#because i do not want to be touched by them ever again. not after all they did to me. not after all the beatings and other physical abuse. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lieslab · 2 days ago

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Skipped through the five waves of grief

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After being caught in the middle of your parents' messy marriage, Chan finds you after they announce their divorce.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.4K

Domestic abuse and depression resources

Trigger warning: Domestic abuse, mentions of anger and yelling, depression, and emotional defeat

A/N: I'm on a roll with requests. This request is also from a while ago and requestee, I made the ending silly and fluffy. Sometimes Chan gives me cuteness aggression, so in order to ease the hurt about this topic, it ends playfully. This topic is a lot emotionally speaking, so I hope this eases a bit of your burden <3

_ _ _

Parents were supposed to love each other. They were supposed to be the light of each other's lives. Tender touches and sensual kisses. Healthy communication and cemented boundaries for one another. Marriage was supposed to be a joyous celebration. It was supposed to be something that would last forever, but the rings on your parents’ ring fingers began to rust.

You didn’t know when it first happened. So many days had been spent arguing and bickering. Kisses were withheld from one another and words were thrown. The walls used to be nurtured with sweet murmurs and ‘I love you’s.’ They turned into rot.

Golden rings rusted and turned their skin green and blue. They cut off blood circulation to their hearts and morphed them into something indescribable. The same reasons that they fell in love, it was the same reason why that love crumbled apart years later.

The compliments from your mom turned into your father’s annoyance. Your father’s independence swallowed him whole and pig-headedness led him to push your mother away. Simple conversations began to get louder as anger burst out of each of their lungs.

And you? You were innocent in this entire thing. Your existence was proof that they loved each other, but that was a long time ago. Every year that you grew older, it was another year that their connected flame began to shrink. Smaller and smaller until it snuffed out all together.

It was easier to use you. The two of them managed to avoid one another like crazy, but you became the scapegoat. A ping pong ball that was forced to hit the board between both of them. Over and over and over and over again.

“Mom said-”

“Dad wants you to-”

“Mom wants to know if you-”

“Dad wanted me to ask you-”

It always led to you feeling awful. You were no longer their kid, but rather a pigeon that was forced to carry their notes back and forth. Your back ached from the emotional toil and your brain suffered from their attitudes, but they didn’t see that.

When a wave of anger was shoved towards you because you were the messenger, you forced yourself to take it. Day in and day out, you were just a cog in their toxic wheel of romance. The romance died, but their bitterness towards each other didn’t. So you bowed and you leaped. You took each cue with hesitation and a held breath. As time went on, your house turned into a battlefield with yourself as the victim.

Too focused on fighting one another, neither parent understood the holes that they were drilling into your heart. They didn’t understand the ache in your bones and the curdled marrow. Even after you moved out, you still felt the effects of their disintegrating marriage.

Text messages blew up your phone from both parties. Fingers pointed and both of them blamed the other for things falling apart. Despite you not being home, they still asked you to check in with the other for one reason or the next.

No matter how miserable it made you, you complied. You didn’t want something to happen and cause the two of them to do something indescribable. Their violence came out in curses and shrieks. Flinging arms, bulging veins, and red faces. If that anger built and snapped, you weren’t sure if it’d ever truly get physical, but that thought worried you.

You moved out months ago. When Chan suggested that the two of you grab a place, you agreed in a heartbeat. It provided some comfort away from your parents and for once, you felt like you could finally breathe. Neither of their hands were wrapped around your lungs and squeezing to leave you breathless.

So the two of you went apartment shopping. You picked out furniture and paint colors. Fortunately for the two of you, the landlord was a sweeter older lady. She didn’t mind what you did with the place, as long as you had her permission before you began a project, she was pretty relaxed about most things that other landlords hated.

You slathered your shared room with a brighter version of your favorite color. At least, by using that shade, it’d keep you rather upbeat. It was better than the last room that you had. Plus, the room was bigger, so you had more space to play with and freely added more and more objects.

You and Chan had been living at the place for nearly a year. You had your job and he had his. The two of you grew accustomed to one another’s schedules. You went grocery shopping together every week and took turns divvying up the chores. Besides the shitshow from your parents, life was treating you fairly well.

When you came home from work, you kicked off your dirty shoes, left them by the door, and headed into the kitchen. You were on duty to make dinner and you already knew what you were making. For the past two days, you had been planning to make this special dish tonight.

Two days ago, your parents got into a huge fight. You didn’t know what happened until your mother informed you the next day. The verbal altercation was so loud that someone alerted the cops. When the cops broke it up, it was so bad that both of your parents had to be separated and calmed down.

Your heart ached at the news. You felt awful because you didn’t know and couldn’t stop it. Guilt weighed upon your heart heavily. Maybe if you could have been there, you could have stopped it from happening.

You carried the guilt and burden from things that you didn’t have to. It was one of those things that you couldn’t help. You grew up with your parents being dependent on you during their heated moments and when you weren’t there to stop it from escalating, it made you feel like shit deep down.

You knew that it wasn’t really your fault. You weren’t responsible for their reactions, but it still felt like you were. If one of them would have alerted you, you would have dropped everything and rushed over. Anything to get them away from potentially hurting each other.

Picking out the best knife, you took your time cutting the vegetables. You washed them and one-by-one, you placed them on the chopping board and began to dice and slice. Mince the garlic, ignore the sharp scent on your hands, and continue on to the next step.

Chan would be home from work soon and the past few days, the two of you had been consuming frozen prepackaged food and ramen. Time had been relatively short for both of you and it was something quick and easy. Chan had been discussing wanting a homemade meal and you were thrilled to provide one for him.

You continued to follow through the steps, but you stopped when your phone vibrated. Worried that Chan had to stay over at the studio, you washed your hands and pulled out your phone. You were expecting Chan, but when you pulled up the message, it was from your mother instead.

“Your father and I are getting a divorce.”

You read the words over and over and over again, trying to make sure you read them right. In the past, when anyone mentioned your parents divorcing, they each scoffed at the idea, stating that it took too much effort.

For months, you had been praying for this moment, but now that you were here, you felt defeated. Your heart weighed heavily in your chest. Instead of responding right away, you left your mother on read, and you tossed the phone onto the nearby counter.

Days and days of emotional torment finally broke the camel’s back. Your hands shook and tears collected in your eyes. Your legs wobbled and you desperately reached out to grab the kitchen counter. There wasn’t time to catch your weight before your legs slipped from beneath you.

You hit the ground with a gasp. For so long, you felt so burdened by the scenario. Throwing knives struck your heart and they had been embedded there for so long. This information was like jerking them out all at once.

How many times had you been involved in fights along with them? When a parent got too mad and the pendulum of anger swung towards you. You had kept it inside for so long. You were still just their kid, but your parents weren’t there to comfort the unsealed hurt that leaked out.

Twenty minutes later, Chan sang the latest chorus of the new song that he’d been working on. He sang beneath his breath and bobbed his head. With a clicking tongue and humming of the last few notes, he spun the silver key ring around his finger.

The two of you always kept the door locked no matter what. Even when the other was home, you still used your keys to get in. It was easier that way and you were anxious about strangers. Chan thought it was a bit silly, but he went along with it to make you feel better.

He headed inside and kicked off his shoes. He pulled off his bag’s side strap and placed it on the couch. His laptop, hoodie, and an empty bottle sat inside. His tongue clicked again and he bobbed his head while walking into the kitchen.

He spotted the half sliced carrot and the minced garlic. A few plastic bottles full of spices sat off to the side. Pork belly had been pulled from the fridge and a pan sat on the stove, but you were missing.

His head tilted and he spun around to go find you. Knowing you, you were probably in the bathroom or you got distracted and went back to the bedroom. The floor creaked beneath his feet and he walked past the open bathroom door.

The bedroom door was also open and when he stuck his head in, you were gone. Your unspoken name sat on the tip of his tongue, but it never rolled off. His head jerked backwards, wondering if he missed you somewhere, but with another look around the apartment, he couldn’t find you.

“Where’d you go?” He mumbled beneath his breath. He headed back to the kitchen with a hand rubbing the side of his neck. It wasn’t like you to come up missing randomly.

He walked further into the kitchen, up to the spices to see if you left a note. It was only then that he saw the hunched up figure off to the side. He frowned and headed towards you. “Whattcha doin’ down there?”

His thick Australian accent usually made you laugh, but it never came. Sometimes he exaggerated his accent to make you laugh and this was one of those times. However, your usual smile didn’t appear. You were curled against the corner of wooden cabinets with your knees to your chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He frowned and crouched down beside you. “Did you hurt yourself while cutting the vegetables?”

Your eyes were red and so were the tops of your cheeks. Your head weakly shook and the worry in his heart grew. “Then what happened? Why are you down here?”

“My parents are getting a divorce.”

He blinked and let the words sink in. He didn’t really know anything about your parents. A breath was sucked in through clenched teeth. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Your head shook. “Don’t be. I’ve been wanting them to get divorced for a while, but I just-” You leaned down and let your chin rest on the top of your knees. “I don’t know. I’m relieved and I feel miserable about it all at once. A lot of the time, they used me to communicate with one another. I’m happy, but I’m empty and I also feel hurt.”

“I fought a lot with my dad and I don’t know how to put it all together. There’s a hundred feelings all at once. I’m so happy it happened, but I just…”

“Wish it happened earlier, so you didn’t have to be involved so much?”

You finally nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. My mom texted me a while ago and I needed a moment to let it sink in.”

“So you picked the dirty kitchen floor?” He teased you slightly.

“I just cleaned this floor last night.”

“And it’s such a shame that I might have spilled milk on it late last night.”

Your head went back up. “You didn’t clean it up? What’s wrong with you?”

He laughed and pulled away. “I’m just kidding! Of course, I cleaned it up. It would have smelled nasty if it sat and curdled.” He stood up and stretched his hands out towards you.

“I think this calls for a celebration of sorts. It looks like you were in the middle of making something, so I’m going to help you. Let’s do something to take your mind off it.”

You reached up and he tugged you up with ease. The moment you were back on your feet, he yanked you towards him. You squeaked as he wrapped you in a tight hug.

His forehead found the side of your neck. You tried to squirm away, but he held you tighter. Warm lips softly pressed against your skin. You cried his name and tried to lean back again, but he didn’t let go.

“Stop trying to escape my love.” His breath was warm on your skin. He planted another soft kiss against your pulse point. “Just let me love my baby.”

Your head leaned back with a loud whine. “You’re giving me your cooties and it tickles. How am I supposed to tolerate it? I can’t help that I’m ticklish!”

He giggled and kissed the side of your neck once more before he gave up. His arms remained around your waist and he let his head nuzzle against you. “You know, one day I might marry you.”

“Oh brother.”

“What do you mean?” He pulled his head back in mock offense. “We’re going to have the best marriage of all time. Maybe we might even end up with kids.”

“Too fast and too soon bucko.”

“Bucko?”

“Bucko.”

His parted lips began to turn into a smirk. When you saw the glint in his eyes, you quickly jerked backwards. “Now wait a-”

“Come ‘er.”

You spun around and took off. He chased after you with his hands out. His fingers wiggled, a silent threat to tickle you. You shrieked and rushed out of the kitchen. He giggled as he hurried after you.

Your parents’ marriage might have ended in divorce and heartbreak, but with Chan, you were certain your marriage would be eternal.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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grandline-fics · 1 day ago

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Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so that's it's own warning if you don't like reading fics featuring him. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers. Some descriptions of illness and death

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,907

A/N: The next part is here and we've got some soft Doffy and in denial Doffy because lets face it the man isn't going to admit his feelings so easily. I hope you all like how this chapter turned out. I think this might be the longest chapter yet. Hopefully the next one won't have as long a wait

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

——————

Once again being soulmates had yielded unforeseen benefits- for a lack of a better term- with the way Doflamingo’s touch meant your body was incapable of feeling pain from your sickness. Doflamingo watched silently as one of the doctors approached to conduct their morning observations of your condition. The doctor, highly aware of his ruler’s intense stare, flinched when they lifted your hand into their’s, already braced and expecting your expression to contort into one of pain. He only relaxed when you continued to sleep, unbothered by the touch that would have caused you to audibly cry out in pain just hours prior.

With a shaky breath, the doctor became a little braver and pressed their fingers against your wrist to measure your pulse. The night before, when they were first summoned to your chambers after being alerted to your illness this was something they couldn’t properly measure because of the extreme pain you were in. Now he and his colleagues could breathe a little easier, selfishly relieved their lives weren’t entirely endangered when it came to treating you now.

“Any change?” The doctor jumped suddenly at Doflamingo’s deep voice breaking through the unbearable, tense silence.

“Uh their heart rate is still increased as we’re expecting to be the case for now. But it’s a good sign it hasn’t worsened.” They explained, swallowing the lump in their throat. Even though he was confident in his and the abilities of his colleagues, there was just no predicting how Doflamingo would take any of their statements. He could lash out quite easily and without any remorse or hesitation simply because he wanted to or because their phrasing didn’t fit with what he wanted to hear. “This long period of uninterrupted sleep has made a clear difference. When they wake we'll attempt them with something to eat-something light like broth- and if they can stomach that we’ll begin the first round of medication.”

The seconds ticked by heavily as the doctor waited for Doflamingo to make a comment on the proposed next course of action. He knew better than to prod or say anything that could be seen as forcing a response. So the doctor could only wait and continue to check over you, gently settling your hand against your body before doing another read of your temperature, knowing to monitor your fluctuating fever and chills. Still you didn’t even so much as twitch, the doctor didn't think he’d ever get used to seeing how the power of a soulmate could defy what he knew as a medical professional. “When you’ve finished, discuss an appropriate menu with the cooks and have them begin to prepare it.”

Taking no further encouragement at his King’s finally uttered words, the doctor completed his checks and updated his notes before bowing and leaving quickly. Silently they were happy their next shift to check on your wouldn’t be until the next morning. Alone again, Doflamingo looked down at your sleeping form. With Doflamingo sitting up against the headrest, you were propped up too but sleeping soundly and unmoved since the second he pulled you into his hold. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Annoyance that he’d acted in the moment without thinking. The image of your twisted in extreme distress flashed in his head and he turned his head away to scowl, refusing to consider the implications of his actions anymore than he’d already begun to.

Thankfully you broke his attention by shifting in your sleep, a long lazy groan breaking from your lips as you stirred and forced your eyes to open. Doflamingo noted how exhausted you still looked but the sleep you’d managed to get without feeling pain had helped in some capacity. As you stared blankly in front of you the haze of sleep fell, confusion began to take over. Then panic. Sluggishly you tried to push the covers away and sit up fully. “Late…I’m late.” You croaked out, voice thick with tiredness and trembling with the infection still coursing through you. “Captain’s going…to kill me.”

Doflamingo tilted his head to the side curiously, you didn’t seem to realise he was there and from your sickly rambling it seemed you didn’t even know where you were. With how warm your skin felt he saw the spike in your fever was leaving you confused. He watched your feeble attempt to fight against the covers and listened to you mumble about morning drills for another few seconds before he acted. With ease he pulled the cover back to its original place and lean in so his chest was against your back a little more so he could tell you softly. “You’re on shore leave remember?”

At his voice you stopped and numbly nodded with a small hum of acknowledgement. Slowly you rolled over and slumped to lie down again, your back against his side and head resting on his bicep. While you weren’t conscious enough to know being in his hold prevented your body to feel pain, it seemed like your body now knew out of instinct that this was the only surefire solution for relief. Already your breathing had evened out to signal you were asleep but still Doflamingo could hear the tightened wheeze preventing you from taking calmer, deeper breaths like you normally would. Doflamingo glanced at the clock on the wall, already aware of the doctors’ routine with checking on you. The next would be arriving in twenty minutes, and if the previous doctor had obeyed his order then a servant would be bringing something for you to eat as well.

In the meantime Doflamingo used his strings to pull the morning’s paper from the table into his waiting hand. Bored and in need of something to occupy his time, he slowly leafed through the pages, taking in the reports from around the world. Some stories about skirmishes made him grin, knowing he was behind the reason both sides had so much weaponry at their disposal and the bloodshed was increasing as he’d expected it to. Other stories of other pirates causing trouble and increasing their bounties made him roll his eyes at the numbers. No doubt the weaklings thought this made them big-shots in the New World but it would only be a matter of time before they ran into someone of real power to knock them down to the harsh reality of these seas. Doflamingo turned the page and paused to see a full story dedicated to the illness you were afflicted with, claiming more lives on the island you’d caught it at. His grin lessened and the vein in his head throbbed as he read through the claims that the island’s best doctors and with the aid of neighbouring islands were administering the treatments needed but for so many it was too late.

