#been really into colorful eye shadow (especially blue!!) lately

[angelicdewdrop]

[irisintheafterglow]

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard. 

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake. 

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar. 

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords. 

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper. 

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone. 

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun? 

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins. 

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.” 

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.” 

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?” 

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily. 

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?” 

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.” 

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives. 

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless. 

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you. 

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is. 

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.” 

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch. 

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?” 

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.” 

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking. 

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you. 

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?” 

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.” 

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers. 

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.” 

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.” 

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?” 

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.” 

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

[animesmolbean]

Guardian of Light

(Male)

Hello! Welcome to my rewritten story for Dune and Kingdom Hearts!

Some things have changed, and the story has more added detail that helps with the story.

Regarding updates, they will be slower because I really want to explore a bit of the story, especially for future chapters. But I'll try to update as soon as I can.

As shown up above, this is the male version of the chapter! The female version was published yesterday (Monday). The female and male verison will have some differences (if you read both of them) to show the different actions taken by the characters. This will mostly affect the intimacy part of the story and not really the actual plot.

One more thing, I was inspired to write this story after reading a fanfiction I read on Wattpad that is just phenomenal! My story follows the format of it (most of the time), but it's a completely different story!

I'll link the book here if you are interested in reading it!

With all of that out of the way,

Hope you enjoy the first chapter! ♥️

Dreams are messages from the deep.

“My planet, Arrakis, is so beautiful when the sun is low. Rolling over the sands… You can see spice in the air. At nightfall, the spice harvesters land.

The outsiders and their army of demons race against time to avoid the heat of the day. They ravaged our lands in front of our eyes. Their cruelty to my people is all I've known.

These outsiders, The Harkonnens, came long before I was born. But their demon army only came recently with them.

By controlling the spice production, they become obscenely rich. Richer than the Emperor himself.

Our warriors couldn't free Arrakis from the Harkonnens, or the demons that lurk in the shadows, but one day, by the imperial decree, they were gone.

Why did the Emperor choose this path? And who will our next oppressors be?”

〰️

Chapter 1: Accepting a Deal

〰️

Year 10191

CALADAN, Homeworld of House Atreides

“I've been having these weird thoughts lately. Like is any of this for real… or not?”

A (straight/curly/wavy) (hair color) boy slowly woke up. The soft glow from the light in his room, ridding him of any feeling of sleep.

He sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He looked around, seeing the familiar room he was given when he was a kid.

“It was… just a dream.” He whispered.

〰️

Meanwhile, a young boy was lying on a bed, shirtless, asleep, but tossed and turned a little as he dreamed. He was dreaming about something. Or rather, someone. His (Hair Color) hair gently blowing in the wind. He turned towards him, his beautiful sapphire blue eyes sparkling with happiness as he smiled widely.

His beautiful best friend since they were kids, the boy who is always the light of his life. (Your Name).

However, there was someone else with him. It was another girl that wore a different outfit compared to (Your Name). The boy didn't know who this was, for he could only see the side of her face. But he knew that he had dreamed of her before, too.

The boy's hazel green eyes opened, groaning softly, sitting up as the moving light came and shined against his shirtless form. He sat up in his bed, looking down.

‘What could that dream mean?’ He thought to himself.

〰️

The same young boy was now in a dining room, sitting at the table, deep in thought as he ate his breakfast.

An older woman who sat at the end of the table spoke up, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good you're up early. I just wish (Your Name) could be too.”

〰️

(Your Name) stood outside, in a loose gray long sleeve, baggy black Capri pants, and his boots were off, placed by a rock.

He dipped his feet into the large, cool body of water, walking until the water was halfway to his calves. He looked out towards the horizon, in deep thought.

〰️

“Your father wants you two in full dress before the Emperor's Herald arrives.”

The brunet boy raised his head up at this news, “Full dress? Military?”

“Ceremonial.” Jessica, the woman's name and his mother replied.

Paul let out a sigh. “Why would we have to go through all this when it's already been decided?” Paul asked.

“Ceremony.” Jessica simply replied.

The doors to the room suddenly opened, making the two at the dining table turn. Paul's lips lifted up into a smile at who was standing there. (Your Name).

“Ah…” (Your Name) chuckled awkwardly. “So sorry I'm late.” The boy walked over to the spot between Paul and Jessica.

“Nice to see you here (Your Name). And with shoes on this time.” Jessica lightly teased her son-like figure. She knew this boy since he was around five years old. She remembered the day the first time she brought him to Caladan.

〰️

Jessica was out late at night, having trouble sleeping. The sky was dark, stars twinkling, and the moon being the only thing providing light, making anything the light shone on glow a soft blue.

She walked along a beach that Caladan was known for when she saw what looked like a shooting star in the sky. But she saw it was falling towards the ground, not going across the sky like a shooting star normally would.

She watched the bright light and splash into a large body of water she was near. She walked closer to the water, her feet touching the soft sand. What she saw made her eyes widen.

What fell into the water was not a rock. But a child. He looked very young, like about five years old. He wore a white loose shirt with black shorts and no shoes.

Acting fast, she took off the cloak she was wearing and grabbed the wet, unconscious child and carried him back to the castle to be taken care of.

Jessica walked towards one of the spare rooms, requesting one of their servants to find clothes for the child. The female servant did what she was told while Jessica laid the child on the bed.

She got a closer look at the boy. He had (Hair Color) hair, (Skin Color) skin, all wet from landing in the water. She frowned and stroked the boy's wet hair.

This action caused the child to stir and mumble. Jessica watched the child slowly come to. When he opened his eyes, however, Jessica felt her heartbeat increase.

The boy's eyes were a deep blue. Like the color of sapphires or cobalt.

Jessica knew then that she needed to keep this boy safe.

〰️

(Your Name) chuckled shyly at Jessica's teasing, playing with the silver charm on his silver necklace; shaped like a small crown. He smiled back and then looked over to his best friend, who was already staring at her. Before he sat down, he greeted Paul with a gentle hug. The male smiled softly at his friend and hugged him back.

Once (Your Name) was seated and eating his breakfast, Jessica told him what she had just told Paul. The boy was confused as to why they were having a ceremony, but he gave Jessica a nod before he resumed eating. Jessica poured a glass of water for (Your Name) and slid the glass to him. The (Hair Color) haired boy thanked her quietly.

Jessica did the same for Paul, “Thank you.” The boy whispered. Jessica replied, “If you want it, make me give it to you. Use the Voice.”

(Your Name) guessed that Jessica wanted Paul to use the voice to bring him the water.

“Mom, I just woke up.” Paul protested in a gruffy, morning voice.

Jessica just stared at her son making Paul roll his eyes as he reluctantly agreed to try. He turned his body in the chair to use the voice, “Give me the water.”

It came out more like a soft, raspy whisper than what it was intended to be.

(Your Name) let out a muffled giggle at Paul's weak attempt. “The glass can't hear you. Say it to your mother.” He whispered.

Paul gave the boy a look before looking back at his mother. Seconds felt like minutes. The atmosphere shifted to stillness as (Your Name) watched Paul and Jessica stare at each other intensely, waiting for Paul to use the Voice again.

Moments later, his lips moved.

“Give me the water.”

The voice came out gruffier and a bit distorted. But it did its magic. Jessica took the glass and pushed it towards Paul a little. But as quickly she was under the spell, she quickly snapped out of it. She pushed the glass of water closer to Paul.

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

Paul's voice was back to its normal pitch.

“Bene Gesserit skills take years to learn, Paul.” Jessica told her son as he reached out and grabbed the glass.

(Your Name) nodded. Even though he wasn't being taught to use the Bene Gesserit, he understood its complexity and why it's important to master.

Jessica observed her son before speaking again. “You look tired. More dreams?”

(Your Name) raised an eyebrow in confusion. He looked at his friend with worry. ‘Has he been dreaming too?’ He thought to himself.

