwests play a part in the circle ritual: Pacifica as a participant, Preston by, er, reluctantly encouraging her participation - it seems unlikely it really is a coincidence, and it's certainly more fun/inspiring to imagine that it is does mean something which there just wasn't enough time to elaborate on (hence my faint sense of regret around this episode). I would not be at all surprised if there had been a deal somewhere in the history of the Northwests - they seem the type, they keep these strange records of the truth hidden in the house (even from some family members) while suppressing it publicly, and, well, if Nathaniel made a deal, specifically, then that would go a long way toward explaining "this guy got picked to be the fake founder" and "then he died eating a tree." Maybe he couldn't keep his end of the bargain...or maybe Bill just thought it was funny to drive him insane once he'd outlived his usefulness. Certainly, however, nothing any Northwest did seems to have done anything to help them survive Bill's wrath: he first remarks on his desire to rearrange all the orifices in Preston's face when Preston was a child, and he takes the first opportunity he has to do that, something which appears quite painful for Preston and which probably traumatizes his wife and daughter. He also promptly adds Preston and Priscilla to the Throne of Human Agony, where they are mixed in with the rest of the townsfolk (something which would horrify Preston, no doubt...especially if he'd known that one of Dipper's "kind" had been specially singled out, turned to gold instead of stone, and on two separate occasions offered the kind of position that Preston had asked for immediately before his facial reconfiguration. Because I think Preston might actually be that dim and shallow, that he'd rather be a utensil which Bill kept separate from the others than to just be one of the many, no better or worse than Lazy Susan or Tate McGucket or the Pizza Guy). If Bill does know the Northwests of old, it's...potentially interesting to wonder what he might have thought of them: if Nathaniel really did owe his rise in society to Bill, then he and Bill were, in a way, alike: they were both lowly-born, from an underclass, and they both used magic to rise. However, I can't help but imagine that the sheer ordinariness of Nathaniel's apparent goal ("be rich and snooty" instead of "kill 'em all and reshape the galaxy") would...offend Bill on some level, I guess? And the sheer entitlement of the modern Northwests almost certainly bought them no points with him: Bill was presenting himself to the town as its god when Preston announced that he "welcomed" Bill's arrival and asked to be a horseman of the apocalypse. As if Bill would, er, ever remotely care if Preston welcomed him or not, or ever have any use for Preston.

(Paragraph divide, hit the character limit again) Of course, Bill is an egomaniac himself...and therefore, seeing someone he can throw down so easily speak to him as if to something even remotely approaching an equal would have hit a number of sore spots, possibly including his subconscious knowledge of his own weakness. At that point, after all, Dipper and Ford - aka, those two lunatics who just won't accept defeat; one of them has a way of turning up and turning the tables on Bill at the worst moment possible, and the other is the person who probably knows the most about Bill of anyone, at least short of maybe the other Higher Powers, and who has both a death ray and a death wish - are still out there. We also see that Time Baby is able to stroll into Bill's domain at will, even if he overestimated his own ability to stroll out alive again, so Bill probably still perceived Time Baby and "the big frilly jerk" as threats at this point. Bill was declaring himself god, but he was not actually invincible yet, and I reckon he...didn't like that. Didn't like that at all. And then Preston has the gall to try to make a deal with him, when finally, after all these aeons, Bill is outside the mindscape and can do things of his own accord and isn't (he thinks) reliant on manipulating humans into deals anymore...!

Long story...still kinda long, I think this episode gives us a lot of potential material, establishing a link between the Northwests and magic clearly and making it seem highly plausible there's a connection to Bill. We also get some good ghost lore, in terms of world-building, for establishing the limits of threats we toss at Our Heroes in our fics. And, as I said yesterday, Dipper gets some character development which is actually delivered with a little subtlety instead of the moral of the story being used to bludgeon us over the head, which was nice.

Well - the house is mostly in order, except that the vacuuming needs doing, but it's too late in the day for that now - too hot. With that therefore postponed to tomorrow morning and with my Spanish lessons done, I shall see if my DVD player will cooperate with watching GF S2 Disc 2.

...initial efforts aren't promising, we only got as far as Dipper and Mabel declaring that twinship makes them "birthday experts" into "Blendin's Game" before the DVD player glitched out - turns out that the first disc of S1 might not be wonky after all, and that it's actually this DVD player. Still - perseverance!

Bad children. going through people's things...I tend to regard the interior of one's handbag and/or wallet as a rather private space, and would react very loudly to anyone presuming to go through mine. Soos is probably better-natured than I am, but dangit, Mabel, you at least definitely know this, because you outright admitted you were snooping for "Soos secrets!"

Y'know, I don't know if the problem with the giant hummingbird story is that "Soos is very naive" or "it's Gravity Falls, that's actually perfectly reasonable."

...yeah, forget perseverance, let's find the old laptop with a disc drive in it, I do not have the fortitude to watch the scene where Blendin invokes Globnar five more times, and in the past three minutes the disc has twice skipped back to the beginning before I could even get past the menu. Stupid rubbbish property.

[yanderenightmare]

Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha

Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?

Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈

Pressing X for doubt

yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.

As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.

He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.

Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.

He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.

He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.

One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.

Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.

Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

[beskarberry]

Krayt’s Teeth

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 3 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead of you, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.7k

Content warnings: Canon typical violence, killing in self defense, headcanon angst, FLUFF, sensory deprivation, body worship, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: These are my headcanons regarding Mandalorian culture in terms of sex, I didn’t find much lore on it so whether it’s accurate or not idk but I like them and that’s all that matters! Enjoy~

<-Previous Next->

You could have slept forever, even on that horrible little cot you were so comfortable that you could have been out for days, but the only one on it was you. You did’t know when Mando got up from the tiny space you both shared through the night, or how he managed to get out from your tangled bodies without waking you up. You opened your eyes to tiny green baby hands tugging at your fingers. 

“Hey booger, is it time for breakfast? Where’s your papa?” You started to sit up, but the horrible sticky mess underneath you made you reluctant to move, a mix of passion and pain from the day before. “Yikes. I’m gonna run all his water out if I have to keep using the fresher. Come on, let’s get scrubbed up.” The baby gibbered excitedly at you, though you weren’t sure how much of what you said he actually understood. You scooped him into your arms without looking back at the sad little cot and all its stains. “You’re water proof, right?”

The ship’s engines were rumbling away, so you guessed tin man was up in the cockpit flying you towards your next bounty. Or Nevarro. You would have to find Mr. Mystery later, the grossness that was you had to be dealt with. Between you and the child your shower took forever, the two of you getting water and soap bubbles from top to bottom. You didn’t care. You had been on Tatooine for months without having a real shower, being consigned to the sonic freshers that vibrated the sand off of the moisture farmer’s bodies; and this was the second real shower you’d gotten to have in twice as many days. You spent a good deal of time trying to get your chatty friend to hold still long enough to be dried off, the little fart squealing with joy every time you went for him with the towel.

An ordeal later you were both fresh and presentable, but your host was still nowhere to be seen, though the ugly sheets had thankfully disappeared from view. The ship was quiet now, without the engine running you knew you had to be back on the ground, and you could hear a distinct hum of activity coming through the walls. Space port? He flew us into town? The thought was replaced immediately with a rich, savory smell coming through the air vents: FOOD! Your gut grumbled loud enough to resonate through the cabin and earn you a confused look from the baby. When was the last time you really ate? You’d been living on ration packs for the last couple of days. That was going to change right now.