‘The cruelty of the illness is so severe to the afflicted that they physically cannot bear to be touched long enough to be treated. Meaning that so many of those that could be saved are unable to endure help from their saviours. These poor souls are meant to spend the last days of life in constant pain while also being too weakened with internal ailments to take matters into their own hands. The only saving grace in this poor report is that thankfully the illness’ source has been dealt with and the island will not suffer more of its populace to fall victim to this calamity. The island’s ruler-thankfully one of those not infected- was quoted to say “We mourn the tragic loss of life but our island will recover.”’ Doflamingo clicked his tongue harshly and discarded the paper.

————

“Just try some please.” You screwed up your face in exhausted distaste at the bowl on the tray. Your eyes stung, even with them being half-opened felt so heavy. Even blinking felt like a massive effort and you had no energy. You just wanted to sleep but the servant and doctor in front of you kept insisting on coaxing you to eat so they could give you medicine. Your gaze dropped to the vial of dark green liquid on the tray and you felt yourself gag, already anticipating the foul taste. “Just a spoonful?”

“No thank you.” You croaked out, turning your head away slightly in case they tried to force it into your mouth. You spotted the fear in their eyes at your refusal to even take a drop of the broth made specifically for you. Even with your mind clouded with the illness you knew they were doing everything they could to avoid the stare of the man you were leaning against. You knew that the reason Doflamingo was in your bed and had your body propped against him, his arm around your waist had been explained but honestly you were too weakened and drained to have really processed what the doctor had told you. All you could really retain was because he was your soulmate and that it was somehow helping. Which only left you more confused about everything. You could feel how tense Doflamingo was, impatient and silently angry. You weren’t in the mood to deal with his tantrums and taking any frustration out on a servant and doctor so you sighed.“Just leave it to the side. I’ll try later.”

While that seemed to relieve the two in front of you, your words only brought an extra note of silent displeasure from the Warlord. If you had the power to roll your eyes you would have. Instead you blankly watched the tray get moved to your bedside table. The servant retreated to the wall closest to the door, silently waiting for permission to leave while the doctor began to check over your condition. Already you were sick of being poked, prodded, and pestered like this and fussed over so intently. “Everything is about the same from the last recordings taken. I don't think we’ll see any real change until the treatment properly begins.”

“Subtle.” You remarked dryly, feeling like a child being lectured for not eating their vegetables.

“Please try to take some before the next check.” You gave no further response to the doctor, watching him and the servant finally leave. The second the door clicked closed you felt movement behind you and glared weakly as the tray as pulled back onto the bed beside you.

“I said I’d-”

“I know what you said.” Doflamingo noted far too evenly for your liking. “I also know that you lied when you said you’d try later. You’d really hurt their feelings by lying?”

“Rather their feelings get hurt than you hurt them physically.” You uttered before breaking out into a cough. Thankfully this time you felt no pain or brought up any blood but the tightness in your chest and constant action left your wheezing and breathless. When you’d recovered you glowered at Doflamingo as he adjusted you to recline back and hold a spoon of broth out to you. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re too weak and stubborn to feed yourself.”

“No. This.” You barely managed to tap his arm around your waist. “Why insist I get better? Why help? This could kill me if we do nothing.” Doflamingo felt his jaw tighten as he fought to keep his expression unreadable to you. Thankfully your usual perception was dulled considerably and you failed to notice how your words got under his skin him and made him bristle. Instead he brought the spoon a little closer to divert your attention away from the question. Unfortunately your stubbornness and deep—seated need to defy him was still very much in tact. “Tell me.”

“Well I didn’t infect you did I?” Doflamingo asked smoothly, deciding to opt for an easier explanation for his actions, more for his own benefit than yours. “It’d be the same as having someone else kill you and that’s not going to happen. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” You grumbled as you eyed the spoon hesitantly. If you gave in and tried the broth then it meant you were doing what Doflamingo wanted. Not wanting to lose to him in the strange sense of point scoring you both had you slowly looked at him, already seeing his grin appear when he could tell you were contemplating giving in and eating. Spurned on you pursed your lips slightly. “Say please first.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Doflamingo ground out. Why did he expect that being sick would make you more agreeable. “Isn’t me holding you so you can sleep and spoon-feeding you enough?”

“You did that on your own.” You remarked with a pout, refusing to comment on how truthfully comfortable and reassured you felt against him. “You want me to eat? Say please.”

Doflamingo stared you down for what felt like an eternity. He was once a Celestial Dragon. Anything he wanted he took. Even now as Dressrosa’s king that was still the case. His every whim and wish was granted when he opened his mouth. Not once had he ever said please, or had to genuinely ask for something. Harshly he bit the inside of his mouth at the sheer absurdity of it all. Suddenly you began to cough again, this time more persistent that the previous bout that racked through your body. He glared at the sound of your worsened wheeze, no doubt because of the amount of talking and effort it was having on your body. Unwillingly he recalled the doctors telling him that your readings hadn’t changed and that your body needed the balance of rest and nutrients to even be able to fight off the infection. Just because being in his hold meant you didn’t feel pain, it didn’t free you from the infection itself still coursing through your body and getting stronger. As you caught your breath, Doflamingo gnashed his teeth together and forced out a simple but audible. “Please.”

Surprise managed to bring a small amount of light to your eyes. Quite honestly you had expected Doflamingo to force your mouth open before even letting that one little word break from his own. Still you weren’t one to go back on your word and now having the knowledge that you made the Doflamingo Donquixote say please, made the fact you had to be spoon-fed like a baby less humiliating. Taking a breath you nodded and parted your lips, accepting the food reluctantly.

For the entire process you were surprised to find Doflamingo didn’t rush you, simply waiting in silence for you to attempt the next spoonful offered. Even more surprising was that he seemed to know you’d reached your limit before you had to say so. The bowl was set aside and you let out a tired sigh of relief. Your relief was short-lived because immediately Doflamingo lifted the small vial of medicine and removed the topper and brought it closer. “You already used your ‘please’ so no absurd requests for this one.”

“It’s fine…” You mumbled, more for yourself than anything else. “I’ve had awful shots in worse bars in the past…I can do this.” Doflamingo chuckled and helped tip the contents of the vial into your mouth, watching you force it down and tense as the full taste hit you. You winced and let out a shuddering breath. It wasn’t the worst thing you’d tasted in your life but even with the doctors making a clear attempt to make the experience more tolerable for you, it was clear it was medicine and nothing to be entirely enjoyed. You gratefully took a sip of water when it was offered to you and already felt the strange numbing warmth begin to spread through you from the medicine. You shifted to get comfortable and curled up, a yawn building in your chest that didn’t feel as tight as it had just a few moments ago. “You don’ have to stay…”

“Oh? You got someone else lined up to sneak in here if I go?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle. You’d unknowingly moved your arm over his chest at the same time you told him he could go.

“Mhm…” You nodded, mind already hazy and eyes closed. “Don’ be jealous…’kay?”

“Oh I already told you I don’t get jealous, remember?” Doflamingo smirked as you sleepily laughed and forced your eyes open to briefly look at him.

“You also never said please before. First time…for everything hm?” Your sleepy triumphant smile was so endearing that Doflamingo couldn’t even get annoyed at your reminder of your getting the upper hand over him. Even if he did, you wouldn’t have heard anything because you were promptly asleep.

———

You were completely knocked out and in the deepest sleep when the doctors came by for their next check on you. They informed Doflamingo that your response to the first dose of medication was a promising sign. They explained that they’d ensured there was a good balance to assist your immune system to fight the infection, relax your airways, regulate your temperature, manage pain relief, and protect the vital organs. Doflamingo nodded in satisfaction at the report. “My King, there is something we’d like to test while they’re sleeping.” The doctor requested glancing briefly to your sleeping form still against Doflamingo’s chest. “Can you move them out of your touch? I’d like to ensure the pain relief is correct for them? We don’t want to risk them being under or over medicated in that respect.”

Doflamingo hesitated for the briefest second but relented, settling his arms around you and shifting to pass you down to lie against the pillows and climbed out of the bed. He watched silently and hands tensed, to use his strings and stop the doctor if need be. It seemed the doctor was nervous, already remembering what almost happened to her colleague the first night they tended to you. Experimentally her hand settled against yours, sighing in relief to see your fingers twitch at the contact but you gave no other reaction. your expression was kept at its calm, relaxed state as it had been while you slept in Doflamingo’s arms. “That’s promising. My King, you can leave them while they’re sleeping now should you wish? Stretch your legs or even attend to other business. They shouldn’t wake for another few hours if our assumptions are correct.”

He nodded and offered you another glance. Immediately he felt reluctant to leave you and for that reason he forced himself to leave your quarters, needing desperately to clear his head and get away from your presence. He needed something recognisable, routine. Doflamingo headed straight for his own room and into his personal bathroom. The strong heat and stream of water from the shower helped to loosen the knots in his body and unravel some of the tension that had built in him over the course of the last few days. Between rushing home to Dressrosa from the Marine base until this moment he hadn’t let you out of his sight and had practically ignored everything else. When he was dried and changed, he made his way to the dining room, deciding to actually spend time with his family and eat while making sure to not give you a second thought, out of sheer determination to prove to himself he wasn’t in anyway concerned about you.

“Doffy what do you think?” Doflamingo blinked in the middle of the meal, only now realising that he’d been absently looking at the time on the clock. Had he been unconsciously checking how long was left until you woke? No. He couldn’t have. He was just tired, he didn’t sleep at the best of times and the shower he had and wine he was drinking was just making him sleepy.

“About what Diamanté?”

“We were just saying how funny the whole thing with that island is.” His elite officer said. “It’s further proof that you two are soulmates.”

“How so?” Doflamingo asked, not understanding how you getting sick was proof. Then again he’d not been listening to the first part of the conversation, a point no one at the table would point out. Doflamingo couldn’t help but think you would though. The second he slipped on anything, you would promptly call him out on it. Sharply he shoved that thought out of his head and focused on Diamanté who spoke, unfazed at having to no doubt repeat himself.

“Well it was just a nothing little island, with nothing little criminals storing weapons for us. None of us were meant to even go there for the hand over.” He explained with an amused smile. “If I recall right we were going to send one of the middle tier pirate crews under your command to go. You decided last minute to go. If you hadn’t then you never would have encountered them and brought them here to then be treated by the doctors for that deadly infection. It’s interesting how it all played out isn’t it?”

Interesting certainly was one way of putting it and it was something Doflamingo couldn’t help but continue to consider it after dinner. He remembered now. It was just how Diamanté reminded him. A crew similar to Bellamy’s was instructed to collect the weapons and ammunition being stored at the warehouse. Then a tip came through from one of his other Marine informants that a unit was stationed at the island, waiting to strike and interfere with the operation without knowing it was his business they were sticking their noses into. He hadn’t gotten any names or further information about you or the unit. It was the vaguest report but still, Doflamingo had immediately made the decision to go there and deal with the unit himself. At the time had it been interpreted as something to entertain him. Had he been simply bored or had fate made him go? To inadvertently save your life from the sickness that was already in your system and incubating without anyone knowing?

Harshly he rubbed his head as he walked down the halls, feeling a migraine coming on. Doflamingo reached for the doorhandles and pushed them open, stopping abruptly when he saw he’d made his way to your room instead of his own. Muttering a curse under his breath he closed the doors and stepped further inside. Silently he told himself he was only doing this until you were a little better and didn’t need the medicine. Pulling back the covers he got back into the bed and lay down beside you but knowing you were still sound asleep with the medicine in your system mean he didn’t need to touch you. Letting out a long groan, he closed his eyes and lifted his hand to press his thumb and finger against his temples.

The slight sound of shifting fabric caught his attention, signalling him that you were shifting in your sleep. Doflamingo was caught by surprise when your body pressed against him, your head tucking into the crook of his neck. He could tell you were still fast asleep, your deep breathing the clearest sign. Everything in your movements was purely instinct, including when one of your hands lifted you lay over his head, your fingers settling over the point of his headache that immediately began to subside. As he felt himself drift asleep he began to consider that it was only fair you both benefited from the affects that being soulmates brought.

——————————————-

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queenburd · 22 hours ago

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Hi, yes, I know it's been a minute since I wrote fic. it's been a long year. have this. Happy holidays.

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I don’t know how to explain to you that the Parable is both a prison and a home, so instead I’ll say this:

The Narrator has been trying to make changes.

Not big changes, mind you! Not to the story, and not to the structure of the place. Endings remain untouched, halls stay as they are, going where they have always gone except for when the game decides they should go someplace else. The Narrator leaves it all in place, because why fix something that’s not broken?

No. No, it’s small things he’s trying to change. The painting in Stanley’s office. The textures of the chairs.

Let’s talk about that.

See, Stanley isn’t happy. This is abundantly clear, in the way he walks about the office—sometimes bored, sometimes irritated, but mostly… lost. There’s vacancy in his eyes. He’s walking just to do something. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, and while this can fill him with a deep-seated anger, lately it’s been making him…

Rather morose.

And this is a problem, for the Narrator.

It isn’t just that he wants Stanley to follow the story (although that would be nice, wouldn’t it), but he struggles to properly grasp why the quiet misery eats at him. Perhaps—perhaps he feels inadequate? He certainly thrives off positive feedback, and withers when criticized before striking with a sharper tongue than he means to. Or maybe, maybe he worries that Stanley isn’t truly… hearing him? Isn’t responding to him. That certainly doesn’t sit right with the Narrator.

And yet, for all that these are genuine, selfish reasons the Narrator has to feel bothered by Stanley’s dismal attitude, none of it really grips at the core of him. None of it captures the reality he’s still trying to come to grips with.

He wants Stanley to be happy. If… if Stanley isn’t happy, then the world is wrong.

And the Narrator must fix it.

So! The changes. Yes. You know, he thought it would be simple enough to change the textures of the chairs in the office, to start. They’re only office chairs, after all. And they look terribly uncomfortable, Stanley is always trying to stretch out his lower back when he stands from a reset, surely the Narrator can make them a bit more plush? A bit more, er, ergonomic, that’s the word! More comfortable. With armrests!

It can’t be so hard to edit the model.

Er, tangent, completely unrelated, really, don’t look too hard into it—have you ever seen a video game asset clip and break into the floor with such a violence that it threatens to throw the assets around it into a warped amalgam of broken and stretched textures?

Okay, have you ever seen every single type of that asset on a map try to do this at the same time?

The entire office seemed to jitter, and Stanley had run nearly all the way to the two doors room before a violent reset had returned their world into its normalcy.

“I swear, Stanley, I wasn’t trying to kill you! I was trying to—I just—I wanted to—oh, but it was supposed to be a surprise—oh, what’s the use. The cat’s gone and killed itself in the bag.”

It's an unmitigated disaster, one that threatens to completely overtake him and make him throw in the towel, but Stanley sees his new painting (nothing special, simply one of the other assets already in the office), and he—he touches it simply with the tips of two fingers, and he sort of smiles a crooked half-smile, and.

If the Narrator can make that smile happen again, isn’t it worth trying?

(The painting changes out every handful of resets, and Stanley—he always taps it just once, when it does. An acknowledgment. But it’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough!)

Alright, so, back to the drawing board on the chairs. In the meantime, what else? Office decor? The Narrator kicks around the idea of balloons for a bit, but he shelves it. It might be tacky, and there’s so many options on what they might say. Perhaps desk displays! Yes, more variety in the office. He’s not technically meant to let Stanley play Solitaire, since it distracts from the story, but, you know, to hell with it. Solitaire, and Minesweeper, the Narrator even considers a rare Mahjong game before he forcibly reminds himself that minimal is good, and these types of computer would not have it, and really, Mahjong is a little above Stanley’s mental faculties, isn’t it?

Alright, so technically, none of these spawn at Stanley’s computer—it’s important that his monitor display the lack of orders. But his coworkers, well, maybe a couple of them are slouching off, the Narrator excuses. And hell, maybe, if Stanley ever asks, the Narrator can let him play in office 427 and. And…

Oh, what’s he thinking? Giving Stanley other games to play, when his is supposed to be the star? What’s he doing?

He’s… is this fixing it? Is this making it more bearable for Stanley? (Is his game really so bad to play that Stanley would play other games instead?)

Stanley sees the monitors, and he pokes at the games, but he says little and the Narrator doesn’t address them, too afraid of the answer he’ll get. And eventually, Stanley returns to wandering the halls and playing the game made for him.