Paul shook his head, muttering, “No.” Then he went back to eating.

“What about you, (Your Name)? Have you been dreaming?” Jessica asked.

The boy looked down before muttering, “No.”

〰️

“Extreme temperatures and treacherous weather events make life outside the cities of Arrakis truly hostile.” A robotic voice came from a recording that laid on the ground and showed visuals of what they were talking about.

After breakfast, the two childhood best friends decided to spend some time studying before they had to head to the ceremony.

The recorded voice from the video played as Paul had a book in his hands about the Fremen, reading it as his back leaned against (Your Name)’s torso. The boy was in a kneeling position, his arms were wrapped around Paul's neck, forearms resting on top of his shoulders. His head was on top of Paul's, silently reading along with him, occasionally nuzzling his nose into the boy's curly hair. He was only half paying attention, focused on looking at the book, listening to the recording, and trying to be as close to Paul as possible.

“With sandworms powerful enough to cut through metal. Only the native tribes known as the Freman and one other special person, that hasn't been seen nor born for centuries known as the Haris Aldaw’ have adapted well enough to survive.”

(Your Name)’s attention was diverted when he heard that name. Haris Aldaw’. He moved his head off of Paul’s. He has heard that name before. From where, he wasn't too sure.

Paul turned his head to look at the (Hair Color) haired boy, his hazel green eyes showing worry. “(Your Name), are you okay?”

The (Hair Color) haired boy blinked before nodding. “Yeah. I'm alright. Don't worry.” He replied to the boy.

Paul let one of his hands go from holding the book, grabbing one of (Your Name)’s hands, giving it a gentle squeeze. (Your Name) welcomed the comforting pressure and did it back to him. But to his surprise, Paul pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. Then, Paul turned his friend's hand to show his inner wrist and placed a kiss on the spot, too.

The (Hair Color) haired boy felt a blush blossom onto his cheeks at the gesture. Now flustered, he looked away shyly.

Paul let his hand go and smirked to himself before he continued reading.

“Preferring to inhabit the remotest regions of Arrakis the Freman share the deep desert with the giant sandworms, known to the Fremen as Shai-Hulud. Long exposure to spice has given the tribe their characteristic blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad.”

‘I wonder if it's as blue as my eyes.’ (Your Name) thought to himself, his focus back on the book and the recording.

“Little else is known of the Freman except that they have some sort of power that controls the Earth and the Freman are dangerous and unreliable. On the other hand, much is known about the Haris Aldaw’. They are known to control elements and have other magical abilities such as being able to glide.”

(Your Name) bit her bottom lip. ‘My dream last night was about gliding… and falling.’ He thought to himself again.

“Freman Attacks make spice harvesting extremely hazardous. For the Freman spice is the sacred hallucinogen which preserves life and brings enormous health benefits. For the imperium the spice is used by the navigators of the spacing guild to find safe paths between the stars. Without spice, interstellar travel is impossible, making it by far the most valuable substance in the universe.” The voice recording concluded.

〰️

(Your Name) and Paul were now standing outside, dressed nicely for the ceremony, both dressed similarly.

The (Hair Color) haired boy turned his head to look at the bearded man in the center. Duke Leto Atreides. The man he saw as his father for many years now. He remembered when he first came to Caladan, he was confused as to how he got here and where he came from. Jessica had explained the situation, and the Duke didn't want to believe the tale, but when he saw how adamant she was, he believed her.

He took him in and cared for him like he was one of his own kids, raising him alongside Paul. Teaching him many things like reading and writing, alongside Lady Jessica. He couldn't be more graceful to the two for taking him in.

The Duke turned his head and saw the (Hair Color) haired boy looking at him. He gave the boy a subtle nod to him; a gesture he returned to him, a gentle smile on his face.

An enormous oval shaped ship landed on the ground. The ramp was placed down as the important people walked out from it. They were wearing their house clothes and walking respectfully towards them. (Your Name) wasn't exactly sure who they were but knew they were of utmost importance if they were coming to speak with the Atreides.

“Smile Gurney.” The Duke said, looking forward at the approaching visitors, his tone calm but with a touch of joking as he spoke to his trusted member.

“I am smiling.” Gurney replied monotonously, a blank expression on his always serious looking face.

(Your Name) bit his bottom lip to suppress a snicker from escaping his lips. Paul looked at him in mild amusement.

The Duke shook his head at Gurney’s deadpan response, “How much will it cost them traveling all this way for this formality?”

“Three Guild navigators and a total of 1,460,062 Solaris for this round trip.” Another trusted advisor answered beside the Duke. The Duke turned his attention back to the new visitors.

(Your Name) watched as a member of the group that arrived from the ship bow to the Duke, “By the grave of Shaddam IV of the House Corrino, ascendant to the Golden Lion Throne of Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe, I stand before you as Herald of the Change. We are witnessed by members of the Imperial Court, representatives of the Spacing Guild, and a sister of the Bene Gesserit. The Emperor has spoken.” He pulled out a scroll, unrolling it before he read, “House Atreides shall immediately take control of Arrakis and serve as its steward.” The member closed the scroll. Do you accept?

The Duke took a couple long strides, stopping at the top of the stairs, “We are House Atreides. There is no call we do not answer. There is no faith that we betray. The Emperor asks us to bring peace to Arrakis! House Atreides accepts!”

“Atreides! Atreides! Atreides!” The soldiers that stood everywhere, representing House Atreides, started chanting as the Duke made his way down the stairs to sign the paper.

Before he does, the Duke looks back at his son and (Your Name), seeing them both giving him a subtle nod in agreement, silently approving him. They watched him sign the paper using his signet ring.

As he did, (Your Name) felt a feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. Like a feeling of unease. He wasn't sure why he felt it just now. ‘Probably from all the people staring at us.’ He thought to himself.

“So it is done?” Leto asked the Herald.

“It's done.” The Herald responded, face blank, not showing any emotion.

Once the deal was finalized, (Your Name) scooted closer to Paul, pressing his right arm against Paul's left one. The curly haired boy looked at the boy. He gave him a gentle smile, which he returned in kind.

He always liked Paul's smile. Paul thought the same thing about him.

Taglist

@skeletonixsstuff

[bepisbee]

Temptation

second part

read on ao3

“Violet!” Blue’s yell echoed the stone stairwells. It was angry, but laced in concern. “I swear to Nayru- get your skinny nerd ass down here!” Vio paled. He was not in a state to be seen. The magic slowly terraformed him into a partial creature, nails stained black and sharp gradient black down his hands. His eyes remained as they were when he touched the mirror. He peered his head out of the bedroom door.

“Uhh aha heyyyyy~!” It was absolutely awkward, guilty, and not like him. “What’s up?”

“What’s up!? I am gonna tear you a new one, that's what!” As Blue rounded the corner, followed by Green and Red, he ducked back into the room. It was too late though, they saw where he went. “Violet Link Smith!” Uh oh, he hissed, this was going to be bad.

---

At first, Vio doesn't even realize the situation he’s placed himself in. He spent so long around Shadow and the dark mirror openly diffusing dark magic like a humidifier. Absorbing it through the air, through Shadow. Especially through Shadow. The gradual increase and consumption of dark magic energy. It started there. Spending time with him, sharing magic, even combining physically into one being. He didn’t even know that was possible! Vio had no idea they could separately combine with magic. He thought maybe the others could too, but he dared not bring up the idea. Sure they were parts of Link, it made sense for the colors but what he and Shadow did felt so much more intimate than that. Vio didn’t sense it at the time, but it had altered him. It changed his magical abilities, compatibilities, his very essence.

Until after they all finish the quest and suddenly he's not around it anymore. Vio is plagued with sweats, shakes, mood swings, blood pressure dropping, horrible nausea. He doesn't know why. He has a few ideas, but nothing certain.