“Ya hungry buddy? Me too! Maybe that’s where your dad is, hmm?” Grabbing your old backpack and hooking the baby under your arm you started punching buttons on the wall to get the door open, sending walls sliding and cabinets opening before you got one of the access ramps open. Bright double sunlight nearly blinded you, and on reflex you covered the baby’s giant googly eyes. It took a moment for your own to adjust to the radiant light of the Tatooine morning, and the smell of cooking food hit you like a ton of bricks, making your mouth water. As your eyes adjusted you were able to take in your surroundings: though it was bright outside you were parked low inside a maintenance bay, the walls of which soared high above you; littered with engine parts and humming with droid activity. Sound was the last input your hungry brain could process, but when it did you didn’t like what you heard. The sounds of an argument echoed around the hangar, high and shrill.

“I already told you, you can’t park here! You’re bad for business!”

“I just need to park here long enough to get supplies.”

“Well you’re gonna have to pay up, Mando! I’m not running a charity here! You got credits for supplies you got credits for parking! Up front this time!”

Oh no.

Of all the mechanics and docking hangars in Mos Eisley he had to pick this one. The fireball of a woman barely came up to your partner’s chest, but she made up for it with unbridled fury; and the giant cooked animal leg she was swinging around like a club between bites made her look even more formidable. She noticed you coming down the ramp and stopped grilling your comrade long enough to glare daggers through your skull.

“Oh NO! No nope nuh uh! You can turn right back around and get back on that ship, missy! I knew it! I knew you were bad for business, Mando! What’re you doing running around with her? I hope she’s your bounty because she’s your problem!”

“Peli.” Your words were cold as ice, but the squirming baby in your arms took all the malice out of your stance. He wiggled until you set him down, and he ran towards the mechanic with open arms.

“Baby! You can stay but your dad’s gotta take the mean lady somewhere else! She cheats at sabacc!”

“You lost fair and square, Peli! Try playing a better hand next time!”

“Ladies please!”  Mando cut through your bickering, holding his arms up between the two of you like he was trying to corner a pair of wild blurgs. “If I let the child stay with you for the day, will you let me park the Razor Crest here? Just for a couple hours?”

Peli bounced the child on her hip, offering him a bite of her breakfast. The baby squealed happily while he sank his little teeth into the mighty snack, though the size of it comically dwarfed his itty bitty hands. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep him and then maybe I’ll let you park here in a week.” Mando cocked his helmet at her with disdain and she huffed loudly, “Well if you put it that way, I guess you can park here, but you gotta put five hundred credits down, and not a cent less!”

Mando reeled, stabbing his hands to his hips with indignation. “Five hund- absolutely not! What am I going to buy our-” You interrupted his tirade with a hand on his shoulder, waving a slew of credits in front of his eyes. Peli snatched them out of your hand, fanning them out like cards to count them.

“Who’d you cheat these outta?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You leaned casually against your metal man, eyeing Peli with a smug look on your face. “Let’s go, Mando. Bye baby green bean, have fun with Auntie Cheats-at-Sabacc!” You spun him around by the hand and dragged him towards the exit, ignoring the insults being slung at your back. “We are getting breakfast and that’s final!”

The Mandalorian allowed you to pull him along a few feet before grinding his heels into the sand, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”

Now it was your turn for sassy head tilts. “I just paid for your parking, buckethead, that makes me in charge and I’m hungry! I’ll buy you breakfast too if you want.” He didn’t budge, fixing you with that intense stare of his and grabbing you by the shoulders.

“You are still being hunted. Mos Eisley isn’t safe for you.”

Ah.

You knew you could look after yourself, and he himself had compared you to a ferocious rancor just yesterday. You groaned loudly, “Shit balls of hell. But dad, I’m huuunngry!” The man bristled at your paternal harassment, sighing heavily and letting his helmeted head fall to the side like the world was ending. He glanced around the hangar exit, his shiny beskar snapping to each object of interest until he located a protocol droid corpse that was missing everything from the waist down. He strode over to it and held it down with one boot, yanking it by the head until it popped off. He began prying the droid’s vocorder apart at the mouth, pulling it wide until the droids face plate broke off with a snap! Tossing the rest of the logic processing unit to the ground, he held the face plate up to the light, inspecting the clarity of its photo receptor casings. He bent back down to the junk pile and fished out a stray wire to thread through the ruined audio processors, then tossed the finished creation to you.

“Put that on.”

You turned the makeshift mask over in your hands to check for sharp edges before you pressed it to your face. The bug eyes on the front were dirty, but you could see well enough. Before you could clean them more thoroughly you felt the weight of fabric on your head, his cloak now worn as your own. The thought of how you must look made you giggle. “You make me take my clothes off, now you want me to put clothes on. It never ends with you, Mando. Next you’ll be forging me beskar. Now can we eat something, please?” Without a word the armored man turned on his heel and walked out the hangar exit. I’ll take that as a yes.

Mos Eisley buzzed with life, people and animals and things you couldn’t explain made their way up and down the bustling streets. The smell of food led you to a vendor selling something that could have been a root vegetable, covered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. You couldn't wait, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window as you hauled ass to the stand, waving two fingers in the air. When you had both of your prizes in hand you stuffed the savory veggie under your mask, sighing contentedly at the taste of real honest-to-Maker food. “Hey tin man, I hope you like... whatever this-” You turned to offer your partner something to eat, but he had disappeared from the crowd. “Alright... more for me.”

Taking a newspaper from the vendor you wrapped the extra snack up tight and threw it in your pack for later, continuing to chow down on your own. You would find Mando eventually, and you had credits to spend. You had held onto your hush-money for months to avoid suspicion, but now it was burning a hole in your pocket. Wandering the streets of Mos Eisley from merchant to merchant you began accumulating a small hoard of supplies, ranging from bacta to hand tools, and food. Whatever you could get your hands on that would survive hyperspace when you inevitably left this fucking dirtball for good; though you still weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be making that flight in carbonite. You picked out new clothes and underwear, a much-needed bedroll, and some soft bantha-wool blankets. Something further down the marketplace caught your eye, and you made your way to the fancier items that glittered in the double daylight. You didn’t wear jewelry yourself, a poor choice of attire for a hunter, but the way the trinkets caught the light still made you wistful. Your hidden eyes danced over the glittering treasures; jewels and geodes that had been found deep in the sands and polished to a radiant shine.

You spotted something opalescent at the end of one table and found a pair of krayt teeth, each about the size of your palm. They had been sanded to a smooth, flat finish and carved with intricate desert patterns. The backs of them had tiny fittings that could be sewn on as buttons, or pulled off to reveal magnets. Something about their shape seemed familiar, though you couldn’t imagine why in that moment. You purchased the unique pieces anyway, something to remind you that even the harshest of places could hold hidden beauty. After a while you had so much junk piled in your arms that you could barely see over it, and tin man was nowhere to be found. You spotted a courier droid and paid for it to deliver your treasures back to Hanger 3-5, though you kept the pricey teeth in your pockets. With your arms free you started looking for your missing comrade.