Is… is that a failure? Is that success? The Narrator can’t tell.

Focus. Try to focus. Remember why this is so important. His memory is faulty (a fact that still frightens him), but he still holds right to the fundamental point, even when the thought of Stanley’s near-smile distorts and becomes distant. The point. The point is happiness. The point is Stanley’s happiness. That’s what the story is about, right? That’s what he wrote.

A quarter appears on Stanley’s desk, unannounced. It lasts through the reset following that run’s ending, and the reset after that. When he finds the second quarter, left unceremoniously by a mug in the meeting room, he pockets it. When the reset hits, it sits on top of the first quarter, by the phone in his office.

The Narrator comments on none of it, and pretends the air does not grow thick with anticipation each time Stanley stops in place and examines the tiny, unassuming things, hardly out of place save for the mere fact they were not there before.

In this way, Stanley finds small change throughout the building’s many twists and turns, until after many many resets, the final quarter appears on a low coffee table in the lounge.

And, one ending later, Stanley is dropping his small hoard into the thin slot on the vending machine. Each coin makes a satisfying cla-chunk, a noise the Narrator is exceptionally proud of implementing so perfectly.

And then…

Stanley chooses a beverage. The machine gives another very satisfying ca-clunk as it drops a small can with a green label at his feet. The label is nondescript, just like the blurry options on the vending machine, but there you are. The Narrator watches with bated breath as Stanley picks up the can…

And waves it above his head, scowling.

“Mm?” The fellow tries to come off as unbothered. Distracted. Uninterested. “What? What’s that you’ve got, then? Oh, it’s a can of soda! What a stroke of luck you’ve had, getting a drink from a machine that purportedly doesn’t work! Surely, things are turning up in your favor.”

Stanley continues to scowl, which is…. Befuddling. Shouldn’t he be delighted by this?

“And what exactly is the problem? Got the wrong flavor, have you?”

The lines deepen on the office worker’s face. No, no, this isn’t right! A hand moves to ask a question, in line with the clear irritated query he offers the Narrator—

[ What the hell is this? ]

“Hmph. I already said what it is, or are you really intent on not listening to me? It appears to be one of your classic canned beverages, chilled of course, like it says on the machine.”

[ I know that, ] Stanley insists, [ but it’s not supposed to work. You changed it, didn’t you? ]

Ah, now’s the time to take the credit, to accept the praise and preen a bit under it, before humbling oneself politely. To offer it as a sign of generosity, yes!

“Well, I certainly can’t deny that I had a hand in the matter of getting the machine to function! It really did take a bit of figuring out, but I think the effort was worth it in the end to get something that really—“

Stanley cuts him off with a motion from both arms, like an X in front of his body before slicing through the air. His grimace remains.

[ Why? ]

There’s no gratitude. There’s no joy. There’s only a deep distrust, and the Narrator flounders in the face of it.

“Why? Well I—I thought—well I just thought it might make for a, a nice change. A little mini game maybe, I don’t know! Honestly, I thought you’d be more grateful about this, Stanley, you’re always in here prodding at the machine despite my repeated comments that it’s just a textured box—isn’t this what you wanted?”

[ Since when has what I want mattered? You just want praise. That’s why you’ve been changing things in the office, isn’t it? You want to make your stupid office setting more realistic. ]

It shouldn’t hurt, really, but it does anyway. To be told that his intentions aren’t genuine, to be told he has ulterior motives—and, worse, to wonder if Stanley is correct. Is this another selfish attempt on his part? Is this just a way to make himself feel better? To, perhaps, offload his guilt?

The Narrator fumbles, and then he falls back on his tried-and-true technique—he pushes back. He’s not proud, but it’s so instinctive, don’t you see?

“Now look here. Don’t you pretend you haven’t appreciated a break from what you yourself have described as the monotony. You’re actively gaining something out of this, there’s no need to be so ungrateful about it! Can’t you appreciate the work I’m putting in for you, for once?”

An accusatory finger pointed up at the ceiling, almost in victory. Stanley shakes the can still in his hand, and throws it at the wall between two paintings. It near about explodes.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done! All that hard work, all that change, and for what?! A smear on a wall. Great job, Stanley. You really showed me.” There’s a sneer in his voice. He’s angry. He’s upset. He’s been rejected again.

He just doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

“What do you want to hear, that I changed a few paintings and added a few features and made an entirely new mechanic, just for you to pump up my ego? Do you really think so little of me, or that I care so much for your opinion of me? Is it really so hard to believe that I just wanted to try to ease your misery?”

Stanley stares at the smear on the wall with a furrowed brow, his eyes dark and his mouth a grim line. The Narrator just keeps talking, like he can’t stop. He just can’t stop.

“Look at me, I’m Stanley, I’m trapped in an office building with only a narrator for company, and he’s so awful, really! He wrote me a whole story where I end up happy and he tries to get along with me but he’s just so terrible, he lets me play games that aren’t the one he made just for me, what a horrible fellow!”

Stanley covers his ears but that’s never helped. He storms out of the lounge and then across the maintenance room, and then through the meeting room into the closet. The door doesn’t slam behind him but it’s a near thing.

“Yes! Fine! Go into your little room where I can’t see you, who wants to talk to you anyhow?! Who wants to engage with someone who outright refuses to accept a gift offered to him?! Not me. I have better things to do with my time."

It will be a couple hours before Stanley leaves the broom closet. When he goes to the Freedom ending, it’s a clear attempt at a peace offering—but it’s obvious from both his slow steps through the mind control facility and the lack of drama in the Narrator’s voice that neither of their hearts are in it.

The Narrator is not proud. And he takes away all the changes he made, not as a punishment, but because they were stupid. It was stupid of him to try to make this place better. It’s never going to be better and he’s never going to be more than the fellow keeping Stanley here.

He can’t make Stanley happy, can he? He can’t be enough. Of course he would never be enough.

Stanley wanders through the building again, and again. The Narrator says his lines best as he can, but he know his performance is slipping. The tired, lost look returns to Stanley’s face.

“Do I remember the Confusion Ending?” the Narrator repeats, when Stanley prods him after a reset at some point. “Er… no, no let me think for a moment—that’s the one with a LineTM? I think? Yes, I have a note here somewhere on that,” he says, feeling more confident, “although I don’t think you and I have ever found it, so—oh. No? That’s not right? We’ve… we’ve done that one?”

Stanley nods.

“Oh.”

The voice makes a noise, like a throat clearing.

“Did we, um, did we just do that one?”

Stanley nods again.

“Oh. That’s…. I see.”

It never ceases to unsettle the voice. It tries to power through, best as it can.

“Is there um, is there any particular reason you’re asking?”

Stanley seems to think this over. He signs, cautiously, [ You say some things. I was never sure if you actually meant them, or if it was another joke at my expense. ]

“What sort of things do I supposedly say, then? Maybe I can clear up any—aheh, aheheh, confusion, I suppose.”

Stanley doesn’t smile at the joke, though his mouth does a complicated thing. He warily opens up the shape of his memories, and the Narrator brushes a metaphorical finger across a metaphorical page. The voice tries, tries terribly hard, to let it roll naturally over the both of them instead of forcing them through the ordeal.

(Remembering a memory and reliving a memory, they’re not supposed to be so different. Still, you don’t feel like you have hindsight in this way. You’re in that moment, same as you had been, without being quite able to separate yourself from it.)

“Just me and Stanley, forging a new path, a new story! Well, it could be anything! What do you want our story to be?”

When the voice is itself again, its fingers drawn back from the page, it finds itself somewhere just left of shaken. Composure. The Narrator must find his composure.

“Well, that’s… that was certainly an, um, an enlightening experience!” he tries. “I guess that explains the Adventure Line™️ that I’ve found in the files. I had wondered when I would need to use that feature.”

Stanley is looking at the ground.

“Well… what’s wrong? It—oh, yes, you were asking me—“

[ Even if you meant it then, I don’t think you mean it now, ] Stanley signs, and no, no that just won’t do.

“Would you even let me finish speaking before you come to some kind of foregone conclusion! For goodness’s sake, Stanley—“

The Narrator sighs. Melancholy overtakes him, when he speaks again.

“I’m trying to make you understand, I’ve been trying and trying but I just can’t seem to get through to you. Stanley, my story ends with you being happy.”

There’s a vicious snap of the head up as Stanley visibly prepares to retort.

“No, please let me finish, I’m not done! I’m trying to make a point here! I’m… I’m trying to explain.”

Stanley, still visibly unhappy, holds his metaphorical tongue.

“The point… the point, Stanley, is your happiness. I know you don’t believe me, and, and I know that what you want more than anything is to leave. Believe me, if I could give you what you want, I would! If it were in my power, I, well I—“

(”I don’t want to be trapped like this!”)

He sighs. “There isn’t a way out. I know that isn’t what you want to hear. I’m really, truly sorry. But I do want to do what I can to make your time here… not miserable. Do you understand?”

Stanley is looking at the floor again. The Narrator tries, gently, to reiterate himself.

“I really do want to make you happy.”

Hands lift. They stay at chest height for a full minute. Then:

[ I can’t be. ]

It hurts, like nothing else. He can’t help the small, defeated, “oh,” that slips out.

“Okay. That’s… okay. I understand."

Fist to heart. Circles against a chest.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” oh goodness, is the Narrator sniffling? He sounds, he sounds on the verge of tears. How humiliating. “What is there to apologize for? Listen, why don’t I load up button heaven for you, and you can have some time at least without me incessantly in your ear? That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Yes? With nice, big buttons to mess around with.”

After a long moment, Stanley nods, hesitant.

“Perfect. Let me just get that set up on your monitor. There you go. Have fun.”

He knows it’s not enough for Stanley. He knows Stanley is just trying to assuage him.

God, maybe there’s a benefit to forgetting. Maybe it stops the pain.

But if he forgets, then the lesson doesn’t stick, and the Narrator needs the lesson to stick, doesn’t he? So that he can be a realist about it all.

Stanley doesn’t trust him, and they are not friends.

Okay.

The Narrator prides himself on being a professional, so he collects himself best as he can and he performs to the best of his ability. If there’s any hint of despondency in his lines, well, there is plausible deniability, nobody can say for sure the script doesn’t call for it.

Nevermind that he’s said all the words, so many times.

He’s allowed to play with the delivery, he thinks.

He’s fine.

It’s when he goes off-script that the Narrator struggles more. He snaps at Stanley in their usual spats, they butt heads; and even then the voice finds it keeps exposing that vulnerable honesty in the hopes that maybe this time, it will be enough. Maybe this time, Stanley will see that it’s trying.

It’s a fool’s errand, obviously, but the Narrator is very much a fool.

And sometimes…

Sometimes Stanley seems…

Better.

How to describe it? The way he will move with intent, to do something as silly as jump out a window to hear a limerick, and grin, even though he’s heard it perhaps a hundred times? The crinkles in the corners by his eyes when he closes the doors in the hall attached to room 217, to stare inside the room with a focus that can only be for show?

He stacks mugs, sometimes, collecting every one in the cubicle rooms that he can find and carefully assembling them like one would with playing cards, with some kind of arrangement or sorting that the Narrator cannot make heads or tails of. Stanley tells him that he has a process, the fellow couldn’t possibly understand, and, well, that’s for sure.

Rating the game features every single possible number. Trying to beat the baby game with one finger stuffed in an ear while the other hand slams buttons. Walking up the stairs, then down the stairs, then back up the stairs, on the way to the boss’s office.

The Narrator doesn’t really know what to make of it all. Part of him, the part that’s easy to fall back to, wants to find it all irritating. Another wants to find it funny. Not charming, necessarily, but… silly. He wants it to continue, he would encourage it if he knew what to say. Would a joke be acceptable? Should he tease? Affect grumpiness? What’s the answer?

He’s never been very good at making choices. Once again, Stanley makes the choice for him.

[ The computers don’t change screens anymore. Did you do that? ]

“What? Oh, from—yes, I did end up removing that feature, with the computer card games,” he says, feeling a bit on the back foot.

[ And my office painting, ] Stanley continues, uncannily perceptive.

“Yes, well, I realized they weren’t doing much to—that is to say, when I realized they weren’t improving your experience, I—“

[ You didn’t do it because you were angry with me? ] It almost feels like an accusation, which stings, but then, hasn’t the Narrator lashed out before? Wouldn’t that be par for the course?

And the expression Stanley wears isn’t resentment. The Narrator can’t properly place it.

“Wh—no! Goodness, no, did you think I was trying to—Look, I know that there are endings where I act as though I’m trying to punish you, but those are part of the game!”

Stanley’s eyes go to the carpet. Oh, has he said something wrong again? Quick, salvage it!

“The changes weren’t making things better for you, like I had hoped. I scrapped them because they weren’t good, that’s all. You weren’t enjoying them. It wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to take something from you,” he says hastily, before adding, perhaps a bit too honestly, “To be honest, I just thought you didn’t care."

Stanley’s eyes don’t lift, but after an uncomfortable pause, his hands raise to reply with agonizing caution.

[ I didn’t dislike them. ]

(God, it’s like pulling teeth with this fool, getting him to show any kind of positive response.)

“Then I’ll put them back,” the Narrator tries to say casually. He feels… fluttery. Does that make sense? How can a voice feel fluttery? “Do you, um…”

Does he ask if Stanley wants the soda machine back, and force the man to acknowledge it was good, as though prying out praise? Does he wait for Stanley to bring it up first, forcing the protagonist into uncomfortable vulnerability?

Broaching the subject is… difficult, for the same reason either way: it means Stanley admitting he wants something.

Why is communication so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard, when half the party is just a voice!

Stanley finally looks up from the floor, and he focuses on the space between two light fixtures, above the copy machine. He shifts a little uncomfortably where he stands, arms crossing, then uncrossing, but at the very least, his expression takes on a determined and almost challenging air as he lifts his chin. Like he's making a decision.

[ If you wanted to implement that coin hunt for the soda machine... thing, I could give it another go. Make sure there aren't any bugs to work out. ]

“Oh?” He says, hopeful, catching the framework he's offered. “Yes, you know, I don't know that I got all the flavors right, you know? It's not as though I can test them out for myself. You'll have to give me thorough feedback on what needs improvement, so I'm sure it will keep you busy.”

The man squints, motions quick. [ You'll have to deal with real critical feedback, you know. You sure you want my real opinion, and not just some fluff for your ego? ] But there's the barely-there tug at the corner of his mouth, just visible in the pulling muscle of his cheek; a little tell that he's trying to joke.

“Oh, please, if anything, we can think of this as a way to educate you on how to thoughtfully and usefully critique game design and feature functionality. Genuine critique is an art and a skill, Stanley, one that I'm sure you could learn to appreciate,” the Narrator sniffs. The pride is a cover, of course. He's in on the joke.

They're on the same page, they're communicating. Of course, it makes sense, it's the perfect excuse for both of them to hide behind; if it's “new features” to implement for “the game”, then Stanley has to test them, doesn't he? To make sure they work effectively! And, if it curbs his boredom, if it gives him just a hint of enjoyment—of joy—then they both win, don't they? Stanley won't have to feel like he's admitting to liking what's been made for him, it won't be about praising the Narrator's game. It will be a matter of professionalism; of game maker and playtester.

But they'll know. It will be their little secret.

“You know,” the Narrator says thoughtfully as he glances over his many concepts and files and assets, “I'd been considering changing some of the office chairs to a newer model... A retexture isn't enough, I'm afraid, I'm thinking about loading up a different asset design program altogether.... Have you ever heard of a program called Blender?”

I don’t know how to explain to you that the Parable is both a prison and a home.

I can't quite find the words to properly convey to you that this place wasn't really meant to be changed, but it wants more than anything to be played, so anything that furthers that goal, that satiates that need, is acceptable in its metaphorical eyes. I can't really properly articulate that it was made to go on forever, so the two people inside it were designed to be diametrically opposed so they could pull at each other and make the world keep spinning.

It's a complicated concept, and I've been trying to find the words to explain that it's not malicious, it just wants to live. It was made like this, and it can't really be anything different.

But it's a small world, and it's malleable, and it's a game meant to make a person laugh. Maybe the point of it is to bring joy, right? Maybe it doesn't have to just bring joy to the player. Maybe a person can become comfortable inside it, and find its traits charming, or familiar, little quirks and needs and demands like any place that's lived in for long enough.

I don't really know how to explain that the Parable is complicated, and yet at the end of the day, an extremely simple mechanism.

So instead I’ll say this: The Narrator has been trying to make changes.