But he does his best. Never tells the others and never goes back to the tower. He hides between the library and his room and becomes nocturnal to avoid the others seeing him. Eventually the major shock and withdrawal symptoms stop but there's still an itch he can't scratch that's always crawling under his skin. A longing, a deep ache that has settled into his core with only one solution: Dark Magic. He had the idea, sure, but he convinced himself it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be that, he toed the line enough already. 

So he searched elsewhere for answers and distractions. His recent line of work took him to strange sightings and puzzles in their area that appeared after a kinstone binge with the local library Minish. Maybe, he reasoned, he could find secrets that had answers for him. Or just distract himself from another wave of weariness and magical hunger he was ignoring.

The first thing he was conscious of was the sound of wet dripping on stone. A continuous rhythmic drip that for some people would be annoying, but for him it was calming. It was a focus, when everything was dark and fuzzy around his head. Then slowly as feeling came back into him the hard damp stone under his back, and a static with ringing in his ears. It had been harder to get up lately. Vio winced at the stagnant air.

Vio opened his eyes with a groan. The ice blue rings were very dull in their color. It took him longer than it should have to remember where he was. Vio sat up and shook out his hands, then arms, and stretched as he stood. He was finished here anyway, he just needed to rest so badly he’d passed out. This ominous riddle cave had no more answers for him than the books at Hyrule Castle. At least he had gotten some heart gem for his efforts. He sighed and winced at his sore muscles. He couldn’t tell if that was caused by sleeping on a damp hard stone, or his flaring symptoms. He groaned and brushed his fingers through dirty blonde locks as he walked out of the forest cave. Another damn dead end.

At this point maybe he really should go back to the tower of winds and hunt there for some scrap of anything. It would make him feel better personally to have some momento of Shadow, and maybe some more research materials. He was trying not to think about what deep down he already knew was happening. Vio mumbled to himself, maybe there would be spells he could cast to get this desire out of his system. Do a few shadow balls and fires and be sated. He nodded to himself as he situated his belongings, he would take a trip out there and gather materials. He reviewed his findings as he walked.

He had researched his symptoms. They matched up with a few things, mainly a flu, virus, or addiction withdrawal. Considering he didn’t do drugs and potions did shit he was left with more questions than answers. Something tugged in his core at the bouncing thoughts. Shadow. He really missed the bastard. The heartache didn’t help either. Vio asked a few trusted friends, and only time would heal. So far it has not.

Vio trudged his way back towards the castle, cringing that it was turning daytime. He had gotten into a more nocturnal schedule. Firstly to avoid his siblings and anyone who would care enough to tell something was wrong with him during the height of his withdrawal- symptoms- he corrects himself. Secondly because it felt natural. Ever since doing so with Shadow. Nighttime was best for them, peak of his powers, no draining light, sneaking around behind a tree and making out. Nowadays too long out in the daytime gives him a nasty sunburn. It should have been a sign to him, having light sensitivity.

He smiled to himself at the thought of Shadow calling him a lobster. If only he hadn’t converted Shadow too late, he might still have a corporeal form. His smile slipped off. They still might be together, in more ways than one. Vio shook his head, and started back to the castletown. It was going to be a long day and the sun was just rising on the horizon.

He snuck in through the back. He wanted to avoid anyone, at least until he could get a bath, fresh clothes, and some caffeine. While it had been maybe an hour at most, he was feeling tired from the light.

One well needed hot bath later, Vio slipped into the castle kitchens. Just his luck it was bustling with cooks, making breakfast for the castle, and Red. He blended in at least, wearing a simple lavender undershirt and trousers with his belt and dagger, and a spell tome tied up. He’d never get caught without a weapon. He was too paranoid for that. He thought he was getting away unseen, staying off to the side. 

He lifted a kettle full of water, to the stove. Just because he wanted tea didn’t mean he would be a dick and not make some for the workers in here too. Especially being in their way. Vio jumped when Red hugged him hard, squishing with surprising strength.

“Vio!! I was worried a magical book ate you!” he giggled. Vio instantly felt bad. What had it been, four weeks since he had shown his face? Maybe this time slip up was a blessing in disguise. While he didn’t want to worry them with his strange state, he did miss them. “Are you okay? You look pale. Well, paler than usual haha, you always look like you haven’t slept.”

Vio glanced and analyzed his stance. It was open and friendly and relaxed. He was in a bright red cooking apron, sewed for him by Blue as a birthday present last year. He felt a genuine soft smile curl up on his face. Red’s hair was up and away from his face, but a few pieces hung out haphazardly. It was so Red.

“Believe it or not, I did sleep well actually. Too well, which is why I am up at this ungodsly hour instead of  bedding down as the sun rises,” He chuckled and patted his side in a return hug gesture. Red let go. “Would you like some tea? Little chilly this morning. I’ll make that Blueberry one?” 

“Ohh that sounds nice, yes please!” He grinned, happy to see him and even happier Vio seemed alright. “With-”

“Two sugars and a spoon of honey, yes.” Vio finishes with another smile. Familial warmth spread across his chest, lessening the pit that begged for something he had been refusing to identify. “I remember,” he set up their cups, a small splash of heavy cream in his. A bad habit he knew, but oh well. Vio added the correct loose leaf mix with dried berries into the steaming kettle water and shut its lid. Carefully, he took it off the stovetop with a towel for the heat. “What have you been up to?” he asks before Red can get curious about his own fairings.

“Pastries! And hand combat! I won in a ring fight!”

“You what!?” Vio whipped around to him in shocked concern, he almost overfilled the cup. Looking him up and down and inspecting his hands revealed no injuries. Only calloused hands from cooking and combat. Although, his knuckles looked like they could have had old healed bruising very faintly. He narrowed his gaze.

“It was funnnnnn!” Red defended, taking his hand back and putting it on his hip. “I was fine. Plus I won a hundred rupees and busted the underground ring for Zel.”

“You fought in an underground ring!?”

“And won!” Vio rubbed his face.

“Good fuckin’ Farore.” Maybe he should crawl out of his book hole more often. Red just giggled.

“What have you been doing? Besides making the librarian mad you never return your books.” He teased, “What have you been researching? She said you had so many different book kinds it was hard to tell the theme. Medical books, magic books, traveling books? Ohhoh! potions??”

“Mmm.” He hummed an agreement. “Something like that.” it was partially true anyway. “I tried a potion for insomnia a few weeks ago, but made some alterations.” for his withdrawal symptoms. And magical extractions.

“I got sucked into a brain hole after that. Looking into ingredients and then their origins, and then their locations, and then the history of the plants and then history of the people who made them…” Vio rambled. “Ah, you know how my brain is.” He sipped the tea. “I just stayed up all night a few times and suddenly I was in that pattern. It was much quieter to read as well.”

“That makes sense.” Red nodded. “Surely that wasn’t all you looked at in the last six weeks?” Six!? Vio frowned. Oops. “You could do that in days, haa!”

“I didn’t want to ramble on too long.” Vio excused, fidgeting. “There’s a lot more than that, yes. I’ve also been doing some puzzle solving. I got tbis heart gem in a cave last night, actually.” He showed Red, be hadn’t consumed it yet.  “I uh… actually wanted to talk to you guys about something. A little road trip so to speak. I’m not sure how well Green or Blue would react.” He frowned. “They’re a lot more wary of my relationship with Shadow and… that theme of things.”

“Why, where do you wanna go?” Red leaned on the counter with his tea, brows a little furrowed.

“I wanted to scour for research materials within the tower of winds.” Vio sighed, “I know it gives you guys the creeps, but there could be some honestly useful things in that place. Plus it would be better for me to find them than some random wandering adventurer. Also,” he looks to the side, unsure if he should mention. But it’s Red, he would understand. He looks back to meet his eyes. “I… wanted to grab something from Shadow’s room to keep.”

“Oooh.” Red understood as he assumed. “Yeah, I get that.” he patted his shoulder. “I miss him too, I know it’s not the same as how you feel but I get it. One of us can come to help!” 