The streets were busy with people, you would have to get somewhere out of the way in order to scan the crowds. Your eyes went from shimmer to shimmer, looking for his reflective chrome dome. “Big jerk,” you mused to yourself “‘Mos Eisley’s not saaafe...’ If he’s so worried then where the hell is he? Bah!” The scratched-up photoreceptor casings of your mask made it a challenge to see through the crowd, and you took a moment to adjust the iris apertures so you wouldn’t have to keep squinting into the double sunshine when you felt a hand on your back. Finally. “Mando, where have you-”

“Mando? Whos’sis man-do? Nah sssweetheart, I think you got me confused wi’ sssomeone elssse.” The slithering voice in your ear made your blood run cold. Not Mando! You rocketed your elbow backwards, connecting with the gut of the stranger on your back with an -oof! The hand let go long enough for you to make a run for it, and you tore off down the streets of the busy spaceport, smashing into bystanders in your wake. You cast a quick look behind you to see a large reptilian body flying after you, brownish scales catching the reflection of the noonday suns. Though you had your blaster, the risk of hitting a civilian was too great, so running would have to do. You were thankful for the courier droid that had freed your hands just minutes before as you barreled down the busy streets.

Market stalls flew past you, your boots kicking up sand and dust. The mask on your face, as dirty as it was, kept the debris from your eyes as you raced through the sunburnt city. You had to lose this fucker and fast. You turned down an alley, left, right, another right, leaping over supply crates and low fences like a lothcat. You turned to see if you had lost your chaser, breath heaving and heart pounding. Behind you was clear, but you took your eyes off your path for just a second too long, and were taken by surprise when a heavy weight fell on you from above.

The Trandoshan had gone over the low sandstone roofs, chasing you easily through the alleyways of Mos Eisley while you were none the wiser. He pinned you under him quickly, ripping your blaster off your hip and pointing your own barrel in your face. “Tha’ss enough, princesss! Nice n’ quietlike now. You gonna make me a pretty penny you are.” The lizard’s words dripped with metaphorical venom, though you were sure by the look of those fangs that real venom was probably right behind. “Ahm gonna cart yer arse right back to th’ Guild’n I’ll become th’ most famous hunter in th’ galax -urk!”  With a sickening gag the hunter above you grew a shiny new fang in the back of his throat before falling down dead on top of you, a vibroblade protruding from back of his skull.

“Took you long enough!” You hollered at your chrome companion, who was stepping forward to kick the carcass off of you. “Where the fuck have you been? Getting your rifle polished?” He pulled you to your feet, handing you your blaster while readjusting the mask on your face. You swatted at his fussing hands, but when you looked at him you were shocked to see not one but three blinking bounty fobs dangling from his belt. On the ground by the dead lizard was a fourth, flashing rapidly in the sand.

“I told you you weren’t safe! We need to leave right now.”  You were barely able to grab the remaining bounty fob while you were being tugged away by your allied hunter. He had a death grip on your hand, pulling you along behind him towards what you hoped was the docking hangar. You would have to cross the main street to get there, and as the pair of you plowed across the dusty, busy road there came shouts from either side. More hunters, fucking Guild! You didn’t have a single second to assess them before you were lead through an alley on the other side of the street. These were darker than the ones you had run through on the west side of town, and shady bodies moved quickly out of the way of your living locomotive.

At the end of a narrow alley you both burst through a door leading into an abandoned building. The darkness was almost worse than the blinding sunlight, you would need time for your eyes to adjust but the Mandalorian had enough sensory detection equipment that he ghosted through the ruinous building with ease; never once letting go of your hand as you tripped and stumbled through the dark. The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

“There! Get down!” Mando pointed at a pile of rubble, probably big enough to hide behind, but that’s not how you handled business.

“Fuck you! I’m not going down without a fight!” You pulled your blaster out and aimed at the incoming assailants. He growled at you and stepped closer, putting his body in between you and the door. The reptilian hunters burst from the darkness of the warehouse, firing rapid shots of blaster charges that bounced off of Mando’s beskar. You fired over his protective arm, taking out the first one and tripping up the second, who fell over his cohorts limp body. Mando took shot after shot to the chest, reeling with each impact. His other arm cocked back and shot out, sending a wall of fire into the last of the Guild’s hired guns.

Both of you were panting, shaking and sweating from flying through Mos Eisley, but the sound of blaster fire would draw attention and you knew there was no time to waste. You stepped over the incinerated corpse, making sure the fob it carried was melted, the second body still squirmed in the dirt, and you weren’t going to let it get a second chance, firing your blaster through it’s scaly skull. You picked the remaining two fobs and stuffed them in your pockets, making a run for it back through the building with Mando right behind, the blaze of his flamethrower lighting your way.

You took a different door out of the building and were relieved to see the words ‘HANGAR 3-5′ painted in bright blue Basic straight ahead. You skittered through the entrance, rounding the corner and dropping down behind the edges of the hangar doorway. Mando did the same on the other side, both of you pointing your blasters back towards Mos Eisley’s dark heart. Bootsteps behind you made you snap around, and you nearly shot your mechanically inclined host.

“You kids have fun out there?” Peli stood over where you were hunched, and you lowered your blaster to the ground. At her feet your little buddy was holding onto her pant leg, making big puppy dog eyes at you. You looked over to Mando to make sure there weren’t any more coming, but he still held his blaster out ahead. After a few tense seconds he lowered it down until it was back in its’ holster, then pulled himself to his feet.

“We can’t stay any longer, we’re putting you in danger. Time to go, kiddo.” His charred beskar still shimmered when he bent down to pick up his adopted son, who chirped with delight. “Thank you for watching him.”

“He can stay any time! Oh and thanks for all the snacks you made that droid bring me!” Peli called after the three of you as your party quickly boarded the Razor, making you turn around and stick your tongue out at her. She happily flipped you off and started closing the ground entrance to the bay, letting you board the ship uninterrupted. Fortunately, the courier droid’s delivery had made it to the ship, though you couldn't help but notice a few of your most carefully picked snacks had been taken as collateral. Fucking Peli. As much as she infuriated you, there wasn’t another person on all of Tatooine that you would rather play sabacc with.

The old rust bucket rumbled to life, taking off into the midafternoon sky and pointed towards the stars. Finally! Bye motherfucker. The hazy atmosphere of the outer rim planet fell away below you until the light of the bright yellow world illuminated the Crest’s stern. The pre-Imperial scrapheap started howling with noise, and you were almost thrown to the deck when it blasted into the safety of hyper space.

Your heart was still racing and you struggled to catch your breath. Once you had yourself in order you started busying yourself with putting the supplies away, filling the food larder to capacity. The child was contentedly telling you about his day with his auntie in his cute baby gibberish, and you picked him up off the ground to give him a much needed hug, pushing your stolen identity onto the top of your head to give him kisses. You almost wanted to ignore the sound of heavy armored boots hitting the floor panel under the ladder, their wearer opting to jump down from the cockpit rather than climb. You could feel the fury coming off of him as he stalked over to where you were sorting your treasures.

“You could have been hurt! I knew it was a bad idea to let you go wandering around, even with your face covered. What if they’d caught you? I picked three of them off before you even saw one!”

“I had it under control, Mando! I’m not some princess that needs you coming to her rescue at every sign of a struggle. And you don’t get to let me do anything, you don’t own me!” The man under your scrutiny paced the cabin on stiff legs with his hands on his hips, helmet snapping with rage.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I need to protect you.” He said with a huff, “And that lizard was... he had you pinned down, had his filthy, scaly claws on you... Nobody should touch you like that! What if.. what if he... I- I- didn’t like that he was...” Listening to the sound of the gears jamming in his head made you realize the ridiculous thing he was trying to say.

“Are you.. Mando are you jealous?”