#the stanley parable #the sparrow parable #may writes #tsp fanfic

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 days ago

Text

title: my disappearing secret

pairing: toby hawthorne x hannah rooney

synopsis: hannah thought she’d never see her toby again, he’d left her once, then twice but maybe just maybe third time’s a charm

warnings: SPOILERS FOR GAMES UNTOLD!!

a/n: for @lila-77 merry christmas my love!! 🎄❤️🤍💚

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses

She felt his gaze before she even turned around. But it couldn’t really be him, could it? She thought she might be making it all up in her mind, yet she still whispered his name aloud, just incase maybe this time she wasn’t fantasising, incase this time he was actually there.

“Harry?”

There was one beat. Disappointment flooded through her, of course he wasn’t there. She’s been stupid to think it. Massaging her temples she carried on with her job. Then there was a second beat. ‘He’s not coming back Hannah’ she silently reminded herself.

“Hannah.”

Her heart almost stopped beating as all the oxygen was robbed from her lungs. She spun around, she had to see if it was real or whether it was all a voice inside her head. With a soft gasp, she could only stare and question whether or not she was hallucinating.

There he stood, sparkling green eyes, tall laid back figure, grinning like the first day she’d ever set eyes on him. He looked thinner than she would’ve liked him to, dark circles under his eyes. She wondered when the last time he had a proper meal was or when last he slept through the night. But she stopped herself from asking because that would waste their time and she’d learnt that time was all too precious.

“Same forwards as it is backwards,” he finished, a Hawthorne smile if she ever saw one, dancing across his lips.

Hannah was still at a loss for words, which wasn’t a lot like her in front of him. Toby Hawthorne was stood in her kitchen. She’d fantasised for something like this to happen, wished on dandelion clocks and birthday cake for a moment like this and now it was here.

Only she was less relieved than she thought she might be and more panicked. What was going on? Why was he here? Why now? Her brain raced through every worst case possible scenario. But then, for a minute she silenced her thoughts and let go of caring why and took in the moment. He was here. The rest didn’t matter. He was here.

“Harry,” she exhaled shakily.

“You already said that,” he replied, taking a step closer.

Every cell in her body burned with a sudden starvation. A desire born from a sheer desperation to be in his arms. She wanted to feel his touch, she craved it. Hannah couldn’t think of anything better than for him to scoop her up and run away from the rest of the world, even if it were all just for a second.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out suddenly.

His lips twisted into a strange sort of smile, “do you want another postcard?”

She almost smiled back. Almost.

She folded her arms, “what are you doing here?” she asked again, her tone more demanding, reminding them both of her sharpness she’d once had with him as teenagers.

“Come on Hannah I thought you were meant to be astute,” he grinned, that twinkle in his eye as he cocked his head to the side, “don’t tell me that’s gone downhill after all these years.”

“You can’t avoid the question forever,” she told him.

“Why ask when you already know the answer,” he asked quietly, taking another step towards her, “I love you Hannah, I always have and I always will. I needed to see you, your face, your eyes, your everything. It was killing me not to.”

“Then you have no idea what it was doing to me,” she murmured, tilting her chin up slightly to truly meet his eyes.

His pupils slowly dilated, swallowing up the green of his iris like a malnourished lion would a human corpse.

“I love you,” he told her again, his voice strong and steady.

“I love you too,” she said, letting her hands trail up his torso until they met at the back of his neck.

“Do you still hate me,” Toby asked her, “for the way I left you, both times?”

Hannah could only chuckle, “always, but love does something funny to the hate.”

“How poetic,” he teased, snaking an arm around her waist.

“Well we both know how much you like your poems,” she murmured, melting into his touch.

It felt so natural, so right. As if this was how they were always meant to be. He softly brushed his lips over hers and something ignited. Neither had tasted each it in such a long time, they’d almost forgotten how much they craved it.

The kisses began to get rougher, more passion and fire behind the movement. Hannah had her hand buried deep in his hair, clutching at chunks and tugging them every which way. It was love on a deeper level, intense and rash. Toby’s finger squeezed tighter around her waist in an attempt to pull her even closer into him, though it wasn’t possible. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget you even existed, that made you forget anything existed, that made you forget you had to breathe until your lungs were screaming at you, begging for oxygen.

“I want my postcard,” she said, breathlessly against his lips.

He smirked, amused by the way annoyance flashed across her perfect face, “impatient, are we?”

And for a moment it felt like they’d never been apart, like the years of constant yearning and dreaming and praying had never even happened. It felt like they’d been together through it all, like Toby had never left that night in the lighthouse and never left that night in the hospital either.

“Come on Hawthorne and give me the damn postcard,” she replied, between kisses, “I want it.”

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want,” he taunted, taking her face into his hands slowly pressing a kiss on her forehead, then on the bone when her eyebrow met her nose, moving down to each of her eyes closed eyes and the tip of her nose. They were so soft, so delicate they almost tickled. He met her lips again before slowly trailing down to her jawline, neck and collarbone.

“I do,” she replied, a flicker of determination in her eyes and a fluttering in her stomach, “I get what I want.”

Toby bit his lip. Hannah Rooney, the girl he’d fallen in love with, the girl he’d never fall out of love with.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, “if you win, the postcard is all yours.”

Her eyes flickered to the clock hung on the wall. The minute hand was moving far too fast for her liking.

“Do we have enough time?” she asked, lips tingling still, “Avery will be coming home soon.”

“Avery,” he repeated tipping his head back smiling. He savoured her name on his tongue, “how is she?”

“She’s incredible,” Hannah beamed, wishing she could tell him every little thing about her, “she’s kind and sweet and caring and she’s so intelligent Harry.”

“No doubt she got all of her mother’s genes then,” he replied, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her in.

Heat crept up into Hannah’s cheeks. Of course he still managed to make her blush.

“She’s so big now,” she told him, “so much bigger than the last time you saw her.”

He raised an eyebrow, “bold of you to assume I don’t keep a closer eye on her.”

A tender hand squeezed Hannah’s heart, “you do?”

“When I can,” he shrugged, “she’s growing up to look so much like you Hannah, but she’s got Kaylie’s smile.”

He grazed her cheek with his knuckle, so gently it felt like he was barely touching her. Bittersweetness washed over Hannah like an overbearing tidal wave of feeling.

“I’m going to make sure she goes as far as she wants with her life,” she said quietly, trying to keep the emotion from seeping into her voice, “give her all the opportunities me and Kaylie didn’t have.”

“And you will,” Toby whispered, “you’re good like that.”

“She’s going to go far,” Hannah told him shakily, her eye blurring a little.

She was sure of it.

“I don’t have a doubt about it,” he replied hoarsely.

And so was he.

Her heart ached, weighted with the words she thought in her every waking hour. The words she wished for so long she could tell him. The words she thought she’d never get the opportunity to say to his face ever again.

“I miss you,” Hannah whispered, so quietly she wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her.

“I miss you too,” he replied in almost an instant.

Of course he heard her. He always did. Even when there was nothing to say. He just knew.

“He hasn’t found you, has he?” she asked, searching and scanning every line of his face for an indication of an answer.

They both know who ‘he’ was, the instant she said it. But she had to ask. The worry alone was intoxicating her internal organs, contorting them into funny shapes like some sort of psychotic balloon animal.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, “at least I don’t think so.”

“Good,” she nodded, “that’s good.”

Hannah stared at him for a long while and he only stared right back. She wanted Avery to meet him, to be able to call him ‘dad’, she wanted Avery to know about this wonderful man she loved in hopes she might find one equally as kind and as selfless and as genuine. And for a second she wondered if she might dare ask him one last time to stay with her. She wondered if maybe this time he might say yes.

“I can’t hide here Hannah,” he whispered.

Toby read her like an open book, he knew her mind like he knew his own. He also knew the risks she’d be willing to take for him and he wouldn’t let it happen.

She smiled a little sadly, “how can you read my mind?”

“Call it a talent,” he shrugged, with a wink.

“Why Harry,” she asked, her voice so small it scared him, “after everything you’ve been through, just come home.”

She touched the left side of her chest with her hand, her heart throbbing underneath. He belonged here. Hannah knew it in her bones. He belonged with her and Avery, here.

“He’d know,” he shook his head, “he’d hurt you, he’d hurt Avery.”

Hannah sighed, “so why now? Why decide to come and see me now?”

“Well I-“

A locked clicked, a handle turned and the front door swung open, “Mum you’ll never believe it! I won the science award!”

Hannah’s eyes went wide as she tore her gaze from his and rushed to greet her daughter, leaving Toby in the kitchen. He dared to stand in the doorway and silently watch as Hannah wrapped her gentle arms around Avery and congratulated her. He saw the exact moment Avery’s eye lit up in joy, happy with herself and her achievement.

Pride swelled in his chest and a few tears sprung to his eyes. Avery, his Avery had won the science award in school. He wanted nothing more than to embrace her tightly and tell her how special she truly was. How she was so like he mother and more, how he loved her to the moon and back, how he’d protect her until he was a gravestone stood in a churchyard.

But he knew what he had to do now. It had been a risk even coming at all. Even though he knew it had been coming, Toby had never been good at goodbyes. Glossy eyed with a twisting agony in the left side of his chest, he took one final look at his wonderful Avery and his beautiful Hannah. The brightest sparks he’d ever seen in his life.

“I got this certificate and everything,” Avery beamed, showing off the piece of paper.

“That’s amazing sweetheart!” Hannah said, stealing a glance back towards the kitchen.

She already knew he was gone, just like she knew when he was there. But she had to check. She hoped she was wrong, that her feeling was off but it wasn’t. It never was. Hannah didn’t know why it still hurt when she discovered he wasn’t still there. She wasn’t losing something she had.

“And I even got this medal,” Avery continued, snapping her out of the haze and bringing her back to reality. She had a daughter and a life. She had something to focus on. And even if Toby wasn’t physically there, he was there in her heart, “and Mrs Gray told me that I’m one of the best science students she’d seen of my age for years!”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Hannah smiled kissing her forehead gently, “well done sweetie, I’m so proud of you. Should we put your certificate on the fridge?”

Avery nodded enthusiastically and went to get a magnet from the drawer. Suddenly she came to a halt and with a confused look picked up a rectangluar piece of card, furrowing her little eyebrows.

“Mum?” she asked curiously, “why is there a postcard on the counter?”

Hannah felt her heart rate pick up. He left her the postcard. Of course he had.

She looked around to Avery and bit back a smile, “let’s play a game Ave.”

“What kind of game?” she asked, folding her arms.

“One of our usual ones, it’s called I Have A Secret.”

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madamspellmans-met-tet · 6 hours ago

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✨Polycoven Headcanons ✨

Lilia is essentially the High Priestess of the Coven and everyone worships her (read that however you prefer in terms of sfw/nsfw). Every single one of the coven members holds love for her, admires her, respects her. They all think her incredibly powerful due to the nature of her magic and that in itself is attractive to them. Then of course most of them have mommy issues and who is Lilia if not mama? She gives them a sense of comfort and nurtures their emotional needs since each of them has some sort of lack there. They will do anything for her.

Even Agatha listens to her after Lilia manages to tame her to a degree (again: read however you wish). Agatha is her little brat and Lilia accepts her just as she is in complete contrast to her mother, which leads to Agatha trusting her like she does no other. Agatha gets jealous when Rio spends too much time with Lilia/in her proximity, but on a deeper level it’s the fear of Rio taking Lilia.

Rio and Lilia have a similar dynamic since Rio is mostly seen as destructive and evil, but Lilia knows that what she does serves to maintain the cosmic balance and that she is not only the end of life but also its beginning. Their bond results in Rio being extremely possessive of Lilia.

Alice is Lilia’s little baby. She feels incredibly protective of her, which is something Alice needs because she’s always been the one to protect others but desperately needs security and stability herself. They’re always found snuggled up on the couch together when they have the time.

Jen and Lilia have a sort of besties relationship with lots of playful bickering but also Jen is a rock for Lilia. She’s the one Lilia confides in when she needs advice or just someone to listen herself. They do arts and crafts and cook together! They’re the only ones allowed in the kitchen. Jen just makes Lilia feel very grounded.

Sharon sleeps in Lilia’s bed. It’s her comfort person. She doesn’t know much about what’s going on but she’s happy to be there.

Billy is grandson. He’s the one Lilia goes to when she wants to have a laugh and banter and gossip. He tells her all the hot tea and teaches her pop culture. He made a fan account centred around her and regularly shows her what people are saying about her (only the nice things of course because that’s his nana!) Lilia is quite flattered by all the compliments and interest. It boosts her ego and helps her feel sexy.

Overtime, the coven expands as more and more covenless witches join them and it turns into a sort of cult with Lilia as the centre figure (without that ever having been anyone’s intention). But the original coven remain the only ones in the inner circle and with the privilege to touch (and more) with Lilia. To be spoken to by Lilia is like a blessing to her followers and to be invited into her room and rest their head in her lap while she tells them what time holds for them is a spiritual experience. (give me a shoutout if you use this concept:))

Bonus: NSFW!

Orgies. Everyone wants to get into Lilia’s pants. Her scent is like an aphrodisiac to them. They’re all over her at any given time if she lets them. All she has to do is spread out in the middle of the bed and she will be taken care of. Agatha and Rio fight over who gets her breasts and Lilia will tell them to each take one and if they can’t behave, Alice gets both. Jen is her fav to prepare her because she’s the most sensual. Alice is her fav to make her come because she always puts her pleasure first and understands her body well. Though everyone gets their turn and they won’t stop until Lilia tells them she’s fully satisfied. She never has to do anything in return but if she feels like it, she will give back—but no one is able to speak afterwards.

(started this post bc I just wanted to say that I’m obsessed with the idea of Lilia being worshipped by everyone and treated like a goddess and it escalated)

#Lilia Calderu #Agatha harkness #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #Rio Vidal #billy maximoff #calderess #lithario #Alice x Lilia #Jennifer x Lilia #Agatha x Lilia #agatha x Lilia x Rio #Lilia calderu headcanons #poly coven #Patti Lupone

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bubonicc-writing · 2 days ago

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Lucanis & Spite sleepwalk headcanon

I am so happy to see we are all on the same Brainrot level of believing Spite will walk Lucanis to Rook's room because Lucanis is taking too long.

Here's my take:

Spite is annoyed with Lucanis after the attempted and flubbed kiss. He hopes around Lucanis on the balcony berating him for not going for it. Because of this, Spite takes matters into his own demonic hands.

For the next few days, Spite purposely is quiet in Lucanis’ mind and presence. Because of this, Lucanis isn’t as focused as he normally would be and while he standing trying to prepare some veggies, his eyes grow heavier and heavider. They close, and a second later reopen with Spite giggling to himself.

Lucanis startles awake with his hand on Rooks’ room door handle. He is momonterily confused before gritting his teeth.

“Spite” He growls out in a low tone before turning back around and heading back to his pantry.

Unfortunately for Lucanis, Spite continues his silent plan, getting Lucanis again a few days later.

This time, Lucanis wakes, eyes blurry, and he blinks them into focus to see the back of Rooks head.

He stiffens, realizing he’s laying down on the chase, their bodies not quite touching, but close enough that he can hear Rook’s sleeping breaths.

He wants to jump back, but it might startle rook awake, so he does what he does best and moves as smooth as an assassin only could.

He thanks the maker he has the ability to make his footfalls silent as he scurries from Rook’s room. All the while his heart is pounding and his face feels hot.

“Stop doing that!”

“No…”

It takes Spite a little longer to take control as Lucanis is wise to his goal now. But sleep inevitably calls.

Again, he wakes laying on the chase, this time, one arm is lazially slung over Rook’s waist. He is close enough this time to smell Rook’s gentle scent.

He gets up again, but as he turned toward the door, he pauses and looks over his shoulder.

Rook, still asleep, looks incredible with the glittering light from the fishtank draping them. Their features are soft, and their hair slightly covering their face.

Lucanis turners and stands at the chases side a moment before reaching a hand down and brushing the hair from Rook’s face.

“Lay down.” Spite’s voice is but a whisper. He knows Spite can feel how badly he want’s too, and he feels how hard it is to turn away as Spite tries to keep him in place.

It isn’t until the third time that he wakes up with Rook oon the chase that he realizes something is different. He dosen’t see the back of Rook’s head, and he feels warmer than usual.

It takes him a moment to realize Rook is tucked against his chest, head under his chin.

As he tries to quietly pull away, his shirt collar is tugged. He didn’t realize Rook had curled their fingers into his shirt.