“That’s nice of you, but you all have important jobs here. Mine lets me step away awhile. I just didn’t want to go without saying something to one of you.” He puts his now empty cup by the dirty dish sink. He doesn’t want interruptions, and if he breaks down? He sure as hell does not want to do that in front of them. “I am.probably going to spend most of the time in Shadow’s old room, reading what I find. It would be boring to any of ya- you.” he corrects his almost use of ‘yall’ he had picked up from his partner. “And quite frankly I would rather be alone for my first return there. I’m going in a few days, for probably a week at most with travel time?”

“I’ll make some bread!” Red bounced on his heels in excitement. “I love baking breads!”

“Thanks Red. I knew you would understand where I'm coming from.” He hesitates and pulls him into a short hug that makes him giddy.

Red beams and runs back to his kitchen work. Vio laughs and shakes his head. Well, that's part of the plan done then. He snatches a dried meat stick hanging up and makes his way back to his room in the castle. Thankfully it was uneventful, aside from the castle workers' stares. He wasn’t sure if it was him, or the fact he was awake and about at this hour that drew their gaze. Vio looked at himself, suddenly self conscious. Maybe he should have laced this undershirt higher to his neck…

He distractedly ran nose first into his door and some maids giggled at him. Vio flushed and quickly ran inside, locking the door. He lightly smacked his cheeks. 

“Focus! Dumbass!” Vio shook his head and went to make plans for his trip. Starting with a good old fashioned checklist.

He didn’t mean to, he had just been so tired! He had been awake for well over a day anyway. Vio had fallen asleep right there on the floor, surrounded by books. He was a foot away from Shadow’s damn bed and he slept on the floor. A laugh bubbled out of him, startling him. He covered his mouth and took self stock. He felt normal.

That was not normal.

Vio scrambled to his feet, running. Not only did that mean he actually had an addiction, it was his worst theory. He was addicted to darkness. But that also meant somewhere here there was darkness. Vio turned into the room where they had placed the mirror and its shards. It felt so good. He swallowed, cheeks flushing as his heart raced. The air was tangible with the delicious magic. He stepped to the remains. 

Familiar whispers caressed his skin, wrapping around him. He knew that tone, not quite words but still understood.

The mirror.

He touched the frame, rewarded with that magic seeping into his flesh, rushing into the magic veins coursing through his body. He licked his teeth, a little too sharp on the incisors. His pupils dilated, scleras around the ice blue turning black and inky, he watched in a dangling shard. Getting up close, the blackness was shifting around. It was dying his sharp color a purple hue. He took his hand off, but the color remained. His face had”t looked healthy in color in years. Vio swallowed thickly and looked around the room

“Okay,” he steadied himself. “Okay. So it’s magic. It’s…” he took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Fuck that feels good.” he shut his eyes and hummed in satisfaction. He hadn't felt like this since the first time he and Shadow had fused together. A shudder ran up his back, the mirror becoming clearer. Begging to be taken with him. Vio tilted his head, he was sure it would have wanted to be repaired but that wasn’t so. Did it recognize him??

He took a cloth from his bag and wrapped a large shard, tucking it safely away. “I’ve got you, if you’ve got me,” he whispered. “May I study you? I’ll be careful.” magic wisped around him playfully and he smiled.

That was two months ago. So it really shouldn’t have surprised him when he heard the colors enter the base of the tower.

“Violet!” Blue’s yell echoed the stone stairwells. It was angry, but laced in concern. “I swear to Nayru- get your skinny nerd ass down here!” Vio paled. He was not in a state to be seen. The magic slowly terraformed him into a partial creature, nails stained black and sharp gradient black down his hands. His eyes remained as they were when he touched the mirror. He peered his head out of the bedroom door.

“Uhh aha heyyyyy~!” It was absolutely awkward, guilty, and not like him. “What’s up?”

“What’s up!? I am gonna tear you a new one, that's what!” As Blue rounded the corner, followed by Green and Red, he ducked back into the room. It was too late though, they saw where he went. “Violet Link Smith!” Uh oh, he hissed, this was going to be bad. “You said one week! Red argued more time for you. It has been eight!” Blue pounded on the door.

“You have to promise not to freak out! Or punch me! I have too pretty a face!” humor will get him nowhere but it was his natural defense. He blamed Shadow for that one. “Let me explain first!”

“Blue, hear him out.” Green reasons. “He wouldn’t leave us for that long without a damn good one.” The veiled threat was clear.

Blue sighed but didn’t yell again. He took that as a go ahead.

“Ah- okay. So… the short version is: you know how I talked about my time with Shadow?” he gets an affirmative answer and sounds. “I haven’t told you nearly all of it. Time in the dark world runs differently, slower. I spent a lot more time with him than the month in this world implied.” He talked with his hands despite the door being shut. He was nervous. “The whole time I was in and around the natural magic of the dark world.”

“This is the short version?”

“Do you want me to explain magical adaption,  veins, capabilities, compatibility, and such?” he snarks back. “I didn’t think so.” he pauses to collect his thoughts and continues. “I think the best example would be water. Say you go into the lake and it is cold, but after a while it doesn’t feel cold anymore. The lake didn’t get warmer, you got colder. Does that make sense so far?” he waits for more affirmation, “So, The Dark World magic is that lake. I adapted to it. Except uh… it’s magic. And dark magic naturally has physically addicting properties to lightworlders. My slow exposure from the tower before being there built up a tolerance and when Shadow and I- …” there was an awkward silence and he just omitted something entirely. “Doesn’t matter- it- made me not only compatible with his magic, but reliant.”

“So…?” Green prompted.

“The mirror is still alive, and albeit much weaker by thousands of degrees, is enough to trigger that response. It has… affected my appearance some. It’s similar to-” he mumbled something that sounded like “Nightshade,” but they weren’t certain, or what that meant. “So: I’m still me, don’t punch me in the face please.” he ends and finally opens the door to Blue’s unimpressed expression. “I am sorry for losing time. The last thing I ever intended was to concern you guys.”

“Holy mother of Din.” Green blinked at the man before him. “That’s…”

“So cool!” Red had a very different reaction, eyes sparkling. “You kinda look like Shadow!” He took his hand and examined it. “Isn’t it hard to write with these?”

“But you’re okay?” Blue emphasized, “You said you needed this uh magic but you haven't been here in literal years.” his eyes narrowed at Vio who gulped. Busted.

“Ahhahahaha,” he laughed nervously, avoiding his gaze. “Uh…”

Red gasps, “You were avoiding us to hide something! Violet!” his turn to scold Vio, “I knew that wasn’t all you were up to.” he pouted. “You made me look like an ass, defending you.” he swore! “Were you okay? Did it hurt??”

“I’m sorry, Red.” he fluffed his hair, despite being shorter than Red. “I- would rather not talk about it.” he winced, “It was not pleasant and that is all I am willing to tell you.”

“Vio!” He smacks his arm. “Idiot. Are you okay now? Actually?”

“I’m okay,” Vio sighs, “Probably. I got a little lost in research… and the bed still smells like Shadow…” he mumbled the last part under his breath. They caught it, but knew better than to comment. “It isn’t anything I can't take home. Give me a few and I’ll pack up.”

Vio was cautious around the mirror shard and took papers and books with him. A few bottled vials of strange liquids, some the same weird flowy blackness as his eyes. Green made small talk on the way back, which he appreciated. It was nice to learn what had been going on in his absence. With some prompting he gave condensed versions of what he was working on, with the disclaimer he knows there’s no guarantee on anything.

“I could possibly at least contact him through it. If he’s… uh… there.” he chewed on his lip as he thought. Vio had his cloak hood up, the sun feeling more harsh than ever before. “It’s all theoretical of course, I know not to get my hopes up over anything.”