“No! I- I’m.. Cyar’ika I... ”

Oh no, you don’t get to be cute right now. “I don’t know what that means, Mando! What is that, some kind of sexy little pet name you use on all the girls you take underneath of you?”

“NO! I didn’t- I would nev- I’ve never had... There’s never been- no!” Oh how you wished you could see his face, watching him flail trying to defend himself from your accusation, he was probably white as a sheet under all that armor.

“Never what, Mandalorian?”

“I’ve never had anyone in this ship before!” The Mandalorian’s confession lost steam halfway through as embarrassment and fear crept into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own secrets.

“Wait.. wait wait. Never? You’ve never had anyone in this ship or...” You started approaching him, analyzing his visor for hints of meaning. “Or you’ve never had anyone at all?” The Mandalorian stopped his pacing, but his shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the galaxy. His silence told you everything, and the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. “Mando...was I your first?”

“Y-yes.” His visor tilted up to you, hands fidgeting at his sides. His voice was faint and sheepish, a stark contrast to the thunderstorm you were arguing with a moment ago.  Your eyes were full of questions, all racing through your mind so quickly none of them made it to your mouth. The metal man answered them all for you in one singular motion, raising his fist to knock a couple times against his beskar helmet. His creed.

“So, what, you guys aren’t allowed to have sex?”

He sighed his heavy, trademarked sigh and plopped down on the nearest supply crate with a defeated thud, cradling his head in his hands. “No it’s not that. Not... not exactly. In Mando’a the word we use is me'dinuir. It means ‘to give’, specifically to give yourself to another. And... when you give yourself away to someone-“ He turned the black gloss of his single eye up to you, “-you belong to them. That is The Way.”

The weight of his words made your blood cold. He was jealous, but not just because that other hunter had put his scaly hands on you. Everything about his attitude around you suddenly made sense, the way he had looked at you when you were presenting yourself to him that first day, why he never threw you in carbonite when he probably should have, and how he had stayed with you through the night after you nearly died hunting his bounty. His mysterious way of life decreed that giving his body to you meant that he had also given you his soul, and that made you just as important to protect as his foundling.

Mando reached out to pat the fuzzy green head of the baby you were still holding, who gibbered sleepily up at his armor plated papa. “I’m sorry to put that on you, and I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not my bounty anymore, and I shouldn’t try to control you. I understand if you don’t want to continue with me to the next bounty. You can take whatever you want from the armory when we land next. I’m.. I’m so sorry.” The monolithic man looked so tiny now, sitting on the edge of the crate with his shoulders hunched. He reached his arms out to take his infant son from you, hugging him to his blast-burnt chest and smoothing his massive ears. "I didn’t get to thank you for washing him earlier, he smells really good.”

You desperately needed to know more, though the sight of him fawning over his sleepy son made your heart swell. “I kinda got the feeling that you were rusty when we met, but that was actually your first time? And what does that mean ‘you belong to them’? How can you belong to me? I don’t even know your name.”

"It means that I’m now sworn to protect the one that carries my soul. I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian.”

His words made you feel sick, ashamed that you had taken something so sacred from him without a second thought, but how could you have known? He could have stopped at any time, you were the one in cuffs that day, not him. No, out of trillions and trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy he chose to give himself to you, knowing full well what his heritage decreed. Why you? Arms crossed, you dug deeper. “You’ve never seen another naked body than your own?”

He shook his head. “Just... holo-vids...”

You were going to have to ask him about those later. “Nothing? You’ve at least kissed someone before though, right?”

“Kissed?”

Maker fucking help you. “Yeah you know, kissing? The thing you do with your... oh, right." You reached up and tapped him twice on the beskar. “You need your face to do it.”

He cocked his helmet at you. “Can you show me?”

The innocence of his question made you melt. Fuck you, tin can, you’re not supposed to be cute when you’re in trouble. You reached your hand out, demanding he give you his, and shyly he obeyed. You pulled his hand to your lips, unsure of how much he could actually feel through his thick leather gloves. You pressed his hand to your lips and watched his whole body snap straight. “Kiss, like that.”

He was staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before, and after a moment he pulled your locked fingers to his head, tapping his forehead with the back of your hand. “Kov’nynir, But we do it with our helmets.”  At this rate you’ll be speaking Mando’a in no time. He still held your hand gently, running his thumb over your fingers. “I think I like your way better. Could... Could you do that again?”

So polite, maybe having him stuck with you wouldn’t be so bad. You pulled his hand back to you, giving him another soft kiss on the side of his thumb, and you heard the sound of his breath catching in his modulator. Your lips pressed to each of his knuckles, and then you turned his wrist to kiss his palm. “How’s that?”

“That’s amazing.”

“You like that? Watch this.” Addressing the bantha in the room would have to wait. You tugged his glove off, revealing the warm bronze skin underneath and kissed him again. The hitched breaths coming out of his modulator were honey to your ears, and you turned his wrist over to kiss his bare palm again, hunting for more sweet sounds. His body was so stiff, so tightly wound you thought he might snap. “Are you ok? Do I need to stop?”

“I- I- want to... Can... Can I try?” You nodded, your heart jumping to your throat at the thought of him removing his helmet in front of you, but instead he gently reached up to the busted droid face you still wore on your head. With a twist of a knob the armatures inside of the eye casings coiled shut, and when he slid the mask down into place you were thrown into total darkness. “Can you see?” You shook your head. “Promise?”

You sighed, long and frustrated. “I promise, dark as a sarlacc’s backside.” You were met with only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity you heard the sliding sound of metal as the child’s pram shield slid closed, then the shuffle of armor being removed, and lastly the dull thunk of something heavy being set down on the crates. His hand found yours again, and he pressed his lips against your skin. They were hotter than you were expecting, and soft, almost plush. You understood right away why he was so rigid when you were doing the same, it was amazing. Gentle kisses made their way over the back of your hand and made heat flood through your veins. He moved slowly over each joint, following the same pattern you had shown him, then turned your hand over and kissed at your fingertips. Something fuzzy brushed along with his lips, and you imagined that he might have a mustache. The shivers that crept their way up from your captured hand knocked all the strangeness of your conversation out of your mind, but when he reached your wrist he stopped.

“Where else do you kiss at?” You nearly fainted at the sound of his unfiltered voice, a rich baritone that dripped with dark intentions and stole all the words from your mouth. You could only point with your other hand at the forearm attached to the hand he held. Again you felt his lips on your wrist, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch he made his way up your arm, each kiss slower than the last until your toes were curling in their boots. When he reached the edge of the tunic’s sleeve that hung at your elbow he paused again. “Where else?”

“Everywhere.”  Your tormentor hummed at your consenting words and let go of your hand to run his palms down your clothed thighs. When he reached your knees he pulled on their joints, bidding you to bring your legs up over his lap. When you were seated on him he resumed his trek up your arm, kissing at the crease of your elbow and then upwards over your tunic until he reached your shoulder. When he got to your neck you almost buckled over, but his hands were at your back in an instant, wrapping heavily around your waist. Your own hands made their way to the nape of his neck, and your fingers found the edge of his hairline that you had felt before. To your delight you felt that the tousled curls went all the way up, and you tangled your fingers in them, exploring their softness while he explored you.

His journey led him up your neck to the base of your jaw where he nipped gently at the sensitive skin like you had done to him last night, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps from your head to your toes. When his nose bumped the edge of your mask you were suddenly aware of how silly you might look with your big bug eyes. “Can I take this thing off?” you asked in a whisper. “I won’t look.”