“Stay.”

He feels warm breath on his neck as Rook’s voice grits out groggily.

Lucanis is frozen, wondering is Rook can feel his heart about to burst out of his chest. He blinks a few times before finally lifting his arm and draping it over Rook, letting his hand splay across their back.

He sighs, his heavy eyes glancing up to see Spite with his elbows on the top of the chase. His chin is in his hands and he has the largest Shit-eating grin Lucanis has ever seen.

He takes in a deep breath and sighs, allowing his eyes to close.

#lucanis dellamorte #dragon age rook #dragon age #da: the veilguard

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spaceorphan18 · 5 hours ago

Note

the gifs you shared a few minutes ago (of Colin in his pirate coat) made something stand out to me, so I thought I'd share...

in the top gif, you can see that when he picks up the girl's glove and gives it back to her, he never actually touches her skin when he takes her hand and presses a kiss to it - he holds onto the glove and kisses the top of the glove. because, back then, it would be inappropriate for there to be direct skin contact between them.

BUT, when he visits Pen to apologize to her and makes a deal to help her find a husband, you'll notice that Pen hesitates when he goes to shake her hand because she's not wearing gloves, but he silently encourages her to do so. and then she's also not wearing her gloves when she helps to bandage his hand later on. tsk tsk.

I just like how it shows that Colin is mindful of societies rules and careful to obey them, but is always willing to break them for Pen :)

YESSSSSSS!!

I never noticed this before but you're totally right! He does not make skin to skin contact. And... I mean I think this is so important in understanding Colin's character. All of this nonsense with him coming back and being mr. flirt and going to brothels and whatever is soooo Colin doing what he thinks he should, but never really committing.

Does he like the attention from these women? Sure! Does he necessarily care though? Not really. For Colin, it's not that he specifically wants attention from these ladies. It's more of an act. More of a -- hey guys, look, I can make ladies swoon, too. And yeah, that does help one's ego to get the attention. Colin is human after all. But all of these interactions remain distant and hollow.

He's badly missing Penelope at this point. He's been around the world, finding confidence in himself by trying to fit into society (a theme that runs through Colin, Penelope, and Eloise's stories in this season). And, as his mother implies, has put on a set of armor around his heart. He's already had his heart broken once. And he doesn't really understand (yet) why Penelope's absence is so detrimental. So it's easier to play a part than to be the Colin Bridgerton we're all used to him being.

If you go back and watch all of these scenes -- all the flirting he does has an element of distance. They're all about /them/ -- like, /you/ ladies are wonderful. None of them are about /him/. None of them are -- wouldn't I like to be with you. They indulge those other women, but he's doing it for their reaction -- not because he actually cares. Because to care means his heart could get broken again. Because to care means being the old Colin, and he's trying very hard not to be that Colin.

Likewise, with the whole brothel thing. He's not having one-on-one sessions. He's having group sessions. Way less intimacy that way. Sexy times and feeling good can happen without any of the need for emotion or connection. Because returning him Colin is trying not to have that.

Except. You can't ever really run from yourself. And Colin, whether he knows it or not, really wants that connection.

In contrast, he not only shakes Penelope's bare hand, but clasps it with his other. It's an incredibly intimate moment. He's always had moments like this. Regardless as to whether they're romantic or not (or if he understands any of that) she is important to him. He has always kind of said 'fuck you' to society norms when it comes to her, (and will probably always do so).

Even when Colin is at the height of his wanting to be Not!Colin, he's still pulling stuff like this. Penelope is an anchor to himself. One that he continually choses not to let go of.

I honestly love it.

#bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #polination #i find early season 3 Colin so fascinating and could talk about him forever

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slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

Text

Touch: Part 5

Rating: explicit (smut, language)

Summary: So... it's after you and Din talk...

tags: Angst, slight dub-con (I never know bc I would always fuck Din?), being mad as fuck at Din, how could he?, Din/Mando being a dumb stupid idiot, reader also being a dumb stupid idiot. Idiots in LOVE, mutual pining, then normal smut things (without spoilers to the chapter, sorry) SPOILERS TO The Book of Boba Fett and The Mandalorian.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you read this on ao3, no you fucking didn't. It's still unbeta'd, but proofread!! I did that this time!! I also am re-working the story slightly because I CAN.

a/n pt2: I don't know shit about Star Wars/ The Mandalorian. I did however spend an un-Makerly amount of time learning for all of us. If you're not well versed in the lore or the history of Star Wars/ The Mandalorian-- that's okay! This is Star Wars/ Mando for Beginners. (Also stating this as a warning for anyone well versed in the universe and the lore-- shhhhhhhhhhhhhh. DON'T COME FOR ME)

<- Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

The Jedi Code was taught to you. Engraved in your mind.

Harmony, serenity, peace and knowledge. The force. The lightside.

All the bad things; chaos, emotion, passion, ignorance, death.

The darkside. You learned to not fear the darkside, but instead to embrace the force.

Even though you didn’t have the maker forsaken force inside of you! Not even a litte bit! None of 'the force' had found its way into you!

Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano trained you as if you did!

Why!?

They spent so much time building you from the ground up! They made sure you had muscles and could run for long distances. The pair trained you how to fight with your hands!

Your hands know how to use a lightsaber! That's not an easy feat, and it takes a long time to learn that skill.

Oh, how long? A really long time!

Two years!

Two long years without any sign of that man in the tin can outfit! He's never called, he's never come to visit!

Two. Fucking. Years.

Sometimes you hated Din for leaving you here but you very quickly remember that you asked for this.

Wanted this more than anything.

Foolish!

You wanted so badly to make sure the child was cared for; the child was older than you are!

Much, much older! Not even a baby at all, but a toddler where he comes from. A very special toddler. A force sensitive toddler.

Coming here was a mistake! The only thing you do here is clean up the messes Grogu- that's the child's Maker forsaken name. He has a name!

Grogu makes messes, so you clean them, and get hit with sticks as some sick and twisted form of 'training'! It feels like a joke when they told you to 'block your face and important organs' and then started to pummel you with the hardest, most fast moving sticks you've ever seen!

Not having any amount of the force inside of you really makes training with Jedi's incredibly difficult! Grogu seemed to be having a blast training with Skywalker.

They trained differently, so unfortunately the two of you didn't see each other much, and when you did, your time with him was cut short.

The two of you grew up here a little, together while separated.

Luke and Ahsoka claimed that you babied him and it would impeed his training, so they kept you apart as much as they seemed humane. You became so very depressed without the child and Din.

All alone even though you were surrounded by so many people.

The nights that you got to spend with Grogu were usually spent laying under the stars outside the Jedi temple, speaking fondly of Din.

Mostly for the child's sake, because you only wonder if he had completely forgotten about you.

The answer to that question came when Luke came to Grogu with a gift.

“A gift?” You say with a curled lip.

Have you not just spent all of your time here; learning the way of the Jedi? That was an attachment and you– in your two years becoming a mock Jedi– were weary. The darkside. The emotion. The attachments.

This was scary.

Luke held the gift in his hands while he spoke. You're subtlety looking for your gift but... you don't see one. Only one parcel.

Oh.

“This gift would be the end of both of your Jedi training, should he keep it. Attachments may not be had, by anyone.” Luke looks between the both of you as you stand before him.

Why is he looking at you!? You might stay at this temple and learn all the ways of the Jedi and become the most powerful non-force sensitive Jedi the galaxy has ever seen!

“You both have come so far, you have so much potential. Both of you.” Luke’s eyes fall on you. “I’ve been surprised before, but this was a pleasant one. Watching you both learn so much. I hope he both makes the choice that’s best for you.” Luke looks to Grogu and hands him the package wrapped in brown paper.

“Why couldn’t I stay if he wanted to leave?” You ask Luke.

“You come with the child. You leave with the child.” Luke explains simply.

Maker-- alright. You can’t argue with that. You don't have much to offer besides cleaning up the kid's messes. They're probably tired of watching you perfect the lightsaber.

You're actually pretty good.

Grogu glances up at you just as you look down at him. You kneel on one knee so you can be closer to him, and watch as his six little clawed fingers struggle with the twine wrapped around it, but he uses the Force.

“Cheater.” You whisper to him.

The gift is beskar. A piece of... Mandlaorian armor for Grogu.

“ Mando said he can’t put it on until he sees you–”

“M-Mando’s here?” You interrupt accidentally. Your heart begins to pound in your chest at the thought that you might actually be able to see him right now.

Luke gives you a knowing look, as if you should know better, and shakes his head from side to side.

“Ahsoka sent him away. It would interfere with your training. If you wish to stay here and train, continue to learn the Jedi way. You both have come far, but it’s nowhere near close to done. Accepting this would end that training.”

It’s a warning.

The energy in the room is so intense. You can feel electricity in the air almost. Grogu is still standing beside you, looking down at his own piece of beskar.

What’s he going to do?

Luke reaches into his robe.

Everyone here has all these hidden pockets for things in their clothes. You have a couple hidden pockets now too . For things you may need to hide and pull out in moments just like this one day. You hope. It’s so cool when they do that.

Luke hands Grogu a lightsaber. Grogu’s own lightsaber.

“You have a choice, young padawan.” His gravelly voice rakes across your brain.

It's so quiet for so long.

Grogu touches the lightsaber softly. Admiring it. He did the same thing with the armor.

So long you waited. Understandably, this was a hard choice.

Grogo picks the armor.

Grogu and yourself are on a ship to a hangar where Din is waiting for a response. Your knees are complete mudslides right now. They are not supporting you and they have two years of Jedi training behind them. They’re strong.

The nerves got to them, though--ate away all the tendons you ever had and dissolved the muscle down to nothing.

Din had been on your mind every single day for two years, and he didn't even ask if YOU wanted to come back. Only Grogu! You feel like a fool sitting next to the tiny green toddler.

Where are you supposed to go when Din tells you that he doesn't need your services anymore!?

The ramp of the ship drops down and there is a cloud of dust. And then there he is. Standing at the base of the ramp, like he had been waiting for you two. Or apparently just Grogu. Since he’s the one who got the gift.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No attachments. Perfect. You’re basically a Jedi.

Grogu, who is so much faster, so, so much faster than you ever remember him being, flings himself at Din, and attaches himself around his neck.

You watch in amusement, wishing you could do the same thing but you’re partially a Jedi now, so you keep your composure and walk down the ramp slowly. Your mouth is so dry, you don't even attempt to swallow because you know it'll just end in you choking.

Din hugs the child tightly. Their embrace is so sweet. So kind. It makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

It makes your heart pang as well.

They hug for a long time before Grogu looks back at you, pulling away from Din’s neck. Grogu extends a curved hand to you. You suddenly feel a gentle pressure around your waist, and are being dragged forward, against your will, feet stumbling beneath you.

You point your finger at Grogu. “Hey!” You shout. The pressure around your waist stops and you’re set back down on your feet carefully. “I told you to knock that off!"

This is Grogu’s new, fun game. Picking you up and putting you where he wants you. He hasn’t stopped doing it since he learned how.

Dropped you a couple times in the beginning.

Din chuckles from under the helmet. “I see your relationship has changed quite a bit.” His flat rasp is the same as you remember it. "He's the one carrying you around now,"

“It’s basically still the same. I have to yell at him for doing things he shouldn’t.” You scowl at Grogu, who hides himself behind Din's helmet.

“It’s nice to see you," Din's modulated voice is even and quiet. As if he doesn't want to say it at all.

That’s it. No hug. Nothing. Not even a handshake.

You could hit him. For several seconds you think about doing it.

Now your fist– with two years of Jedi training– and it might actually hurt him. It might hurt him a lot, and you’d feel good about it. So good.

"It's nice to see you, too."

The anger is pumping in your veins as he leads you through the hanger behind him. You look at all the ships, and look for the Crest but you don’t see it anywhere. Eventually Din stops in front of a ship much larger than the Crest. Bigger guns on it too.

Din just stands there and looks at you with his stupid helmet shining in the bright light of the hangar. You don’t know what to do. He dropped you off on Ossus where the Jedi temple was, and didn't give you a hug. Not a pat on the shoulders. Literally nothing.

"Keep the kid out of trouble. You'll hear from me soon."

That's all Din had said before he and Grogu went to say their goodbyes!

"It's a new ship." Din points to the giant hunk of metal he’s standing in front of. His beskar looks exactly the same. Maybe a new scrape or two. A ding here or there but you’re not even looking. Not even paying attention to him. Trying not to.

“Okay...” You resort to using your favorite word.

Why, Maker? Why can’t the man in the helmet speak? Is his helmet on mute? Always so fucking quiet. Until you don’t want him to be, then he won’t shut up.

Din leads you inside. Shows you the sleeping quarters. There are two beds. One for each of you.

There is a separate room for the child.

The dining room is nice and everything else is so nice. So much nicer than the Razor Crest. Even the cockpit you have no idea how to use.

You look all around the hull like it's very interesting. This is so awkward. Not what you expected when you were on your way here. It's not like you expected a welcome back party. Maybe a hug. Something.

"What happened to the Crest?" You ask, trying to avoid looking at him.

"It was destroyed."

The sleeping quarters are different from the Razor Crest. The beds are close together, but separated and welded to the floor so there is no way to move them closer together.

The mats that are nestled into the metal frames are thicker and much more plush than the one you had slept on for so long before you were banished away to the Jedi temple.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No emotion. No attachments. It’s all fine.

The small bag that holds your very few belongings stays packed in case he doesn't plan on you staying very long. He could very well be headed right back to Cantonica to drop you back off at the Canto Bight Casino!

The three of you eat dinner in silence.

Din says not one word to you and you don't try and strike up the conversations like you used to. Things feel so different now, like the two of you are complete strangers all over again.

Grogu has changed in ways that are hard to describe. He's still a baby in your eyes even though he's older than you and Din.

The two of you play together on the floor while Din or maybe you should call him Mando again, since you barely know this man after two whole years, does something in the cockpit.

Grogu warbles and you watch all the new, fun things he can do with the Force that aren’t moving you unwillingly. It's the first real fun the two of you are able to have since being dropped off at the temple. You missed being able to play with him. You still snuggle him at the protests of Luke and Ahsoka-- how could you not when he climbs into your lap and cuddles into your arms.

Like he knew you couldn’t resist.

Grogu can put himself to sleep now which is incredible, and that means you have time to do whatever you want.

So you’re in your bed with your nice new sheets. They’re soft. Like the ones on the Crest.

It’s dark here, too.

Maker, what in the stars?

The sun shields in this ship are no joke! There's no light at all. If you have to go to the bathroom, it’s just blind wishing that you don’t break you toes, or bump into a wall and potentially crack your skull.

It feels like you were completely forgotten about in those two years and now, in the dark silence of your shared sleeping quarters you just want to cry...

An emotion!? After two years of strict Jedi code training---

There is a ten thousand degree warmth on your upper arm in the void, and it scares you half out of the bed. Your tops of your feet and knees are on the cool metal of the ships floor, and you're leaning against the side of the bed-frame like you are praying to Maker.

“I was going to see if you were sleeping," Din's rasping sounds-- happy to talk to you?

You're unsure. Nothing else about the way he's spoken to you, or treated you at all makes you think he wants to talk to you.

"That's not how you find out if someone's asleep!" You bark at him angrily.

"You're awake though.” A flat, unimpressed response to your outburst.

Maker, if you had your own helmet with night vision, you’d use all your new fun Jedi fighting tricks on him. You sure would, because who is he!? Who does he think he is!?

After two years he can come back and just throttle you awake in the dark like before? Nope. Not this time.

“You’re lucky I can’t see you right now.” You say over the pounding heart in your chest. “So lucky-- What do you care if I'm awake in the night?! Let me sleep!” You’re so cold with him, mirroring him perfectly minus the emotion. “I’m tired.” You lie to him.

In the usual Din fashion, he remains quiet. He still had his hand on your arm, and it's not like you really made an attempt to pull it away because it’s hot like you remember.. Burning you, he's so warm.

Din is also so fucking quiet! Maker! Is he okay?

“Tired?” Din’s voice rasps in the dark. "Then why aren't you sleeping?"

You realize the metal man has no grip on you whatsoever. He was just touching you very, very gently, and you easily could have pulled away at any moment.

So you you tug your arm away and you climb back into bed and face the opposite direction from him. "I was trying to sleep when you come over here-- shaking me in the darkness!"

“You…” Din trails off in the dark. “Still don't know the meaning of shake?” He questions you like a dumb idiot.