“The idea behind it is solid. What about a rune in the mirror’s back to prevent interference with other worlds or realms?” He had actually been listening? Vio gave an impressed look.

“That’s a good idea. Shouldn’t be too hard to make one…” he babbled some details Green didn’t fully understand but gave supportive feedback where he could. He promised to do this with them.

Vio did not do this with them. His appearance didn’t go down, but he didn’t mind. It reminded him of how they looked together. He sat on his bed, mirror shaped into a frame runed and spelled. He dribbled the blood from his palm onto the surface as it whispered in excitement. He focused, fidgeting in his excitement.

“.....”

“io? Vio!?” His chest panged as a lovely sight greeted him. Shadow in the mirror. He looked to be his age now, face slimmed out and hair longer. His eyeliner was stunning. Vio laughed and hugged the mirror to his chest.

“Shadow! Fuck. Hey, hi.” he pulled back and looked him over. “Where are you??”

“Vi.” He looked just as lovestruck. “I miss you so much. Uh- I’m in my room? Sorry that wasn’t helpful. In the dark world. None of my world hopping powers work anymore. How are you here?”

“I’m not actually there,” he chuckled. “I’m in my room uh at the castle. This is a shard of the mirror.” he moves it around, comically making his own face fly around on Shadow’s plain. He giggled and Vio’s heart melted.

“I love you. I love you Shadow. Gods you have no idea…”

“I'm pretty sure I do.” he smiled and leaned in closer. “What’s up with the eyes and claws dear?”

“I’ve uh- so funny story.” He explains the magic alterations and addiction.

“Soooo you’re saying you’re addicted to me?~ I can always help with that. You aren’t the only one with a massive craving.” Shadow teased, enjoying the blush he caused.

“Yes. I just need to figure out how to make the image a portal. Or how to make one myself.”

“I can try to walk you through it, but it’s difficult magic. Most people can’t make one on their own.” he watched Vio’s face turn away and address someone else, a busted look on. “Babe?”

“Uh haha sorry Red’s caught me.” he turned the mirror and Red appeared instead, but blurrier.

“Hi!” he waved. Red squealed and disappeared, running out of the room. The sound of Vio’s genuine laugh warmed his heart. “Wanna try?” he comes back into view.

“Yes.”

They gather around in Vio’s room while Shadow talks him through magic steps and feelings. At one point he scares them all when Shadow vanishes and Vio has to add blood to the surface to work again. That had not been part of the explanation.

He sits the mirror up and stands, ready. He takes a breath and focuses inward. Pulling on the dark magic in his veins, rushing through. It would use up his supply but he felt he could do it.

He weaved the magic, earning an impressed woah from the crowd. The circle sparked to life and through stepped shadow. As it shut behind him, Vio fell forward into him, fainting.

“Vi-woah!” Shadow caught him. “Hey!” he brought him back up, getting blinked at deliriously. He still held him upright. “Are you okay??”

“Uh-huh. Used all reserves.” He grumbles into him. He wobbled as Shadow walked him to the bed. “Little vial, left drawer dresser. top row.” Blue nabbed what he was talking about and handed it over. Vio downed it and made a face. “Blugh. Ewugh.” his color recovered. “Phew, thanks.” Shadow caught him in a deep kiss the second he saw he was okay again. “Mm! Mmmh…”

“We’re right heeeee--!” They flashed for a second and molded into a single being before falling back apart.

“Oop- sorry love.” Shadow flushed. “I got excited.”

“What the hell was that!?” Green demanded.

“Oops.” Vio scratched his cheek. “Uh that’s a thing I have also been meaning to mention. I believe we might be able to do that as well. Like how we can combine into Link? We can do that in a way with just parts. I’m pretty sure.” Vio yawned. “Another time. If you don’t mind, I am going to pass out now.” He slumped into Shadow.

“Uh.”

“Well. Welcome back?”

Vio slept in Shadow’s arms that night and had the best night’s sleep he had gotten in years.

Later he would gift him with the piece of heart he had found.

[chimaeray]

String of thoughts (primarily) about Johnny 13 and Shadow

So what’re some of the phandom’s thoughts on Johnny 13 and Shadow, anyway? I know he’s not one of the more popular members of Danny’s rogues gallery, but I sure am thinking about him right now.

I know a fairly popular theory (or at least, one I see frequently) is that Kitty and Johnny died together, likely in a car/motorcycle accident, but that leaves me wondering what Shadow is and how it ended up being attached to Johnny.

We know from the show that Shadow is either the source of or apart of Johnny’s powers, but even without Shadow nearby let alone attached to him he can still do normal ghostly things like going invisible/intangible and flying (though he still prefers his bike over regular flight anyway). They still seem to be individuals, Shadow has its own personality and doesn’t seem affected by the damage that made Johnny age in the TUE universe. Similarly, Johnny doesn’t seem too affected by Shadow getting wiped out and needing to recover unless it’s been completely dispersed like at the end of 13. And, of course, Johnny and Shadow can merge to work together as one unit, instead of two separate entities.

For some reason, Johnny doesn’t have a lot of abilities. Maybe it’s because his reason for even becoming a ghost was how harsh and sudden it was, his love for Kitty, and a desire to keep living all wrapped up into one messy reason to reform. He‘s more human than a lot of other ghosts we see, from his color palette to his ability to blend in pretty easily with human society until he chooses to reveal himself. I find his color palette the most notable, since the most inhuman elements of his design is how desaturated his skin tone is and the bright green eyes. But in comparison to other ghosts, he’s very human. His skintone that’s desaturated next to the living is still much closer than anything blue, green, or white like we frequently see in other humanoid ghosts. Kitty’s design is far more ghostly, with her green hair and skin with red eyes.

If they hadn’t died together at the same time (and became quite literal soulmates) it makes me wonder if Johnny wouldn’t have had the ability to become a ghost on his own. Or if he did, he might’ve struggled to survive. Kitty has a pretty strong ability with her banishing kiss. I am very curious about her ability to attach herself to her clothes even when in a weakened state, and if that’s a unique ability or not. Kitty acts more like a malicious entity in the series as well, she uses her kiss ability without restraint, and she’s only acted nicely to Danny when she overshadowed Paulina (which quickly stopped once she was found out) and the winter truce. Johnny, however, has a more casual personality. He acts more friendly to Danny after Lucky in Love, and doesn’t really have big aspirations for Earth or intent to cause destruction like other ghosts in the series do. Even Kitty takes over Amity briefly, with Spectra and Ember.

Johnny mostly seems to relish in his time to work on and ride his bike, admire pretty girls, and be with Kitty (when they’re not fighting). His laissez-faire attitude is very uncommon from other ghosts in the series, and I wonder about its long-term sustainability for a ghost, especially as phandom has largely categorized them. If he fell into a form of depression, it could make him fade fairly easily, as he seems to hold onto his relationship with Kitty and his ability to act freely. If his obsession is related to freedom or, (even more vaguely) experiencing life, but he’s also surviving by his attachment to Kitty, he could have a shakier existence. I also think he might be a weaker ghost, comparatively, because he’s the only ghost that really shows age in TUE. He’s noticeably older, balding pretty severely, like he’s closer to being in his late 30s-40s in appearance. Ember and Kitty still seem pretty young, maybe late 20s or early 30s, and I wonder if he’s aging more quickly because of an actual age gap they had in life or the severity of Dan’s attack making the damage to his stability much worse. This also connects back to Shadow and Johnny being separate entities, as Shadow seems largely unaffected.

Now the thoughts I had that made me intrigued about Shadow’s existence were some theories about how blob ghosts work, like they’re child ghosts or very simple ghosts without a lot of strength or identity yet. As well as some ghosts (or maybe other entities) like Cujo that get attached to things or people.

Those things made me think up two ideas about what Shadow is and why it’s attached to Johnny.