“I have a better Idea. Hold on tight.” You dug your hands into his shoulders and felt his arms wrap under your legs as he stood up, lifting you with such ease that you wondered if he felt your weight at all. His boots echoed through the cabin until he stopped at the other end. You hung on for dear life while he climbed the ladder with you still wrapped around his front. When you both reached the top you let yourself unwind from him and scooted on your butt over the floor, listening to the sound of him pulling himself all the way up. You remained seated as your host fussed around the flight deck, the noise of buttons pressing and switches being thrown the only input to your deprived senses.

You were only unattended for a moment, then his hands found your waist, fishing for the edge of your shirt. The tunic was pulled up and over your head, taking your mask with it, and you squeezed your eyes shut to protect his modesty; unsure of what his unconventional oath to you included in the fine print. Your diligence was rewarded with a kiss on your forehead, then down to kiss both of your closed eyes, and then lastly to your lips. The searing heat of his mouth on yours threatened to throw your eyes open, but when they fluttered all you saw was darkness. The transperisteel’s blast shielding had been closed, and the only light in the cockpit came from a handful of illuminated buttons on the dash.

He was lying over top of you on the metal floor, one arm wrapped under your neck for support. The cold decking under you was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, letting yourself be consumed by his kisses and becoming drunk on the scent of leather and adrenaline. The soft fuzz of his facial hair tickled slightly as he pressed into your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hands went to his face, running your thumbs over his cheeks and feeling what you weren’t allowed to see. His face was scruffy but not unkempt, and the bristles went all the way from his jaw up to the bottom of the defined nose that bumped against your own. You felt the creases on the corners of his eyes, wishing you could see his smile lines and all the stories they would tell.

You kissed him back, letting your tongue glide over his plush lips and making him inhale sharply. You licked into him again, and this time you were met with his tongue as well, just the faintest touch of its tip. He hummed in your mouth, and the sound of him so close made your belly pool with heat and your kisses bolder, sending your tongue deeper into his mouth until he was almost vibrating with the sensation of you exploring something as forbidden as his human body. He mirrored you as best he could, rolling the smooth muscle over your lips and the edges of your teeth until you were both lost in each other’s taste. He pushed his forehead against yours, pulling his mouth away with frantic breaths that spread fire over your skin. “Everywhere?”

You pushed your lips against his again, giving him an ambitions ‘Mmhmm’ as an answer. His growl made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you realized where his goal was. He kissed and nipped his way down your throat, letting his tongue glide over your skin. He made his way to your breast, taking its’ tender tip between his teeth and making you gasp. He sucked at it gently, rolling his tongue around it while it grew harder for his efforts. The hand not under you groped at your free breast so it wouldn’t be ignored.

"Beep!”

An urgent chime echoed in the tiny space, the hyperdrive indicator was flashing its countdown warning: 10 minutes remain.

The Mandalorian’s growl on your breast made your blood turn to ice and your core flush with heat at the same time. He wanted to devour you, taste every single inch of your exposed skin, but time was not on your side; and he became a man on a mission to prove himself worthy of you. Bristles dragged over your skin as he slid down your belly until he hit the edge of your pants. They were yanked off so fast you briefly worried about the krayt teeth that were still in their pockets, but you didn’t have long to think before Mando was poised over the apex of your thighs, kissing at each leg to make his intentions known. Those must be some good holo-vids you’re watching, tinman. You let him push your legs apart with his chin, receiving a soft kiss on each one once they were far enough apart for him to stuff his face in between.

Your back arched, hard, followed by the most ragged moan you‘d ever heard escape your throat. The grip on your thighs kept you in place as he lapped at your clit, sucking and teasing in an experimental way. His inexperience didn’t seem to matter, his hunger for you fueling his efforts and making you squirm in delight. Your hands sought desperately for something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded, finding his lovely curls to bury your fingers in deep. It was all you could do to hold on for dear life, tangling in his hair and struggling to breathe as he worked you into a frenzy.

The noises coming from below your waist were heavenly, wet and greedy in between his hums of contentment. It took you a while to realize they weren’t hums at all, but alien words of worship being prayed at your sinful altar; but the blood pounding in your ears and the gasps from your throat were too loud for you to hear his devotion.

“Beep beep!”  Five minutes remain. Fuck.

The Mandalorian’s efforts doubled, running his tongue almost too quickly in his attempt to eat you alive. You let your hips grind into his mouth, begging him to bring you your release, and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. Stars flashed behind your eyes as you came into his hot open mouth, but he refused to leave until he had drank his fill of you. Eventually he pulled his face away from your spent heat with agonizing slowness, as if he would rather drown than address the impending drop from hyperspace. He kissed at your shaky thighs, your soft belly, and each breast before pressing his lips into your panting mouth, pushing the taste of you onto your own tongue. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the sweat of his brow where it was pushed against your face. 

He lifted away from you, and the weight of the handmade mask was draped over your face, making you groan with the displeasure of your passion being cut short. However, once it was in place, it was almost immediately pushed under by strong fingers to lift its edge, and you were given one last kiss to swear his promise of return to you.

“Din. My name is Din.”

<-Previous Next->

TAG LIST  @mrsparknuts​ @cookiejuicedesu​ @mandoinevarro​ @kaermorons​

[spookyc]

i'm kind of interesting in your cryptid au - what type of monster is each character?

Glad you asked and I'll be happy to answer! I'll also try to explain why I chose each cryptid for each character.

Alright let's start with our protagonist, Hajime, this one is pretty simple, he is a shapeshifter. This is one is pretty self explanatory, as it's meant to represent Izuru possessing every talent where as here Izuru has the ability to possess the forms of his fellow freakshows. He is one of the most anticipated acts in the freakshow, but constantly transforming his body everyday for the audience does a number on his psyche, eventually bringing Izuru out.

Nagito: As I revealed in an earlier post, was a vampire. I chose this due to his general appearance and also his condition of being sickly. I also chose it to form an interesting dynamic for Nagito. See, as a vampire, Nagito needs to drink blood but a vampire's powers increase when they are hungry, so hope's peak intentionally starves him for his shows. So, nagito grows more unhinged from starvation, and starts thinking of feeding off the freakshows. But he still has his hope complex and worships the freakshows. So he's caught in a struggle of his body and his will.

Chiaki: Now she isn't exactly a cryptid but I like what I decided for her. So she's a TV head, which I chose due to her gaming fixation but also because she was an AI, which is sort of the same here, albeit more of a kiibo situation where she is an AI in a physical body. Her shows aren't as elaborate as the others, mostly consisting of her showing emotions through the swapping of channels and playing videos games in her mind which is portrayed on her TV screen. She doesn't have as severe issues as some of the others but she faces her own problems as an AI among humans.

Ultimate Imposter: Simple enough, he's a doppelganger. This is of course referring to him being the ultimate imposter, the only real change being that his true form is that of a gray amorphous blob. His shows consist of him copying the other freakshows, though it differs from Hajime tho, as UI can only morph into people and is restricted to morphing into those he knows whereas Hajime can shapeshift into anything, even things he has not seen.

Teruteru: So, quite an odd choice, but one I'm quite pleased with. So Teruteru is a basan, or a japanese fire-breathing chicken. As for a human form, he doesn't have one, he's just a fire-breathing chicken who's a great cook, the jokes make themselves. He's still a perve but less so simply due to most of the forms the freakshows take, only really having his eye on Peko and Sonia who are both very capable of killing him with a single strike so he keeps his cards to his chest as it were. His acts of course consist of feats of fire breathing and dual acts with akane.