"Get away from me!" You almost shout it. "Just leave me alone!" You humph, and pull the sheets over your shoulder.

"Are you... mad at me?"

“Are you kidding me!?” You whisper at him. “I don’t know how you could leave me out there for two years, and I get nothing!?” You sit up in your bed now and talk blindly in the dark. “Nothing. No visit. No calls. Nothing.” You cross your arms over your chest. "No gift!"

Din stays silent- which was predicted- so you carry on.

“But you get Grogu a gift, which was very sweet. Very cute armor, he is going to look very cute it in.” You think of the child dressed in the armor and it's kind of amusing and slightly distracting.

“Are you done?” Din’s stupid modulated voice rings out in the dark after a minute of you imagining an armored Grogu.

It's so dark and you still don't really know where he is, so with your accusing index finger pointing in the direction he could be in, you almost shout, “No! I’m not done!”

You are in fact, not done.

“They treated me like I had the Force in me. Do you know how hard that is when you don’t have the fucking force in you!?” You exclaim in exasperation, still pointing at him.

You start to speak again into the blinding darkness when a warm hand very gingerly moves your accusatory pointing finger eight inches to your right.

“I figured I should at least be getting pointed at, if you’re going scold me,” Din rasps.

You die inside and wonder how dumb you look in the dark. “Why did you even bring me back? Hm? Why not just send me right back to the casino? Or is that where we’re going next? Gonna just drop me off? You even gonna land first or just let me duck and roll?” You huff, officially done with your rant.

“Are you don-” Din starts, but you cut him off.

“Yes!" You snap at him, and then you huff one more time for good measure. You're so angry with him.

So much for all your Jedi no emotion training.

“I have a gift for you.” Din says flatly through the modulator.

Oh.

“Well it’s so dark in here, so how would I know that?” You snip at him, not sure you’re fully ready to forgive him. You roll your eyes now.

“Would you still like it? Or are you too upset with me?” Din’s modulated rasp asks you, sounding annoyed.

Why does he have a right to be annoyed? He could have given you that gift the minute you step foot of that return ship that brought you back to him.

Why wait until the darkness!? Why!?

“Yes, I would.” You hold your cupped hand out into the dark and feel something cold and hard fall into it. “It would be nice if I could –”

The brightest beam of light you’ve ever encountered shines directly into your eyes. It’s blinding.

You jump again, out of bed because what the fuck is that!?

Is this an attack!?

What even is that light? Where is it coming from?

Thankfully, you wrapped your hand around the thing Din dropped into your hand so you didn't fling it into the abyss to never be seen again before you ever even got to look at it!

“Why are you on the floor?” Din asks, as you hold your free hand to your chest. You blink up at him, having to shield your eyes.

“Are you the light right now!?” You question him squinting your eyes in its brightness. "Are you the one blinding me!?"

“Yes." Din dims the light tremendously somehow from within his helmet and now, it’s easier on the eyes. Like a candle flame. "Was it to bright?"

“It was too bright! I don’t think I’ll ever see again.” You snip softly, resting on the floor and putting your elbows on the bed.

You inspect the small pink crystal in your hand. It takes you a couple seconds to realize what it is.

“Is this a kyber crystal?” You look up at Din who is knelt down on the other side of your bed.

He nods in the now pale light that's much easier on the eyes. “I got it on my travels. I thought that if you knew how to use a lightsaber, I’d get one for you. Put this crystal in it.”

Maker. What is happening?

“You thought of me?” You didn’t mean to say it. Part of you is still mad.

“Everyday .” Din’s awe and amazement voice is back. “Di- Did you not think about me?” Just as quickly as that sweet familiar tone had shown up, it's gone just as fast. Din can' believe that you didn't think of him during your time apart.

“I did.” You say quietly. “I thought you had forgotten me. Without the visits or calls or gift.” You do feel silly now because this really is a sweet gift.

The sweetest gift. More sweet than the notebook and the credits and anything else he's ever given you. The small pink crystal in your hand means so much to you. The fact that he got it for you, was thinking about you while you were gone. The fact that the meaning behind the gift is so big. You own lightsaber if you wanted one. Din would get one for you. Said it himself. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Never . I’ve been waiting to see you. Been thinking of you. Looking at your doodles every night.” He turns the light off and takes the crystal from your still outstretched hand.

“Hey! That’s mine.” You reach for it but he leaves you kneeling next to your bed like you are praying to Maker in the dark again.

“I’m going to give it back.” Din raps . “Do you want to get back in bed or are you content on the floor?”

You’re blinking into the dark. Wondering how dumb you look now on the floor blinking into the void. You scramble up without assistance and crawl into bed, facing the same direction as before. Away from Din.

Secretly, you’re hoping he’s sans beskar and crawls into bed beside you and lets you hold him like he did the nights before you left. With your arm around his waist, stealing his radiating heat from him while he sleeps. You’d mill kisses softly across his shoulders and you’d listen to him sigh and make sleep sounds in the darkness.

But that doesn’t happen. It’s so quiet. It’s so still for so long. You wonder if he’s crawled in his own bed and is fast asleep. What could this all mean? The gift? The cold welcome back after two years? Everything you did before you left? What did it mean and did you accidentally fall for a potential half man- half droid that’s never going to show you his face?

The dark is still, so quiet and unmoving. You feel like you’re alone in the room.

“C-can I touch? Or are you still too upset with me?” Din asks quietly, the rasp of his modulator is gone. His sweet deep voice is right in your ear. It doesn’t startle you because you’ve been waiting to hear him speak for so long.

“No.” You snap. “You couldn’t come touch me for two years! I would have let you then, any time you came to visit, I would have but you-”

His lips on yours stop you. You almost try and push him off, but Maker. I

t feels so good. His warm, soft lips on yours after all this time. You both open your mouths slightly, and as tentatively as Din touched you for the first time two years ago, his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth just as slowly.

It’s gone as soon as it appeared.

“I tried.” He whispers against your open mouth. “I got turned away every time. So many times I tried to see you.” He’s speaking fast, like he’s trying to explain himself to you before you beat him off of you with something hard you’ve found in the dark. “ So many times, little one."

The words melt over your tongue as he speaks them, almost as if they were your words.

Ahsoka and Luke never told you he came to visit. Not one time.

“I tried. I never forgot about you. Too perfect. Too beautiful to forget..." ” His bare hands cup your face as you speak. “Never forget you. Everyday I look at your doodles. I look at you, and miss you."

You're breathing in the words he's speaking into your parted lip. He kisses you again softly. You feel the bed shift next to you and he’s crawling beside you.

“Do you dislike me again?”

Maker, Din somehow got warmer. He’s running a fever all the time and his body feels like the embers in the fire pit at the end of the night.

“Again?” You whisper as he pulls your face down to the pillows with his.

“You didn’t care for me much before the doodles.” Din kisses your lips again, gently as his hand slips from your cheek. “I didn’t think you’d let me.” You can feel his warm breath on your chin as he speaks.

“Let you what?”

“Touch. Watch. The first time.” His real unmodulated voice whispers to you. “I've missed touching. Watching."

A warmth hovers over your middle, you reach for it. Tt’s Din’s hand, hovering above your stomach, under the blankets, but over your clothes.

“Touch me.” It almost doesn’t come out of your mouth because it’s so dry. But you croak it out and swallow hard as the word leaves your lips because you hope he does. You hope this isn't like the first night all over again where he makes you do it alone.

Din obliges and lets his hand drop, you feel the heat spreading out along your nightgown starting from where his hand rests on your lower stomach. It makes you inhale sharply. It’s such a familiar touch and you missed it so much.

Din sighs and drags his hands gently and slowly up your stomach, the fabric bunching at his wrist as he does it.

He's lifting your nightgown.

“Din,” You whisper as his palm cups one of your fleshy tits over the nightgown.

His rough, calloused hands were so gently, touching you so sweetly until your hand rests on his, you make him squeeze you. You make him because you need to know this is real and these soft gentle touches feel like a dream.

Din grips you now. He can feel your desperation in your hand on his. Squeezing and pulling and tugging at your flesh.

“Fuck.” He moans softly into your shoulder where his head was resting. The fiery goodness from his forehead felt like it was melting you. “Perfect. Beautiful.” He says the word like he doesn’t want to. Like he’s been forcing them back but they’re breaking free from his vocal chords.

You can almost feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it’s yours.

You don’t know.

It’s just obvious that this is what you want and you need him. Badly. However he’s willing to give himself to you or however he wants to take you, you don’t care. You’ve been waiting and thinking about this for two years. Your body reacts to his touch like you were built for him. Your pussy is leaking and throbbing already and he’s only touched you once.

There's a new warmth, a wetness to these sensations now. Din’s wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and is sucking. Biting gently over the nightgown you have on. It sends shivers down your spine.

Words come flowing out of your mouth before you can even stop them. “I've waited so long for this.” You whimper quietly.

Your hips are rolling against the bed below you because everything just feel so good, everything is just so overwhelmingly pleasurable. Din’s hands and mouth on you, the heat he's passing along through his touch.

“Touch. I wanna hear you moan.” He murmurs against your breast. He’s still biting and sucking it through the fabric like he’s too impatient to take off the nightgown. He just can’t wait any longer.

“I need you to touch me.” You whine quietly. “Please.” You’re begging him. “Please, Din, I need to fee-” But he doesn’t make you beg long, his free hand slides between your legs and he sighs loudly against you.

“”Fuck. Fuck. You're s-so wet. So fucking perfect.” Din bites your nipple a little harder now, but then he pulls way. “Let me lick. P-Please. I just wanted to watch but now I need to taste you.” He’s moving down between your legs as he talks to you. Then he stops.

“Okay. Okay. Please. Do it, please.” You’re already spreading your legs but he’s getting off the bed again. “Nononononono.” You whine, reaching blindly for him in the dark. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please don’t leave me again.”

It’s so quiet. It’s like time stopped.

“Din?” You whisper. “Did you leave?”

“Where would I go?” He answers but he’s further away from you now. "It's my ship."

“Well you’re obviously not here– where you were!” You exclaim quietly. You hear him chuckle in the dark.

“Come to my bed. I want to do something. New.”

Oh Maker what could that mean? A new stun gun? Some weird thing he found in his travels?

Does he want to make you the lightsaber and put the focus crystal inside you? That’s where you draw the line.

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, clutching the sheets to your chest as you stare into the void. “New?”

“Come here. You said I could lick, yes? Let me.” Din’s voice in the dark makes you drop the blankets your clutching and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Come, little one. Let me lick you. Let me taste you.” His voice guides you to him and you start to crawl into his bed but he stops you. “Leg.” He says into the dark.

“Leg?” You ask, confused. Din reaches for you in the dark and taps your upper thigh.

“Leg.” He says like he’s teaching you body parts. “Swing it up here over my head.”

“What!?” You exclaim. “You want me to do what?!”

“I want you to sit on my face.” Din’s smiling in the dark and you can hear it in his voice.

“And you’re going to taste me like that?” You’re exasperated. You’ve never even heard of this. What does that mean, sit on his face. “I’m going to smother you!”

“Then I’ll die a happy man. Get up here.” Now he’s impatient. Din’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

You swing one leg over his head and straddle him, pressing both hands to the wall in front of you. The ship's metal is so cold on your clammy hands. You can feel him breathing against your inner thighs as you sit on your knees above him.

“ This is perfect.” Din whispers. You can only whimper quietly because you’re so nervous, you feel so exposed up here. “You want me to lick…” He leans up and gives the very top of your slit a quick teasing lick. “Here? Yes?”

Your knees buckle because Din’s tongue is just as soft and just as warm as you remember and you do want him to lick there. You can’t find words for how badly you want him. All you can do is let out a breathy sound of consent.

“Beautiful.” Din wraps his hands under your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth, his tongue is ready. Eager. Waiting for you to be on him, for him to be inside your folds. “Just as I remember.” He whispers into your pussy, tasting that flavor he memorized before you left and thought of it often. “I touched myself, thinking of you. To your doodles. To your flavor.” Din takes the flat of his tongue and licks you from your opening all the way to your clit, slowly, he presses up against you so you feel him.

He wants you to know he missed you.

“ Maker, yes. ” It’s moaned softly as Din presses the flat of his tongue against your slit and lets you ride his mouth. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. Why were you so scared? Being on top of him, this way, you were in control up here. “ Oh Din, yes.” You’re not holding back tonight.

You’ve been waiting to do this. Dreaming about it at night and waking up in the morning having to give yourself some sort of pleasure. You slide one hand down into his thick, coarse hair, just enjoying the feeling of it between your fingers again. You hear Din moan from between your legs and his tongue moves against you faster.

Your fingers tighten in Din’s hair as he holds you around the legs, you’re pinned down onto him. His tongue is lapping and exploring your folds. Licking at all the spots he remembers make you squirm. He memorized every inch of you before he left and he’s been thinking about you, keeping it fresh in his head for this moment so he can make you whimper and quiver like he used to.

Din is panting underneath you, he’s working for what you’re about to give him. His tongue was drifting between those big lazy circles that had you whimpering and begging him for more and tight fast spinning around your clit. That’s when his hands found your hips and started to move you on his face, his tongue flat, stroking your clit with each movement of your hips.

“Please don’t stop.” Pushing yourself off the wall you’ve been leaning against, you hover over him now, rocking your hips on your own. You found a rhythm with Din’s help. He holds your hips tighter now–not messing with the rocking of your hips–feeling you roll yourself along his mouth. As he does that he pulls you down harder on his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair and you grip it tightly now in both fists and grind down against his flat, strong muscle. “ Oh fuck yes . Din, I’m so close.” You’re whimpering for him.

Din moans loudly from underneath you, his hands now moving to your ass. He gropes and spreads your cheeks.

“M-moan again.” You stutter, your hips grinding harder and faster. The vibrations from Din’s moans will be enough.

Din obliges happily and moans loudly again, over and over as your head falls back, hips never stopping their rocking motion on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck–ing yes. Din, oh Maker!” You cry out. You don’t care if The Razor Crest is gone, you have those memories inside your head forever. You don’t have to hold back nearly as much here. You can let him know how fucking good he makes you feel. Your body is quivering as you grind against him. You can feel the prickles of his facial hair on your inner thighs and lips as you ride him.

Being on Din’s face like this was heaven. You can hear him noisily licking and sucking at the new wave of juices that are dripping from your entrance. As the warm ball of fiery goodness spreads through you, you start to shudder and tremble on top of him, his tongue never stops moving against your clit and then dipping inside of your hole to taste you as you leak out. Din laps at you until there’s nothing left. Sucking your lips into his mouth at the end to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He leaves you trembling above him for so long he has to tap your thigh again for you to swing It over his head.

"Sorry." You pant. "That was good. I'd do that again." You go to stand off his bed and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist.

"Don't go. Share the bed." He whispers up to you. "I waited for so long."

"I waited too!" You exclaim as all of your anger and fear of being forgotten about returns. "I waited for just as long as you did! You sure didn't act like you missed me or waited for me. Not until the lights went off at least." You're storming to your own bed now. You move quickly, not wanting him to hear or see the tears in your eyes.

You've been keeping this in for a long time. Letting it bottle up until you can't keep it in anymore. And the fact that he confessed all those nice things just to be able to touch you.

Din doesn't say anything in the dark, letting you try and find you way back in the void. It makes you sadder that he isn't trying to comfort you. The tears come, quietly, thank Maker, as you get into your own bed and wrap yourself in the covers. It isn't until you let out a little weeping sound that you hear him shuffle and then your bed shifts under his weight. Din's pressing himself into you gently, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"If you had reached for me, you could have felt my heart from under my beskar." He whispers in your ear. "I did miss you. I did wait for you." A small kiss along your jaw, "You didn't seem like you were happy to see me today." He sounds disappointed. "I thought you had forgotten about me. Maybe someone with a face and who didn't leave made you forget about me." Another small kiss in the same place. "I sat in the dark for so long, wondering if you were thinking of me. I had to come find out. I did't mean to scare you. Don't cry, little one. Please?" He's kissing your face gently.

"I don't think anyone could ever make me forget about you." You whisper into the void.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I'm still so uncomfortable tagging people in my stories, so like I said, please tell me to fuck off if you want me to stop. My feelings won't be hurt (yes they will), and it's completely fine (I'm a big girl and can handle it).