One being, after Johnny and Kitty’s arrival in the ghost zone, a simplistic blob archetype ghost takes an interest in them. Johnny’s penchant for bad luck is at least a source of entertainment for the blob, if not a form of food for it/it’s obsession/what have you. It could have either been a typical blob that acquires its obsession through this, or maybe a partially-formed or different... species(?) of blob that already knew it had an affinity for “bad luck” or sabotage/destruction. It functionally acts like something between a duckling and mutualistic or commensalistic symbiosis, where it’s sort of imprinted on Johnny and lends him its power in exchange for more opportunities to feed its own obsession, but in order to do so it has to have some form of attachment directly to him--like taking over his shadow, or maybe feeding off of Johnny’s energy or natural bad luck when it isn’t creating its own.

Another idea I had was related to Shadow’s actual function, as a cause of bad luck. It targeted Tucker at least once in 13, but largely caused a reputation for bad luck by happenstance. If it happened to target Johnny at some time in the past, or just selected an area and kept causing Johnny’s trouble with luck in its desire to create chaos, I wonder if it could’ve been related to or even caused the potential accident that ended up killing Johnny and Kitty. In that case, maybe it ended up attached to Johnny through that direct contact while they reformed into ghosts. If it’s closer to a force of nature, it would be hard to really control unless it wasn’t able to escape, or for some reason didn’t want to.

[spaceprincessem]

seven sentence sunday

hi my lovelies sorry this is so late i’ve been very busy this weekend with like zero writing time but here i am! thank you to everyone who tagged me in all the things this weekend @swiftiediaz @alyxmastershipper @sibylsleaves @buddierights @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @outtoshatter @renecdote @shortsighted-owl @elvensorceress @spotsandsocks 💞 so i figured i would give two seven sentence snippets. one from a wip i recently found re-inspiration for (currently calling it surprise kiss) and one from my hunger games au

surprise kiss

“We haven’t done the picture thing yet,” Eddie says with a smile that reminds Buck of moonlight, soft and ethereal, like it can chase away all the dark shadows that billow between the spaces of Buck’s ribs.

“The what?” Buck asks with a laugh as he begrudgingly lets Eddie go.

He clumsily reaches for his champagne flute to try and fight off the feeling of emptiness that slowly begins to fill the cavity in his chest and nearly spills the rest of it down his front when Eddie’s hand lands comfortably on Buck’s knee, squeezing gently. 

“The photo-booth.” Eddie answers, nodding his head toward the corner of the roof where there’s a small photo-booth people have been ducking into all night to take pictures.

“S—sure we did,” Buck stutters out and he tries to duck his head so Eddie can’t see the blush blooming across his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “with the team, but not just me and you.”

and

hunger games au

“So Buck,” Taylor says in a way that makes Eddie’s skin prickle, “handsome boy like you must have a girl back home waiting for you.”

Buck blushes, ducking his head before he says, “Not uh, not a she.” There’s a collective gasp from the audience and Eddie watches with some satisfaction as Taylor frowns. “There’s this boy I’ve had a crush on forever, but I don’t think he really knew who I was until the reaping.”

Eddie pushes his lips to the side as the audience sighs in sympathy. 

“Does he already have someone special?” Taylor asks with genuine curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Buck shrugs, looking a little lost and Eddie almost can’t believe how good he is at selling himself to these people, “a lot of people like him, girls especially.”

Taylor grabs his hand and Eddie thinks if everyone in Panem could do it, they’d be taking Buck’s hand too. “So, here’s what you do,” she says and Eddie almost laughs at how ridiculous it is to listen to Taylor Kelly give Buck dating advice as if he isn’t about to head to the slaughter house tomorrow, “you go out there and you win. And when you go home he won’t be able to turn you down.”

Buck gives her a pained smile and the agonized look in those baby blue eyes looks so fucking real it makes Eddie’s breath hitch in his throat. “I um — I don’t think winning is going to help me.”

“Why not?” Taylor asks in disbelief. 

Buck flutters his lashes, his cheeks the same color as his birthmark as he says, “B—because…because he came here with me.”

It takes nearly a full ten seconds for the world to stop fucking spinning and Eddie to realize that his face is now the one being plastered across every screen in Panem. He can see himself, mouth dropped open in shock and something he doesn’t know how to name. 

Me, Eddie thinks, his blood fizzing and popping like the champagne they drank after the parade around the Capitol, Buck is talking about me.

not tagging anyone since it’s so late but sending all my love ❤️ 

[cedar-sunshine]

Star Excerpt

I've been going back and forth on posting this for a while, but here it is! Feat: Tristan being depressed, Ori being a little off-putting. This is the VERY beginning of star, the opening words. Comment if you want me to post more anytime/if you liked it!

TWs- internalized transphobia (not incredibly overt), discussion of SI, discussion of death, discussion and minor representation of visual hallucinations.

I wrote this when I was dealing with REALLY severe depression and it hasn't been seriously edited since, so I can't vouch for it being great. Hope you enjoy it!

Tristan

It's getting cold faster than usual this year.

It feels like just yesterday that the first couple of leaves fell from the maples, but now I'm walking over ground that cracks and snaps with frost, and my breath hangs in the air like fog.

With hope, the coming winter will pass just as quickly as fall has been, collapsing in on itself in what remains of my mind. Realistically, I'll probably die before that can happen. The main question now is whether I'll die from the sickness, starvation, hypothermia, murder, or the other option. Guessing which one is going to finally take me out is the only thing left in my life that I could call entertaining, in a twisted, fucked up way. There's also a chance I eat the wrong plant and die from poisoning, but I'd argue that that falls under the last option, especially as I've practically memorized the plants in the northwest. It's been my only pastime for the past year and a half, if you don't count vivid fantasies of my own impending death.

You're never really aware of all the interesting ways one can die until you are, aren't you?

As it is, I've decided that my most likely fate will be turning back on my trail, finding the people who I've been running from with less and less conviction for the past eight months, and letting myself be ripped to pieces in whatever horrifying fashion they desire. It wouldn't be much worse than what's going on in my head already, I'd guess. And they'd be right in whatever gruesome thing they have planned for me. It's not like I haven't been asking for this since I ran.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, other than a vague idea of 'east'. If I even have the direction right. For all I know, I've been going in circles for months. I can see the mountains in the distance, though, so I can't be too far off. I know the silhouette of the rockies.

My half-formed plan when I first fled was to get to the rockies and find refuge in a cave, gathering food like a bear in the fall, and then count on my pursuers not being able to survive in the mountains. I'm not sure why I had thought that a half-dead, psychotic fifteen year old with identity confusion would survive out there any better than they would, but it's the only plan I have, and without a plan, I don't really have much to do other than sit down and die.

Honestly, that option has been sounding pretty nice lately.

Still, I'm nothing if not a creature of inertia. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat, only exists because I've lost the energy to do anything other than stay the same. What is in motion stays in motion, even as the friction of my brain tears at me to just stop.

I'm not sure why I don't.

The sun is bleeding up from the horizon, lighting the clouds near it a pinkish golden color, bringing color to a gray sky. The mountains are saturated with dark, vivid blue shadows and patches of gleaming white snow that hurts to look at.

The light burns my eyes, and I refocus my gaze on the ground in front of me where brown and orange leaves are encased in frost, crunching under my footsteps. With the frost, I'll be leaving pretty clear footsteps until the sun fully rises, but I can't bring myself to care. A brutal, ritualistic death, no matter how gory and painful, seems no worse than the other option.

I try to avoid thinking about the future. Whenever I do, the pull to just stop gets almost overwhelming, and the panic that causes makes everything around it worse. The stability of my mind is nothing but a coin flip, and when it's landed on heads, I try to do all I can to avoid flipping it again.

Still, the future isn't the most avoidable thing.

As I watch my worn-out shoes leave a trail in the frost and leaves, my thoughts can't help but drift towards one of my many taboo subjects.

What happens next is perhaps the scariest question I can pose to myself, mostly because I don't actually know the answer.