Peko, my beloved: So Peko is a gorgon, in the sense that she has the bottom half of a snake. I chose this because Peko reminds of a snake in the best way possible. She's fierce and mysterious with piercing eyes that cut through your soul. As for abilities, she does possess the stone vision of gorgons, but she can control when she uses it, and she doesn't like having to use it. Just because she doesn't use her stone vision doesn't mean she should be underestimated tho, she still is a pro swordswoman and is arguably more adept than she would have been with legs. She has a dual act with Fuyuhiko, more specifically an arena type duel. Of course they don't fight to the death but any injury they sustain is fair game. Peko of course always objects to this but pushing hope's peaks buttons risks detainment for a freakshow, ultimately, she doesn't have a choice.

Mahiru: Okay so, she was really hard but I decided on making her a nymph. This is because I imagined that being able to blend with nature would be able to help capture people in their most natural state, in regards to her photography of course. Her acts are also not the most eventful, just her blending with different natural surroundings. That's honestly about it, wish I had more but Mahiru has always been a blank slate for me.

Ibuki: Ibuki! So, ibuki is a Siren, this is pretty obvious, as I chose this due to her being the ultimate musician. However, I do have an interesting dynamic with her and her ability. So, since sirens usually have melodious voices and show their victims what they desire most, I wanted to flip that on its head. So, since Ibuki doesn't exactly have a melodious voice, (a great voice, yes but not melodious nonetheless) her power doesn't show those what they desire but instead their deepest fears. This causes Ibuki to hide her singing, excluding her acts, and to grow self-conscious of her aspiration for music. Her acts consist mostly of water tricks and of course her singing, which audience members say they get a thrill and a since of comfort being able to face their deepest fear. Ibuki thinks differently, wanting her music to encourage and inspire people rather than send fear through them. And that is her central conflict throughout this au, which I'll end off here for sake of brevity.

Hiyoko: Pretty pleased with what I decided for her. So Hiyoko is a kitsune, I chose this because of her noble lineage and I think the kitsune is a pretty noble animal, despite having some cursed elements. She was still forced into the whole dancing thing, which she mixes between her human and fox form. But, her mischievous nature fits that of the kitsune as she's still her normal abrasive self. She tries staying out of her fox form as much as possible as it reminds her of her lineage that she hates but she of course has to transform into it for her acts. These consist of fire tricks as well as a showcase of mastery swapping between forms.

Mikan: Alright so Mikan's is kinda wild but stay with me. So Mikan is a lich and here's why. So I chose this for her because I know I wanted her to be undead, because she would constantly have to patch herself up. Decided on a lich to give an air to her that something isn't quite right, that she holds more power that she let's on and simply doesn't express it. Also I have some extremely dark reasons as to how she became a lich but I won't get into that here for brevity's sake.

Nekomaru: So Nekomaru's pretty fun, he's a minotaur mainly just because I think it fits him, and he definitely gives off jovial bull vibes. Despite his appearance he still has his joyful personality and still takes pride in his talent of team leader. His acts consist of feats of strength primarily, nothing much besides that.

Gundham: So Gundman is an imp, because he definitely deserves to be a demon but he's gonna be the lowest demon there is. Cause I still want to emphasize his whole "overlord complex" despite him just being an imp. He does still have his hamsters and he takes very good care of them, the four dark devas live a fulfilling life even if their master doesn't. Gundham can perform some lesser demon abilities like changing his appearance, in terms of pigment, small fire control, and flight. Of which he showcases in his acts. Even tho he's just an mere imp he is the Supreme Overlord of Ice and he will not accept any other titles.

Fuyuhiko: Finally! We have arrived at the boy, Fuyuhiko. So, Fuyuhiko is a werewolf, because he's an angsty boy and because I like werewolves. The story plays out much the same way as before, though Peko was assigned not just to protect Fuyuhiko but also to protect him from himself. His acts consist of arena battles with Peko, of which he always intentionally loses. He's able to transform each day to a drug they inject in him before every match that forces a transformation. These drugs make him agitated and irritable, more so than usual and also causes him extreme mood swings. Even if sometimes he wishes he could be detained, he stays for Peko. He knows she wouldn't forgive herself if he was taken away, regardless of her involvement, so he stays in this condition. It isn't all bad tho, spending time with Peko outside of the area isn't so bad. He also is often found hanging out with Kazuichi, who Fuyuhiko refers to as a "fucking moron" and yet still hangs out with him most days. They've formed an unlikely friendship that the two cherish even if Fuyuhiko won't admit it. He also has a pretty good relationship with Ibuki, her being Peko's girlfriend and all.

Kazuichi: Okay, Kazuichi, so Kazuichi is a gargoyle and man how I got there is a story. So I wanted Kazuichi to be something constructed, something manmade in a way so that he could rebuild himself as well as other things. So orginally he was a golem but I just couldn't vibe with that so I ended up settling with a gargoyle. I do think it fits him in a way, not sure how, but it suits him imo. So he's got the standard gargoyle abilities, he's got wings and can fly and can also change into his stone form at will. He prefers to sleep in this form, and he often turns into this form when scared which is often. His acts consist flying around the stage and testing the endurance of his stone skin. He also has a close relationship with Fuyuhiko and of course Sonia, though he doesn't see her as often as he would like.

Sonia: So, Sonia's is very different but I really like it. So she is a basilisk, not the serpent one but the more giant chicken with a serpent tail. Her cryptid form is one that affects her in and out of her form, and both are just as deadly. So since she's a basilisk, she has lethal vision and this is active in and out of her form. So she walks around with a blindfold on, and she has yet to see any of the her fellow freakshow's faces. She also is kept within her enclosure at almost all times, she's only let out about twice a day and these outings don't last long. In her basilisk form she easily stands 20-feet tall, with a wingspan of 25 feet, her feets are huge and equipped with deadly talons. From her beak she leaks venom that is capable of causing a limb to be amputated with a single drop. Not as lethal as her vision, but enough would easily be able to cause death. She doesn't perform, merely has visitors come and visit her in her basilisk form. She's very lonely, wishing with every part of her that she wasn't cursed with her form, but she does appreciate the visitors she gets. Chiaki and Akane often come to visit her, Kazuichi also comes by often, Fuyuhiko having to drag him off when he's overstayed his welcome. She holds on to her friendships, as it's all she really has.

Lastly we have Akane, so I decided on making Akane a dragon. For one dragons are known to have a voracious appetite, and two, Nekomaru in the main story talks about Akane having untapped potential, which I think would fit her as a dragon. Yeah, so contrary to Hiyoko, Akane primarily stays in her dragon form, even when just walking around the freakshow traveling caravan. She's not a huge dragon as she still isn't fully grown, so she's only slightly bigger than the average person. This is partially her just preferring her dragon form, (doesn't have to wear clothes, can fly, can eat more), but it's also because if she's a dragon no one can objectify her. She doesn't have to deal with the male gaze if she's a dragon and she quite likes it that way. Her acts consist of typical dragon shit, flying, feats of strength and a dual act with teruteru for fire breathing, (she can't breathe fire herself so she places teruteru in her mouth like a mama croc does with her babies and he does all the work. Before you say anything, teruteru actually doesn't get any perseve enjoyment out of this, or at least he doesn't anymore, just gets an excuse to take a bath).