#pedro pascal characters #smut #long reads #din djarin #din x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din smut #the mandalorian spoilers #the angst starts here folks #strap in #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom #pedro pascal character

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child0feden · 2 days ago

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bård fucks you with and makes you cum all over both of his drumsticks before every live show he plays at by the way… just for good luck, obviously… fucker stays fully dressed whilst stripping you down and making a complete mess out of you only using his little wooden drumsticks but oh gosh does he know how to use them inside of you… it is a simple little dirty secret kept between just the two of you and it is the reason that he never gives anyone else his drumsticks, not even just to hold, because it would mean they were touching you so intimately in a sense and he does not like that at all ( because of course he does not wash them after you drench them in your juices, are you kidding me? he would never ever even think about washing your scent nor your sticky sweetness off )

does he lick up your cum from the sticks though? mmm, yes! yes, of course he does! he absolutely loves to taste you, he loves the taste of your cum so damn much! the taste is honestly just beyond addicting to him! you must refrain yourself from looking down at him after reaching your high because the sight of him running his tongue along a cum drenched stick and taking the tip further into his mouth before humming around it in approval at the taste your sweet cum is guaranteed to make you insanely horny again

every time bård gets a fresh new pair of drumsticks, the first thing he ever decides he wants to do with them is fuck you with them! he practically christens them with your cum and sweet juices… he blesses them with the honour of being shoved deep inside of you before he uses them to make music that he is just oh so passionate about, just as he is oh so passionate about loving you and giving you pleasure…

anyways, i just needed to share that little piece of information :)

#thoughts ✩#bard eithun x reader #faust x reader #emperor x reader

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syndrossi · 2 hours ago

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I was thinking about how Jace and Luke (and Joffrey maybe? I can't remember if he's been born yet) are all alone in KL and I realized there's a pretty good chance that they'd end up going to Daemon for any problems they have. I know that they don't really know him since he's been in the Stepstones for most of their lives, but with both parents and Rhaenys gone Daemon is really the only adult left. I guess Viserys it's there, but I think Rhaenyra has probably told them all about how he's the king and had lots of important things to do, so they might be a bit scared of disturbing him. Since they definitely won't be going to Alicent or Otto, that really only leaves Daemon. Again, he is kind of a stranger, but since he's close with both of their parents, and Rhaenyra had probably told them plenty of stories about him, they might feel more comfortable with him than with any of the other adults. The implications of this are kind of hilarious, because if something happens (one of them has a nightmare/ gets hurt training, etc) Daemon could very well find himself faced with two very young, very upset children, who, for some reason, seem to think he knows how to solve all their problems. If it becomes a regular thing, Rhaenyra and Laenor's reasons would be the funniest thing ever. Like imagine Rhaenyra send a raven to Viserys asking how her boys are doing, and he responds with "oh they're fine. Daemons looking after them." She would be really confused at first, but I think she'd be pleased to see how fatherhood has affected him. She's really the only person who seems to realize how much he wanted his own children, so I think she'd like seeing him bond with hers. Laenor on the other hand would wonder if there's another Daemon he doesn't know about.

Yep, Joff (and Daeron) are both two right now, so they're around.

There is actually a moment in ch33 where he realizes that they're all alone. He then immediately shifts to fury/resentment that his sons spent their entire childhood like that, but hey, even thinking about that is progress!

Daemon had entirely forgotten about Rhaenyra’s sons, currently without either parent. My sons spent the last six years of their lives thus.

Daemon is still learning object permanence of people on the edge of his sphere of "important to me." 😂

What might end up happening is that Jon breaks the "hey, so, we promised Aegon and Aemond they could sup with us" to Daemon, and for balance, he invites the Velaryon boys, who are FAR more appropriate company, the following night.

But you're right that Daemon is an adult who has spent enough time in their short lives to register as trustworthy. Heck, he took Luke up on a ride on Caraxes! The mental image of all the children trying to adopt themselves into Daemon's family is pretty hilarious, honestly.

Rhaenyra would definitely be touched by Daemon looking after her boys. As you said, she's one of the only people who noticed how badly he wanted children of his own, but that pain seemed to keep a distance between him and her sons (since they represented something Viserys denied him via his marriage to Rhea). Him opening up his heart to include them is a sign of healing/growth.

#resonant asks

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theyellowhedgehog · 7 hours ago

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Nothingness

2024 Fanfic Prompt Bingo : Mermaids

Summary

A universe where Bruce didn't become Batman but a marine biologist. When he was just a university student studying medicine, he rescued and recuperated a baby mer and handed it to the experts, this set his path to become a marine biologist specialised in the mermaids, abandoning medicine. From then on, he would rescue two more baby mers after that, Dick and Jason who became his new family members. Some of Bruce's children are merpeople. After Jason Todd's death, Bruce's life plummeted but a human boy appeared and took his sorrow away. However, ever since Jason Todd returned alive and sane, Tim began to wonder if there's meaning in his actions at all.

Dick,Jason are mermen. Tim is also one. He's just a little different.

#mer!Dick #mer!Jason #mer!Tim #Hurt fic #Mermaid Au #Mermaid lore #Damian,Jason and Dick are not likable here so be warned #Bruce&Tim

—------------

Bruce always noticed Tim. Ever since the young boy that appeared on his doorstep. He wasn’t like Dick or Jason. Tim was fragile, he bruised easily and had a fear of water. A drop or the ocean scares him. It was hard to watch when the boy struggled to drink water. So Bruce designed foods and drinks that would not flare up his allergy. This kept Bruce’s mind off his dead son Jason.

It was 11 in the morning.

Bruce was working on his research on the ocean temperature for mers in recovery when he heard a cough. He turned his chair to see Tim huddled under a warm blanket waiting for him on his couch in the study room. The boy sniffed back his snot. Bruce looked out the window to see the rain had started.

He got up from his desk and walked to the sniffing boy. “Tim, have you taken your medicine?”

Tim scrunched up his nose in disgust, “No, just seasonal allergies.”

Bruce signed and got comfortable on the carpeted floor, he touched the boy’s forehead. The thing about Tim is tho, he is always cold. Even when he is buried under the warmest blankets. Sometimes, Bruce had doubts that Tim is human.

He scooped up the boy into his arms along with the blankets, “Here we go buddy,” He carried Tim to his room. He set the piles of blankets in his arm to the abundant blankets on Tim’s bed.

The boy became a family member ever since he bullied Bruce into functioning. Bruce watched the boy as he struggled out of the pile of blankets, “Bruce,” the young boy called out and the man hummed in reply.

“Do you remember when we met 5 years ago?” Bruce slowly breathed out, it was always this question. Tim had been asking this question every now and then. Bruce thought Tim’s a chronic liar, because 5 years ago Bruce never met Tim.

“No,Tim. I don’t.” Tim quieted down and burrowed into the blankets with a small ‘oh’.

Bruce stood up but a small hand griped on the hem of his shirt. “If you remember one day, you must tell me.”

Bruce gave a soft smile of acknowledgement and softly shut the door.

—--------

Life is always full of surprises. His son, Jason, came back. Jason is alive! But his son doesn’t want him, he hates Bruce.

Tim kinda hates Jason too. He ruined all the process Tim had brought Bruce along.

Bruce was sitting on the swing of the back porch, he was processing the reality of what happened a couple of weeks ago. Tim was beside him, all wrapped up in fluffy wool blankets as they sat on the swing out the back porch with some accompaniment of light breeze. The wind would sometimes make light rain splattered their ways and Tim would use his blankets to shield both of them.

The 10 years old boy looked up to Bruce, Bruce was not present at all at the moment. The boy huffed out a pout, “Bruce,” he called out softly, when it didn’t bring Bruce back, he threw himself into the arm of the man.

“Dad.” This immediately brought Bruce back. But it wasn’t because of parental instinct, no, it was anger.

“Do not call me that ever again, Tim. I’m not your father. And you-”

“I’m not your son, I know.” Tim finished the sentence. “At least it brought you back, right?”

Bruce only sighed, as Tim chirped in, “Let’s go in, I’m hungry.”

Bruce deadpan looked at the young boy, “I came out here to get away from you, you know?” Bruce came out here because Tim was allergic to water so he would stay away from all places that have the risk of water being present.

“I know.”

Tim jumped up from the swing, his foot caught in the blankets, almost causing him to toppled outside into the rain when Bruce grabbed and pulled him back with dad reflexes.

Tim clinged onto Bruce in fear, as both their chest beat uncontrollable because of a few seconds ago. Bruce signed into Tim’s head as he hugged the boy close to his chest, “Never do that again.”

“Okay,” Dad, Tim whispered to himself as he burrowed himself into Bruce.

—---------

This year is full of surprises, a couple of months after finding out Jason was alive, Bruce found out another surprise.

“You have a son?” Tim asked, bewildered by the face that he saw when he opened up the front door.

“Move out of the way, interloper.” A small child spat such a high vocabulary word at Tim.

“Come on now, Damian, that wasn’t nice.” Tim looked behind the boy to see two humans. However, he scrunched up his face in confusion, how did Dick and Jason get human legs?

They all sat in the living room. The middle was the coffee table. On the left side of the table sat Damian, self-proclaimed Bruce’s blood son and on the other side were Jason and Dick with human legs. At the head of the table sat Bruce with Tim standing behind him, both shamelessly staring at the two mers that gained legs in fascination.

Bruce, too, was confused as he kept staring at the legs of Dick and Jason. “How..?”

Dick went on to explain that the king has passed a law for mers to gain legs without cost to protect his people from the sea witches.

Confused but nonetheless Bruce was happy that his children were back into his arms.

It has been 2 weeks since Damian, Dick and Jason started living in the manor. Tim knew that they didn't like him very much. Dick’s dislike was tone down but Jason and Damian’s? Theirs were glaringly obvious.

Ever since they found out Tim was allergic to water, they would weaponise it. They are such assholes. Although Dick did not instigate them, he remained neutral by not stopping them either.

So, little Timmy donned on his armor and ran to his defence wall named Bruce.

Tim hid behind Bruce as he tattled on everything the boys had done. Bruce was between the boys; as both sides spat at each other.

“Stop!” Bruce shouted to silence them, “Jason and Damian,” Bruce never condoned actions that could cause a life threatening emergency just because of their “harmless” prank.

“Your prank could end up killing Tim. If you guys don’t apologize and make up, I will have to make a decision.”

“Why don’t you send him away, Father!” Damian pointed at Tim, “He’s on the weak end of the genetic pool that wouldn’t survive long anyway!”

“Damian!” Bruce's tone of coldness silences them at once.

That night, while Bruce was tucking Tim into his bed, the boy kept staring at him. “What is it, Tim?”

Tim looked at the man another moment, “Do you still not remember me?”

Bruce's eyes soften, “I’m sorry, Tim I still don't remember you.”

The young boy sulked into the blankets only leaving his two eyes uncovered. “Then would you send me away?” The boy whispers so softly that Bruce might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening carefully enough.

“Never,” Bruce didn’t hesitate. He closed the gap between them and laid his warm forehead against the cold one. “This is your home too, Tim.”

Tim looked up at Bruce, unsure, “I’m not so sure they agree, Bruce.”

Tim observed Bruce carefully and gathered up his courage, “Am I one of your children now, Bruce?”

Bruce straightened his back and his eyes met the same blue ones. “You’ve always have been, Tim. I’m sorry, I kept you out for so long.”

Tim hummed in a pleasant tune, “Can I call you Dad now?”

Bruce softly chuckled, “Sure, son.”

Tim looked at him sincerely, “Dad, I’m a …”

Bruce waited for him to continued, but Tim never did. “Nothing, Dad. Good night.”

Bruce didn’t push any further, but somehow he felt there was something important that he was missing.

—-----

All of them were eating breakfast when a call came into Bruce’s phone, which the man stepped out of the dining room to answer it. Tim stopped eating and kept looking in Bruce's direction. Damian sneered at the action, “What? Can’t even part with my father for a second?”

Jason joined in the taunt, “Yeah, no one likes clingy babies.”

Tim didn’t give them the satisfaction of winning, he didn’t react and kept looking at Bruce's direction when the man came back.

As soon as Bruce sat down, Tim asked, “What are those hooligans up to now?”

Bruce, sipping his coffee, said, “They are trying to legalize the license to hunt mers.”

Bruce ignored ‘WHAT’ exclaimed from the other three, “I might need to go down to stop this. I’ll be leaving in an hour.”

“Okay,” Tim replied, “Stay safe, Dad.” he added with a smirk to provoke the other three.

—-------

It had been 3 days since Bruce went missing.

Tim huddled in his piles of blankets in his room. Since 3 days ago the rain never let up.So, Tim had been stuck inside the house heart full of worry and anxiety. Dick, Jason had been searching for Bruce in the sea since the first day. Damian also joined in on the search. Just as he was about to return to pray for Bruce, Damian entered his room as he kicked open the door with a bang.

Damian climbed up the bed and tried to strangle Tim–while the other struggled, when it didn’t work, he resorted to suffocating the other boy, “It was all your fault! If it wasn’t for stupid ideas you put in his head, he wouldn’t have made enemies!”

Tim covered his head with his arms when Damian started beating him, “I-, you weren’t there!” He pushed back the boy, making him fall off the bed. Tim stood up, his arms bruised red from the hits from Damian earlier.

Tim fisted his own hair in frustration, “You weren’t there! None of you were there! It was the only thing that worked to bring Bruce back!”

“Well, your idea just killed my father!” Damian stood up and screamed, “New evidence was found while you were wallowing in your comfortable bed.”

Tim lighted up instantly, “Have they found Bruce?”

“No,” Damian sniffed his tears away, “They found father’s shoe floating down the shore an hour ago.”

Tim moved back in fright, when Damian’s eyes full of hatred fell on him, “Tell me, what are the chances of a man being alive after drifting in the sea for three days with the storm?”

“N-No,” Tim fell into his bed, his hands shaking, “Nonononono!. This is a lie!”

“Good.” Tim paused with his eyes puffy brimming with tears. Damian sneered at him, “ You should be suffering for what you have done!”

“You killed my father, you bastard!”

Tim didn’t wipe away the tears that fell. He could have easily wiped it away with the blanket. But would there be any point?

Bruce is dead after all.

Damian glee stopped when he saw the face of the other boys started to bubble and melt. Horrified by the sight, he screamed.

“Y-you're a monster!” As he scampered out the room, screaming in fear.

Tim looked down at his hands that were starting to deform as the tears dropped on them. The pain was eating him alive. He was afraid of dying, but the tears won’t stop. It won’t stop.

He looked out the window to see the raging sea among the storm, then he looked down at his hand, he sighed as his shoulders dropped in defeat. His hands started to turn back sea foam.

He looked up in resignation, Tim always thought when he returned to nothingness Bruce would be there holding him.

But now, there was nothing but coldness. With his last breath, he mouthed to the nothingness,

I’m sorry, Dad.

—---

Miracles are indeed miraculous. 5 days after, they found Bruce. He was severely dehydrated and hypothermic.

Bruce was hospitalized for 3 days, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining brightly on the sky. He saw Alfred, Dick, Jason, Damian and other people visiting him. Never Tim.

The rain had stopped since yesterday, but his son had yet to visit him.

The room was lively with Dick telling jokes and Alfred tidying up the room.

“Where’s Tim?” Bruce finally asked the dreaded question.

However, the only reply he got was avoidance.

On the day of his discharge, he came home, Tim didn’t come to welcome him back. He rushed up to his son's room to see it was bare, as if unused, as if Tim was all a dream.

Bruce turned to his butler, “Alfred, where is Tim? Where did he go?”

The three boys behind the butler were nervous, they had lied to Alfred that Tim had run away but doubted the old man would believed them.

“I’m afraid, Master Tim had run away, Master Bruce.”

Bruce never gave up searching for Tim. He spent 30 years searching for his little boy. The big news was everywhere, on the magazine, on the paper, on billboards. However, Tim was never found.

30 years had passed, and the once childish and pompous boy now became a reputable gentleman. Damian is now a man that inherited his father’s love for mers, and he, himself, became a famous Dr. specializing in marine biology.

Damian knocked on the open door of the office, then entered. He looked at the man working on a laptop. That man is his father. Father had aged very much in the last 30 years. He just now let go of searching for his lost little boy. But Damian knew he never stopped looking.

Damian hands tightened on a file, he doubted telling his father the truth now would not make any difference. Rather he kept searching for Tim than letting his father mourn another son’s death.

“Father,” Damian entered the office and placed the file on the desk beside the laptop. “I have found something interesting that I thought you might like to see.”

Bruce glanced at the file and his cold eyes immediately softened. His wrinkly hands felt the hardcover of the ring file, smudging the dust. Unlike all the other files that were brimmed with papers of research, this file only had 2 pages. On the front page of the blue ring file, a piece of paper is taped onto it. Written on it was, First Rescue.