I can feel my pulse lift and the fog of my mind start to thicken and creep towards the lucidity I've held for almost a week now, if you ignore the flashes of blood and corpses that don't exist hanging from trees in the edges of my vision. My hands clench and unclench, fingers racing along my palms, ruined nails scratching at my rough skin.

It's not proper for a girl to have such un-ladylike hands.

It's not proper for a girl to cut her hair and hide in the woods on her own, either, is it?

Perhaps the question of what's proper for a girl isn't the most important thing right now.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my burning mind. This part of the forest doesn't have as much undergrowth as usual- notably, it's missing the rampant salal and huckleberries that I've been seeing around here, along with the old growth trees and logs that scaffold the way for smaller plants. I'd guess that it was clear-cut before the disaster, and is maybe five years out from it.

I wonder if the forest knows that it's safe now, that the power tools are dead and the constant consumerist demand has died with most of the world's population. I wonder if its trauma will live on in its occupants, teaching its deer to flee at any movement and its flowers to hide in the deepest, thickest tangles of plants. I wonder if it knows that the world has changed. Maybe it can feel that the human feet that used to trample it have lessened, and maybe it feeds on the corpses and can taste their disease and fear. Perhaps it remains unaware, always living in fear of the next hunting season or the return of the lumber companies and hikers who tear up the native plants and bring with them grasses and Himalayan blackberries. Perhaps it can see me walking through its trees and it wonders what a child so clearly unfit for this life is doing. Perhaps it waits for me to give up and die, so it can welcome me to its soil and bring me home. Perhaps it sees me as only another of the ones that have torn it from its roots and killed its children and brothers, and it only feels distrust and hatred. Perhaps it still wishes I would give up and die, but only so my threatening existence ends.

Perhaps it's just wood and leaves, and I've truly lost what's left of my mind.

I wonder what it thinks of me, if it looks beyond my humanness and sees that the blood running through my veins is the same as what pulses in its children, a cousin of the golden sap that bleeds from its bark. I wonder who it sees.

A girl with rough hands and a shattered mind, maybe. Or a boy who's met death and come back, rather unwillingly. Maybe it only sees a scared child running blindly, or an animal that sacrificed its humanity to keep its straining, breaking heart beating in its chest. Maybe something else entirely, something that's fading away from the inside out and barely even still going.

I wonder who I would see, if I was brave enough to look.

Orion

I go over the bear trap one last time, making sure that it's not being blocked by anything. It's on its last legs, rusty and creaky. It's not a pretty beast, but it does the job, even if the job might give me tetanus one day. I don't really have another option right now, so I choose to remain positive. I have it set on a rough game trail, with the jaws and trigger covered in vines and leaves. I've got a camp set up in a small cave by a cliff less than a mile from the trap, so I can check it every evening, along with the rope ones that I have on other trails. With luck, I'll get something in a couple days, hopefully big enough to last me through the winter. I dream of the day when I get a moose in my traps.

Once I get a catch, I can dry the meat for the winter, and then next spring I'll keep going east and get over the mountains. The east of the mountains is more habitable than the west, so I'll keep looking for a town of survivors there.

I know that there are people out there, and I know that those people have probably grouped up and started rebuilding societies. It'll take a bit to convince them that I'm not sick, and that I'm not there to steal their resources, but I know I can do it. People like me. I like to think that I've held on to most of my charm through what I can only really describe as the apocalypse. Maybe I'll start a family, if I meet someone there who's sweet and pretty, someone who thinks I am too. Maybe we can find a stray dog and live a small, nice life. I just need to take it step by step, and the next step is finding food.

I've always wished that I knew a bit more about plants, especially since the sickness hit and I've been doing this all on my own. I know the basics- thimbleberries, chanterelles, cedar- but not much more than that. I think it'd be helpful to be one of those people who can dig food from the ground during winter. I'm dealing, though. Perhaps a diet consisting mainly of meat isn't the healthiest thing, but I'd say that I'm actually doing pretty well, given the whole apocalypse situation.

The cliff that I've made my temporary home in is only maybe ten or fifteen feet tall, on the base of a relatively steep hill. The cave's entrance is much shorter than me, but if I crouch, I can get in and into the more sizable inner part, where I still can't really stand up. I have coils of rope shoved into a corner, and I toss my beat-up backpack on top of them before sitting on my equally used sleeping bag. It's developed rips and holes that make it not much more useful than a warm blanket, but a warm blanket is still something.

I've adopted a crepuscular lifestyle more recently, altering my waking time to match that of the wildlife. I set my traps early in the morning and check them long after the sun sets. It took me a bit, but I get around five hours of sleep every time I try, amounting to maybe ten every day. I spend the rest of my time either maintaining my body or fantasizing about the town I'll find in eastern Washington. It's not the most exciting life, but it's nice to have some routine in a world like this.

I don't feel very tired yet, so I pull over my backpack and dump its contents on the base of the cave, searching through them. My two extra knives are tied together with a worn out length of twine, along with my flint in its' case, and my bunched-up, too-large raincoat unfolds on the ground, along with a medley of other things, but it only takes me a few moments to find what I was looking for.

When I was a kid, I got three journals for one of my birthdays. I wrote through one of them before the virus hit, and the second one was finished frantically in the first few months. Those two will be burnt to ashes when I have the time, kindling soaked with things that aren't worth remembering. The one I've been using for the past year or so is about halfway through, with my ideas and feelings journaled about once a week. Most of it is plans, maps, paths over the mountains, dotted with records of where I set traps. I'm no artist, but I've sketched out ideas of what a surviving society might look like. Abstract maps are my strength.

I flip to a new page and pull my pencil out of the inner pocket on my backpack, and begin writing.

When I wake in the evening, my head rests uncomfortably on my open journal, with a messy, half finished list of the steps I'll need to take to get over the rockies. My spine aches from being curled up like a dead shrimp for hours, and when I stretch it cracks more than I think should be healthy. It's colder than it was in the morning, but I push myself to get up and shove my stuff back into my bag.

The sky is gray outside, and the air is that sort of sharp cold that hurts a bit to breathe. Every inhale reminds me that winter is soon, and that I'll be over the rockies by this time next year. Maybe I'll even have found my survivors by then, and I'll have my little life set up. I'm sure any little budding village would be happy to have a young member with trapping knowledge, someone who can contribute and still has his whole life ahead of him.

The trail I've set my traps on takes about two hours to fully complete, and a bit more with my care to avoid my own traps. I've made that mistake once, and I never plan to make it again.

The bear trap is surprisingly well hidden for a metal jaw in the leaves- its rust blends in with the leaves scattered over it, and if I wasn't aware of its existence and studying every step I take, there's a good chance I'd lose a leg to it. I feel a twinge of apology for whatever poor thing gets caught in my trap, but we all need to eat. Anyways, it's probably no more violent than any of the other ways a thing could die out here.

I return to my little cave as the first couple of raindrops start hitting the leaves, and I curl up in my sleeping bag to stay warm as I watch the rain fall.

It's hypnotizing, in a way. The quiet roar is the loudest thing in the woods, and it drowns out any other sound. Within half an hour, the rain has turned from a gentle patter to a downpour, turning the world gray outside of the cave. The cave has a helpful slant that keeps the water from running down to where I'm sitting, but the cold still ends up saturating my skin, soaking through me just as quickly as the rain would.

I lie down and turn away from the cave entrance. There's no better time to sleep than during a rainstorm.

☆☆☆

That's chapter one of star! Thanks for reading (:

[cardcaptorsakura96]

And Then There Was Her

This is for Writing Workshop Week 2: Paying Attention that is being hosted by @bettsfic on @books

Summary: Lena makes her usual morning walk until she runs into an unfamiliar face

As Lena looks out her window, she sees that it is raining and sighs.