And that's about it! Had a lot of fun coming up with these guys and I do have a story in mind for them if you'd like to hear. I also will answer that ask about the talentswap, I know it's been a while and I apologize for that but I have an excuse to work on it now so I'll get to that. Thanks for the ask!

[an-optimist-prime]

And as the world comes to an end

A kylux fic written for the Kiss Prompt going around. The prompt was #40 - “... because the world is ending”.

A huge thanks to Tails89 for beta reading.

Word count: 1350

Rating: T

Ao3 Link

*

They’ve lost.

Hux knows in his gut that this is the end. The New Republic, led by Organa, have pushed them back to their last star destroyer, and now the Resistance has breached it too. Even the scavenger girl and the traitorous FN-2187 were present, no doubt to confront Ren.

There’s no escape this time, not with the rebels literally breaking down their doors as they storm their last ship. With no other options, Hux keys in his command overrides and initiates the ship’s self-destruct sequence.

If he's going down, he's taking as many of the rebel scum with him as he can.

Now, there’s nothing to do but wait for the inevitable, which according to his chrono is less than five minutes away. With nothing else to do, Hux makes his way to the throne room. There at least he can spend his last moments where he always wanted to be, always deserved to be. Seated on a throne that should have been his.

The doors to the throne room slide open, and Hux strides in, only to find the Supreme Leader already there. He’s crumpled at the base of the dais, face down, and for a moment Hux thinks he might already be dead. But as he draws closer he can hear ragged breaths.

Ren is the absolute last person that Hux wishes to spend his final moment with. But when has the universe ever seemed to care for what he wants?

But, even Hux has to admit there’s a kind of cosmic irony to all of this. That, at the end of everything, it’s still the two of them. Perhaps, if they could have worked together, they would not be where they are now. On more than one occasion Hux had wondered what they could have been, had circumstances been different. Had the universe put them side by side, in a meaningful way, and not at each other’s throats.

But now is not the time to dwell on what-ifs. There’s barely time for anything.

Ren must still be lucid enough to notice his surroundings though, because he turns his head towards Hux as he approaches.

Hux pauses just in front of Ren, and their eyes find each other.

The Supreme Leader is in a bad way. His skin is ashen and sallow. There’s a gaping wound in his left side, just under his heart, that’s seeping onto the steps and pooling around him. His heavy and rough breaths indicate that there’s likely blood pooling in his lungs as well. Even if they could get him medical attention immediately, Hux doubts that it would save him.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, monster to the New Republic, once an unstoppable one-man war machine, has only minutes left to live.

But, so does Hux.

“Hux” Ren rasps out, like he can’t believe he’s here. He tries to push himself up, but it’s too much of a strain to do anything more than prop one of his arms underneath him. It would be almost pitiful, if not for the fact that he still stubbornly draws breath. It’s a fierce wound. A lesser man would already be dead.

He and Ren have always been similar in that regard - never staying down until they could physically no longer stand.

“Ren,” Hux says simply. Now is not the time for titles. He gestures to the wound in Ren’s side. “Did the girl do that?”

“She did,” Ren replies, and a flicker of rage crosses his features. It must be enraging, to be so thoroughly beaten, even worse than he was on Starkiller. “You set the self-destruct?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Ren hisses out, as he finally manages to manoeuvre his dying body into a sitting position. After a moment, he adds, “My name is Kylo.”

“No last-minute reprieve for Ben Solo?” Hux taunts.

“No last-minute deal with the Resistance?” Ren - Kylo - seethes back, his fury evident. Hux doesn’t doubt that if Kylo could summon the force, he would have already used it against him. “Your life, spared for information?”

Hux clenches his fists. It stings, because of how true it could be. He’d considered it, first when Kylo had become the Supreme Leader, and again just months earlier, when the Order first began to crumble. But even he knows that no amount of information can wash away the stain of Starkiller.

They hold each other’s stare. It’s Kylo who breaks first, his body wracked by agonising coughs as he fights to take in oxygen.

It would be easy for Hux to just walk past him and take the throne. Kylo is in no condition to stop him, and Hux could just ignore him as he bleeds out on the floor.

His thoughts do not escape Kylo’s notice.

“Go on, take it,” Kylo challenges. “You’ve always wanted it.”

“I never wanted this.” Hux argues, feeling exhausted. He wanted power. He wanted the galaxy at his feet. He wanted Kylo, not against him but beside him. The thought of taking the throne suddenly seems hollow. They’ve lost, and nothing can change that now. He doesn’t deserve it. Neither of them do.

So, instead, he sits next to Kylo, careful to avoid the blood. If Kylo is surprised by his move, he says nothing.

They sit in silence, side by side. If not for his rough exhales, Hux would wonder if the force user had already expired. Hux checks his chrono again and tries to ignore how he’s started to shake. Less than two minutes remaining. He throws his chrono across the room and pointedly does not look at Kylo.

Beside him, Kylo sighs.

“Some Jedi,” Kylo begins, each word clearly a struggle to get out. “Believe that after death, a soul is just reborn into another body.”

“Is that right?” Hux says, humouring him. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Kylo is trying to comfort him.

Kylo nods in response, as he drags himself closer to Hux. “We’ll get it right next time. The New Republic will fall before us.”

“We? Us?” Hux says incredulously, because surely Kylo isn’t implying what he thinks he is. “Does the force truly hate me that much that it would curse me with you again?”

“You need me as I need you,” Kylo says, like it’s the simplest, clearest thing in the universe. It’s the truth, and Hux should hate it, but he doesn’t. “We’re destined. I see that now.”

Hux never thought he’d spend his last living moments talking afterlife philosophy with a failed Jedi, yet here he is. Somehow, it feels right .

“Destined how?”

Kylo closes the distance between them, his free hand reaching up and caressing the side of Hux’s face. Then, he leans in and kisses him.

It’s not what Hux imagined it would be like. He’d always thought that it would be a forceful or vicious thing, and he supposes that the taste of blood on his lips somewhat matches that. But instead, Kylo kisses with a surprising gentleness, like it's an act of worship. There’s a passion there as well, as if he’s pouring the last of everything he has into it.

Stars, he probably is. Kylo has never done anything by halves. It’s almost overwhelming, that at the end of everything, he chooses this, chooses him.

After a moment, Kylo breaks away. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“So have I,” Hux breathes, as he once again closes the distance between them. Their second kiss is short but just as sweet, and when they break away, they rest their foreheads together.

Kylo leans into him, no longer able to keep himself upright. Hux finds that he doesn’t mind, his dead weight now somehow comforting. One of his own hands starts carding through Kylo’s hair.

There can only be seconds left.

The only regret Hux has is that they only worked this out now.

“Next time.” Hux promises, as he laces his free hand with Kylo’s own.

Kylo hums in agreement, words obviously beyond him now. Hux holds him tighter.

(This is how death will find them: broken, defeated, but together)

*

Thank you for reading!  If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a like/kudos or comment, either here or on the Archive (fic link). I’m always up to talk kylux and fandom in general, so please feel free to come chat with me, here on tumblr or on my twitter. Thanks again  ❤️

[vs-redemption]

From Cindy: Here’s another excerpt from the long lost aot fic I wrote once upon a time. Sorry if anything is confusing, a lot happens in the story between the parts with Levi 

Some background info: this story was meant to take place just after the fall of Wall Maria. So, Eren and the rest of the 104th aren’t even in the cadet corps training yet. My O/C (aka y/n) left the garrison to join the scouts to help with the recapture of Wall Maria. I hope that’s not confusing. Ok... let’s go.