“This,” Bruce took the file into his hands, holding it so dearingly, and flipped it open.

“This is my first ever encounter with mers.” Bruce carefully creases the picture of a little mer that he rescued when he was just a medical student. “He was so small, his eyes weren’t open yet.” Bruce's eyes looked at another picture of the little mer that he took on his iphone, “He was so fragile, lungs were not working well. Experts suspect he was abandoned by his pod because he does not have what it takes to survive.”

Unlike the other files, there were no notes in this, only pictures.

“The first night I found him I thought he was not going to make it. But he proved me wrong. He drank cow milk like he was a man in the Sahara desert.” Bruce chuckled at the memory of the young mer, “He was what made me pursue becoming who I am today. He only stayed with me one day, the wildlife rescue took him away the next day.”

Bruce turned the next page, it was a newspaper column. At the bottom of the column, at the smallest section, was news about the release of a recuperated baby mer.

“I always wondered how he was doing.”

Damian left Bruce to reminisce about his old days. Bruce remembered everything that had happened 35 years ago, including rescuing a baby mer. Sadly, he failed to recognise Tim.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------If you guys like to see the Draft (different from the one under), I will put the link under the Bingo card post. Because I feel like the draft is a plot of its own. I won't edit the draft tho, so it will contain grammar error, misspelling and plot holes.

See 2024 Fanfic Prompt Bingo Post for my other bingo fics.

This is another idea I had for the mermaid prompt, but never made it out to be a real story but still deserve some love. This story is with a comedic setting different from Nothingness.

#dc comics #fanfic #bruce wayne #tim drake #batman #mermaid #2024 fanfic bingo

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alea-jottun · 18 hours ago

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Arcane season 2 rewrite part two : Jayce (version 1 with the wild runes)

(other parts here)

Again, we can start with the classic LoL lore and add Arcane elements.

Jayce is horrified by the lengths Viktor is willing to go to in the name of progress. He refuses that hextech and shimmer be used on unwilling patients (even with the goal to save them), but he still thinks he can bring Viktor back to reason. In his mind, Viktor betrayed him, betrayed them both, their hextech dream and what they both believed in, but he can still make him see the errors of his ways. He feels terrible about the trial Viktor had to go through (especially since he was in his place a few years ago, and if Viktor had not supported him through this ordeal, he would have ended his own life) but to him it was the best, most peaceful solution to stop his partner. And now he is haunted by Viktor's expression as he voted to cut him out of Hextech and to banish him.

Therefore, after the fallout, in an attempt to explain himself, he tracks Viktor and Singed in Zaun and ends up finding them : upon realizing what Viktor has begun to do to his own body, Jayce flies off the handle and the two of them have a terrible fight.

Fast forward to a few years later.

The war between Piltover and Zaun rages on, with shimmer as its main fuel.

Jayce has become egotistical and prideful. His arrogance is fueled both by the adoration he's lavished in (although he cannot discern the difference between genuine admiration and sycophants wanting to use him for their own interests), and by the fact that in the lab, no one can keep up with him since Viktor left. No lab partner can ever equal Viktor, his brilliant mind, his sharp remarks, his dry humor. The void left by Viktor cannot be filled.

It doesn't help that now he has trouble sleeping unless he has emptied the liquor shelf. It doesn't help that he has to fight everyday to extinguish the voice of his conscience as he's making new weapons (it's to protect Piltover, it's because the Zaunites started it, the fights in broad daylight, it's because Viktor is supplying them with super soldiers, it's because the Council and the whole city is counting on him, who is he if he cannot be the Defender of the city, it's because-)

He refuses that any "Man of Progress" posters be installed in his own house.

The situation has been particularly unbearable this year, as the epidemic of shimmer has now taken to the steets of Piltover. Piltover citizens are getting addicted to the substance too. The councilors are conniving to put the blame on Jayce, blackmailing him with the fact that he tried to negociate peace with Zaun, only for Zaun to lauch a missile on the Council. Shimmer is no longer a pretense to keep Zaun in check, it it a real problem in both cities.

And then the wild runes appear.

Understanding that the wild runes must be stopped and that this urgency is beyond the current war, Jayce tries to get back in contact with Viktor. Unfortunately his efforts are fruitless.

And that's where he ends up touching a wild rune which sends him to the future in which Piltover is destroyed (it's a vision of the future, not an alternative universe. This distinction is important). I would keep most of Jayce's adventure in the wild rune the same as Arcane, because I really liked this idea (also the poetic imagery of him having to metaphorically tread the same path as Viktor, etc. And yes he still hallucinates Viktor in this^^)

Once Jayce is out, he embarks on his redemption path and apologises to Heimerdinger and Mel for the pain and troubles he has caused them (I need to work out the details, but in this AU their relationship has soured, because the war has put them all face to face with their contradictions and they cannot go on any longer.) With Heimerdinger's help (after he has explained to him the danger of the wild runes and Heimerdinger refrains very politely from saying "I told you so"), he finally locates Viktor. He has heard the rumors, about death and shimmer traffic, but also about saved lives and new filters and prosthetics, and he doesn't know what to think. Has Viktor changed as much as himself ? Is his partner still present, under the Herald ?

The realisation that he has deluded himself for so long hits him hard. He needs Viktor, needs him as a partner in the lab, in his life, needs his help to put an end to the madness that is the current war.

They finally meet (although Viktor has trouble believing Jayce wants anything other than to kill him), and finally begin to unravel the years of anger and resentment and lack of understanding that brought them to this point. They are both haunted men now, with their own demons, but a spark of reconciliation and hope has been lit...

...until Jayce asks Viktor to help him rid Piltover and Zaun of shimmer, and Viktor explains exactly how his body works.

This is the one thing Jayce has no right to ask.

He has condemned Viktor when he implanted the hexcore to save his life.

#arcane rewrite #jayce talis #jayvik #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #viktor arcane #arcane #I will probably work on another version without the wild runes plot point #because I am not sure whether I like it or not #more details later #I genuinely thought that s2 would push Jayce and Viktor to their limits and make them understand how naive they were #to think that no weapons would be made out of hextech #I wanted them both to make mistakes in their desire to protect their people / to survive #they were supposed to be this metaphor against scientific hubris etc.#good people brought to tragedy by the war #s1 teased a big fight between them then a reconciliation #but no #nothing of that in s2

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aldisobey · 2 days ago

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The Veilguard's Gift

AO3 link for you all

Set some months after the epilogue. Rook is feeling rested and visiting Neve at the Cobbled Swan for some easy work. Unfortunately the conversation doesn't get a chance to stay light.

------

A muse fairy visited me tonight and put this in my hands. Normally spend way longer with stuff before putting it out there but I know this'll be in wips way too long if I don't offer it up now and I think it's fun enough to share (or not we'll see how the morning hits haha). Full story below because it's shy of 2k, guess I wanted to practice Neve for the future.

“Rook. It’s good to see you.”

“Neve!” It’d only been a few months but he couldn’t help it. Rook took off dashing and engulfed her in a hug. Nearly sent them both tumbling into the muddied street at the violent joy of it.

“Whoa,” she responded with a dry laugh and a smirk, “must be doing well.”

Rook released her, still beaming and laughed in reply, the sound deep, and for once, maybe in all his years, rested. “My head’s finally quiet, I think I slept four weeks straight.” He hadn’t. Emmrich had made sure to wake him as much as need required, but those had been blissfully quiet moments, soft remembrances lost in fade of melding dreams.

“Aw, you’re thinking of him aren’t you?” She still smirked, dug an elbow into his side. The touch was grounding, made Rook blink and snap his head to the side where she walked with him. Their feet led them up the steps into the Swan as he gave a characteristic shake of his head.

“What?!” But he smiled, others might guess what subject his mind had retreated to when he spaced out, but Neve had a knack for knowing just what each glazed look was. Or…did she always guess Emmrich? Was it always him? Rook screwed his face in thought, and Neve chuckled low again, seemingly aware that she’d lost his attention to the lich once more.

“You’re still with him right? Where is he?”

The smile returned, but Rook kept the memories and distracting thoughts free from his mind as he and Neve made way to the preferred spot for the day in the Cobbled Swan. It shifted after all, and today the mood suited here. Sometimes intuition was the thing to follow.

“Of course! Neve we’re soulmates.” Said with his full chest, he cleared his throat, covered the sincerity with a chuckle. That was too loud, oh lord don’t think him too serious. Maker help him. It felt that and more.

“He’s back in Nevarra dealing with…” he nearly said lich business out loud. In the middle of Docktown's most prominent bar while accompanying someone that always drew eyes. He took a seat opposite the detective. Naturally Neve would meet him somewhere safe from enemies and their gossip. But it wouldn’t be uncommon for friendlier eyes to have an eye on her, for protection at the very least. Best not spread that ‘secret’ further than needed. “...Mourn Watch business.”

Rook muttered as he settled into his chair and folded his hands in front of him on the table. Nodded. Pleased with the answer and seeming importance of his partner. “You know classes and stuff maybe start…”

Neve copied his movements, leaned onto the table in much the same way, perhaps stoking a conspiratorial spirit as she made direct eye contact. It broke off his thoughts, paused his words. Rook felt a shiver on his neck, something in her eyes was dire, insistent, and he couldn’t turn his gaze from it as she spoke even, slow. “Soulmates or not, you should think about breaking it off.”

She wasted no time. Rook confirmed it. Emmrich wasn’t here. Lucanis had checked, double checked. The Warden was here alone. And she didn’t know when that would happen again. If ever? Didn’t feel like bringing up the subject around the professor. Oh he would understand of course, give them space, but could he listen? Would he still hear every word? Friend or not, the foundations of the patterns taking form were troubling, best nip this early if possible. If it wasn’t dealt with…

Rook was in shock, jaw dropped, folded fingers coming loose as he drew back. His breath escaped hushed, surprised, and without any thought, “Neve…what…I’m…life is perfect?” Pained. It was like he’d been slapped.

He figured they would be swapping stories of their work. Well, his tales were mostly rest, but he could share such things after some of those dreams. And this meeting was supposed to be his first foray into some relaxingly safe work. Like building a park or something. And surely she wanted to talk about Lucanis, the Threads, detective work…anything other than whatever this was? It started with pain, to confusion, and was simmering into irritation, why would she say that?

“Listen, Rook. I love Emmrich, we all do, sincerely. We’re happy for both of you. And we know he’s obsessed with you.” Rook wanted to mutter obsessed with each other thank you, but her flat tone was as sincere as ever, and the gravity of the moment kept him silent. But for once, the hint of a tremble entered her words, “Where do you think that’s going to lead as you age? If you ever choose to put yourself in real danger again?” she paused, something had caught her eye, a flit of magic or some thinning of the Fade.

Thankfully a Thread mage outside the Swan had seen the same and dealt with whatever it was, but for the briefest moment her eyes widened in rare shock, and her voice dropped to a whisper, “It might take you a while to realize, that’s fine…” this was taking too long, too painful to say aloud and to make real, she groaned, “...just, if you ever need to disappear, I specialize in that work, know people that do. And I’ll always be here to help you. Okay? I’ll leave someone in my place if I’m too old for all this, so know that it’s always. Even if you’re in Nevarra.” With that said she pulled something from her pocket.

“You know how to use some magic items right?”

Rook nodded. Steeped in silence at the ‘attack’ or whatever this was.

Neve revealed a ring, pressed it into Rook’s slack hands before he could protest. He picked it up from his palm. It had a thick gold band, set with a large deep purple sapphire, and within it glowing soft, without shedding light, was the elven rune for rebellion. But when it caught light just so it threw soft purple in the room. Rook didn’t have the keenest eye for such things, but even he could tell this was a princely gift.

“Lucanis paid for this.” Rook muttered as he turned it in close examination, at times searching for that spot where it threw the light. Neve laughed light at that, eager to soften the conversation as well.

“Oh? Looking to take my job are you?” Rook looked up from the ring to Neve’s winking face, and found that he could smile again.

“Consider it a gift from your Veilguard. Wear it at all times. Never take it off. Grave gold is a thing for you now right? If you're buried...well...it needs to be with you.” She spoke halting, slow, firm. Many things left unsaid.

But the Warden heard them, and the warmth of sentiment over receiving such a grand gift faded, replaced with a feeling tight in his throat, a shiver that ran from head to toe. He closed a fist around the ring, he didn’t dare wear it until this picture came into focus. “Why? Neve. It’s magic?”

She sighed, looked ready to reach for a pipe as she leaned back in her chair. Content enough that Rook held it for the moment. She took a deep breath and briefly held up two fingers, “It’s got two uses I need you to learn. And its magic nature shouldn’t be detectable. Dorian helped with that.”

Rook blinked, “Why’s that…but…is this a secret?” His heart beat fast. The ring suddenly felt cold where it sat digging into his palm.

“First use. Tilt it just so, it doesn’t need light just the right angle for that rune, then whisper ‘whatever it takes’. We’ll try to get to you as fast as we can. A safety precaution. It’s likely Emmrich already gave you something of the sort.” She nodded to an expensive new piece of gold on Rook’s right index finger that he’d started rolling with the thumb of the same hand. The Warden gulped, brain rebelling against fitting the pieces to the pattern Neve could see so clearly.

“A beacon.” he muttered.

Neve nodded once, “Mhm. And when you activate it, it should be undetectable, that light is attuned to you, I can’t see a thing. Dorian struggled with that but seemed satisfied by the result. It won’t alert Emmrich. It…” She refused to voice any doubt. Shrugged, a brow furrowed, sighed before a firm, “It won’t.” Silence came between them as drinks were delivered.

Rook stared down at his fist, the ring hidden from sight. Mind reeling at the implications of it all. So much thought that had gone into this. All that work. And from the best people he knew? Why? Why go through all this trouble? Spend all this money? On magic that was hidden from…Rook bit his tongue, nearly bled, but once they were alone, servers absent, he spoke, his voice flat, a certain irritability building, “The second use?” his knuckles were white, clenched hand nearly shaking.

“Instant conflagration. For the wearer.”

“What…” a whisper of horror, a burn of bile in his throat, Rook coughed, settled it, but his face fell. He could feel a roiling in his gut, wanted to throw the damned thing as far as he could, but something caught, he couldn’t. He grasped it tight, went pale, sweat beading his brow. “...why…what…Neve…” pleading for her to spell it out, at the same time he seemed likely to bolt, his eyes wild, round, looking for some way out of this conversation. Out of all this.

Neve reached across the table, placed her hands over Rook’s quaking fist, over that princely magic ring meant to protect him. Protect him from? The Warden's nails were digging deep into his palm, nearly cut into flesh before the Tevene stilled him. He expected cold hands from an ice mage, the warmth surprised him, but calmed the uncontrolled movements. A shudder ran his skin, a warm touch. He closed his eyes, calming, breathing, and then looked back at Neve.

“Rook. I’m sorry." He could hear the pain there, the true grief. Perhaps even disbelief that she had followed through, had made this happen. But then she cleared her throat, and Rook could see determination take hold. A confident resilience that knew this might seem extra, but precautions always did seem silly when the storm you prepared for had never been witnessed. At least not of the specific type, she had seen…other varieties.

"I need to be quick, I want you to know it’s perfectly safe to wear.” Neve squeezed his hand, gentle, reassuring as best she could, “Like I said, Dorian helped. It’ll only happen in very specific steps. It'll be instant. Leave nothing behind. I need to know that you’ve learned the steps.”

The Warden swallowed. Blinked back the heat threatening again. Neve withdrew her hands as she felt him still. Rook choked down the rising anger towards her, at this, and looked down again. Opened his hand, once bruised and cut, twisted, calloused. Now, he noticed with a soft smile and shining eyes. Scarred, but soft, still rough, but not so harshly calloused. He hadn’t had to fight in months. Was that so bad? The ring looked blurry in his vision.

He blinked at the loving gift, the cursed thing. Picked it up. Turned it again in the light, noted that hue of the sapphire, they'd captured a favorite, and that rune what it meant for them all, that weight, and there that cast of light. And he felt warmth again. Love radiating from the rest of that family he finally found. They were warning him. He didn’t believe them. Almost hated Neve for this.

He slid the ring onto his left index finger.

“What are they?”

#dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #dragon age #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #datv #emmrich x rook #emmlich #rook x emmrich #neve gallus #I legitimately do not know where this came from so if it sounds off it's the fairy #I had fun and thats all I'm focusing on #angst is this angst I'll get better at tagging one day whoops

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