Part Two: Tea Time Once Again (Levi Ackerman x Reader) also Hange is there Part One : Part Three

You let out a yawn as you push through the doors of the canteen, once again looking to get a hot cup of tea to relax you before bed. It had been a long day, and you weren’t really sure how ready you were for tomorrow. The introductions with the three cadets you were now in charge of could’ve gone better, and you were worried about them continuing to challenge your authority the way they had today. You couldn’t really blame them since you were quite new to the scouts as well. You had more experience as a soldier inside the walls, but when it came to fighting titans you were just as green.

“If you asked Erwin I’m sure he’d listen.” You stop dead in your tracks at the sight of Captain Hange sitting alone at a table with Captain Levi. Hange was leaning across the table with a pleading look on their face while Levi glared back at them looking bored.

“No.” He mutters before taking a sip from the mug in his hands.

“Ah! Why not?” Hange throws their hands in the air in frustration. “I think it’s obvious that we’re not going to beat the titans with violence alone. We have to study them!”

“No.” Captain Levi repeats with the same flat tone.

“Excuse me,” You step forward so that they’d know you were there. The two squad leaders look up at the interruption. Before you could even decide if you should salute or not, Hange was throwing an arm around your neck and practically dragging you over to the table.

“Yes!” They exclaim your name, “Join us!”

“Uh, is that okay?” You ask Levi while being shoved quite forcefully into the seat across from him.

“Yes,” the captain sighs while glaring at Hange who plops into the chair next to you. “As long as you get shitty-glasses to stop pestering me about their mad science.” Hange waves off the insult as usual before turning their full attention onto you.

“A little birdie told me you met your team today!” They grin.

“Yeah,” You nod your head in confirmation. “Just for a minute though. I’ll be spending more time with them tomorrow. I guess we’re doing training with the full squad to do team building exercises or something.”

“Oh, that should be fun!” Hange shoots a sneaky smile across the table. “Maybe Levi should join. He’s got a whole new team of cadets too!” The reminder makes the man scowl severely and glare down at his tea. Apparently he wasn’t happy about that.

“Well, I’m sure the other veterans in your squad could deal with the cadets if you don’t want to,” You try to offer some sympathy. Levi’s scowl turns into a full on sneer. Hange laughs. The scientist was a braver person than you by a long shot.

“Erwin promoted them all to Squad Leader today,” Hange explains. “He’s given each of them a group of cadets to train into Team Leaders before all the refugees arrive.”

“Wow,” You can’t help the shock on your face. Erwin had mentioned in his meeting earlier that he planned on creating more squads to deal with the sheer number of refugees they’d be receiving, but hadn’t gone into detail about what that process was going to look like. It did make sense though. None of the refugees would be going through Training Corps, so even the new cadets would have significantly more experience once they left the safety of the walls.

“Yeah,” Hange nods, her face finally getting serious. “That’s why Erwin had us evaluate the new recruits the way he did. The ones who showed the most potential for leadership are going to be forced up the ranks pretty quickly. A couple of my guys got promoted too.”

“I guess everyone’s going to be doing team building for a while then,” You let out a sigh.

“If it was up to this one, we’d be doing team building exercises with the titans themselves,” Levi mutters with his eyes fixed on Hange. It was impossible to know if he was joking. Hange laughs and slaps their hand down on the table.

“That reminds me!” Hange blurts out while standing up and heading to the door. “I’ve got things to check on before turning in for the night. Bye now!” There was no time to salute them before they disappeared. Maybe it was time to give up on even trying at this point. You let out another sigh as you let everything you’d heard float around your head.

“Feeling homesick yet?” Levi asks as he sinks back into his chair, apparently more relaxed now that Hange was out of his hair.

“No,” You look up at the man. “Maybe just… life sick in general, you know?” You let out a small laugh. “This world is a hot mess.

“I hate messes,” Levi comments flatly. You laugh again.

“Me too,” You agree before pointing to Levi’s cup. “I’m going to fix myself some tea. Did you need a refill?”

“No, that’s fine.” He says, “I’ll get it myself in a moment.” You stand up and go over to the counter where the hot water and tea were kept. Despite Levi’s words, you pull two cups down and set to work. “Maybe your cadets won’t be that bad.” You offer as conversation.

“Of course they will be,” Levi replies. “All cadets are brats.” You finish up the tea and walk back over to the table. You slide one of the steaming cups towards the captain. “I told you I’d get my own,” He says blankly.

“I know,” You smile. “I made some for you anyway.” Levi eyes the cup with disdain for a few moments. He must have talked himself into at least trying it because he finally lifts the cup to his lips and takes a small sip. His narrow grey eyes slide up to you, who was watching him in amusement.

“You know how I take my tea.”

“Of course,” You grin. “When I was 12 years old, right before my father sent me off to the Training Corps, he told me that I should always know the drink preferences of my superiors, just in case I ever needed to kiss ass or something.”

“I had heard his ideas tended toward the peculiar,” Levi takes another drink of the tea. “So what were you hoping to accomplish after impressing me with a hot beverage?”

“Huh?” You frown but then laugh when you realize. “Oh! No! I was just being nice. That drink thing only works on people who want to be flattered anyway. That’s obviously not you since you regard basic military greetings as incessant formalities.”

“I didn’t join the scouts just to have little brats groveling and worshiping at my feet.”

“Then you’re different than ninety-five percent of the people I served under in the Garrison,” You admit truthfully. Levi lets out a sound of disgust. “It would’ve been way worse if I had joined the MP’s though. The whole regiment thinks they’re royalty just because they live behind Wall Seena with the king. Have you ever been to the interior?”

“No,” Levi answers in monotone.

“Don’t worry. You’re not missing much,” You admit. “At least here you know who your enemy is. On the inside, you’d think it’d be safer because there aren’t any titans, but really you have to keep your guard up and be wary of everyone you meet. You never know when you’ll be stabbed in the back by a friend or neighbor. The greed and corruption is completely out of control. People will smile and wave at you on the street as they conduct their illegal little business deals right out in the open.”

“Almost sounds as bad as the underground,” Levi comments. It catches your curiosity.

“The underground?” You repeat. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually been down there.”

“I was born down there,” he reveals causing you to actually lean back in shock. You’d never met anyone from the underground before. It was extremely rare for people down there to get permission to even visit the surface. Being granted citizenship above ground was borderline impossible. You had so many questions, but worried it might be a sensitive topic. You’d heard rumors about how life was for people in the underground, including the things people were forced to do just to survive. Apparently people withered away down there from the lack of sunlight alone. Combine that with the food shortages, limited access to medicine, and absence of any real law enforcement and a real nasty picture starts forming in your mind. You couldn’t even imagine what Levi would have had to do to go from being a citizen of the underground to a captain in the Survey Corps.

“I had no idea,” You finally find your voice. “It’s usually the Military Police that handles business down there, so I’ve never had to go.”

“Don’t worry,” Levi repeats your words from before. “You’re not missing much.” His face was completely neutral, but you could see a tiny spark of teasing in his eyes. You let out a small laugh and down the rest of your tea.

“Well, I’m calling it a night,” You tell him. “We’ve got a bunch of brats to babysit tomorrow after all.” Levi frowns but seems far less angry about it than before. Maybe his tea had calmed him down.

“Go on then,” he waves his hand. “Leave your cup. You made the tea, so I’ll wash up.”

“Sure,” You weren’t going to argue with that. You bid the captain good night and then head to your room.