“It has been raining the last month since I have gotten to National City. Whoever said that it never rains in southern California must not have lived here full time.”

She came to National City to escape Lex with his constant manipulation and torture. She just wanted a fresh start outside his overbearing shadow. However, Lena had fallen into the same routine.

As she heads out, she notices the same old things. The gray sky emptying tons of rain on her shoulders prompting her to hurriedly open her red umbrella. As she walks, she sees the mail man trying to hurry from house to house with his parka not doing a good job of protecting him from the elements.

“I am surprised she hasn’t gotten a cold by now,” Lena muttered as she kept on walking.

After she passed the houses, she starts seeing the different businesses around town and her usual fellow commuters. There was the lady in the yellow raincoat and same colored boots walking while looking at her cell phone. She bobs and weaves around the other commuters.

“I still don’t get how she is able to read that thing without bumping into anyone,” said Lena shaking her head.

She hears screaming in the distance. It was the local butcher arguing with his wife again. The screaming always have to do with what the specials of the day are. Today, they were arguing about whether they should have a discount on spare ribs or cow tongue.

Lena shuddered and said, “Whoever thought cow tongue was a good idea?”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches her destination: Noonan's. It was the best breakfast location in the area.

Once she got inside, she quickly got in line. She sees that the same three people are ahead of her today. A man in a blue suite talking on his phone about an upcoming court case, a man listening to his headphones, not really aware of his surroundings, and a young mother trying to wrangle in her toddler while she tries to place her order.

Lena decided to do what she always did when she realized she would have a long wait, read work emails. She was able to complete two by the time she gets to the register.

“Do you want your usual, Lena?”

Lena winced when she heard her name. She didn’t like that the staff had become overly familiar with her to call her by her first name. However, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised since she was in this place every day. Sometimes, she visited twice a day.

Lena sighs and said, “I do want the usual, but I also want to get the cake special that you were offering.”

“Oh, you mean the free birthday cake if you can prove that it is your birthday?

“Yup, that is the one.”

Lena didn’t usually celebrate her birthday. Her family found that sort of thing very trivial. However, this was her first birthday on her own and didn’t have anyone controlling her. She wanted to celebrate her independence and dammit she wanted to do it with cake.

“So, that special was very popular especially since we gave the option to order and verify your birthday online. All of our cakes are sold out for the day.”

“What!”

“I know. We didn’t think the promotion would do this well. We are extending the promotion to tomorrow if you wouldn’t mind waiting until then.”

“It would be too late then,” said Lena softly trying to hold back tears.

“It is always the same. Nothing every goes my way.”

“Actually, she can have my cake.”

Lena turned around and was stunned by who she saw. It was a woman with long wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were unfortunately partly hidden by her glasses. She was wearing a pink wavy dress. The thing that stuck out to Lena was her smile. It could light up the room.

“Oh, I couldn’t take your cake,” stammered Lena.

“What is wrong with me. I never get this tongue tied.”

“It is no trouble at all. I had originally got this for my sister. Her birthday is today. I was supposed to meet her, but her fiancé surprised her with first class tickets to Paris last night, and they will be gone the next two weeks.”

“At least let me compensate you for the cake.”

The woman chuckled. It sounded like music to Lena’s ears.

“Honestly, you would be doing me a favor. Noonan’s cakes are good, but I doubt it will last until my sister gets back.”

The woman handed her over the cake.

“Thank you so much…. What is your name?” stumbled Lena over her words.

“My name is Kara.”

She held out her hand. Lena felt herself blushing.

“Idiot! It is just a simple handshake. Get yourself together!”

“My name is Lena.”

Lena felt her pants vibrating which jolted her out of the conversation.

She answered her phone and snapped, “What!”

“I am sorry Miss Luthor. There was an incident in the lab…”

“Say no more. I will be right there.”

“Of course, the one day I meet someone interesting I can’t stick around.”

Lena looked up sheepishly at Kara and said, “I ummm… have to run….work stuff. I umm… hope I see you around.”

She started blushing hard as she quickly exited the restaurant. She had never met anyone that has made her feel this way before.

“Is this what it feels like to have a crush?”

Lena mulled over that single thought as she walked to her job not realizing until she got there that she walked through the cold rain without an umbrella.

[clonedchaos]

“Did You Just Propose to me with Crochet Dinosaurs?”

Just a little Drabble for @fyeahjurassicocs Jurassic Pride Month featuring two of my Jurassic World OCs (whom I really need to get around to writing more 😭). This is just for fun/practice with them and many of the prompts so far have been interesting, so might as well jump in. (I'm late, I'm so very sorry ;-;) Sooooo… Enjoy!

Prompt: Day 1- Jurassic World Pride Parade

“Danny! Take a look at this!”

Jordan turned away from the vibrant collage of colors parading down Times Square. The sounds of the crowd deafened her senses, but she was able to detect her girlfriend’s voice anywhere.

Natalie stood a few feet away at one of the nearby Pride market booths with a giddy look on her face. She had decided to go all out for the New York Pride festival, an uncommon contrast from her rather modest clothing. Her black curls were done up in a high bun and her face was adored with intricate flowers and star designs painted with blues, purples, and pinks. She had on a flowery blue top with faux flowers on the collar and a purple and pink ombré petticoat.

Jordan on the other hand was blanketed in a lesbian flag that doubled as a cape. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and held tight with a pink flower clip. Natalie had painted a heart on her cheek and applied a smoky eye shadow look for extra flair that Jordan was careful not to smudge despite her aversion to makeup. The colors framed her like the setting sun itself.

She ducked and weaved through the crowd towards her girlfriend. Natalie spun to face her with a wide grin. In her palms was a tiny crocheted hadrosaurus crafted in various shades of orange, white, and pink. “It’s a… ‘Lesbeosaurus.’ Get it? Because it’s a Lambeosaurus?”

Jordan chuckled as Natalie placed it in her palms. She gave it a little scratch on the head, fondly reminiscing on the times she had raised infant dinosaurs after they had been birthed from the hatchery. Despite the fall of Jurassic World, she still missed the dinosaurs on the island dearly. Especially Indie. How was the Indominus Rex doing, anyways?

“It’s adorable, Nat,” was all she said as she forced the thoughts away.

“And this one too,” Natalie added, reaching over to pluck a crocheted Dilophosaurus from its stand. “A Bi-lophosaurus… Do we need these? Or… DO we need these?” She smirked.

Jordan reached up and placed the hadrosaur on her shoulder like it was her mini partner in crime. “I think I’ve learned now not to let you run off on your own during a pride parade. Our wallets will thank us later once we ditch the market.”

Natalie gave a mock pout as she held her Dilophosaurus up to her head. “Oh, come on. It’s just one purchase.”

“You said that at the last four booths we went to,” Jordan snorted with a smile. Natalie had swore to her that the beaded necklace sporting the bi flag’s colors and a rainbow blanket for the apartment was a necessity, not a want. And of course a pride flag for the balcony, because their resident canine and feline had a habit on chewing on anything they could sink their teeth into and Natalie wasn’t about to let them tarnish something so important during pride month. Which, naturally, led to Natalie purchasing collars and toys for their ‘fur babies’. Jordan needed to pull her out of the market fast, before she blew their life savings in one day.

“This is perfect for your locker at work and my office at the vet,” Natalie claimed, already pulling out some cash from her purse. Before Jordan could stop her, the transfer was complete. If anyone was more stubborn than her, it would be Natalie-- though others had stated she was a lot more calm and collected about it like a forest stream while Jordan's emotions tended to crackle off her like a firework.

“There. Now we have two new buddies for our collection,” Natalie smiled, nudging her on the shoulder. As if either of them needed more dinosaur merchandise, they’d already gotten far too many memorabilia from their time working at Jurassic World.

Jordan smiled and reached up on her tiptoes. Natalie stood a full foot taller than her. It annoyed her to no end that she was the "small girlfriend". It annoyed her even more that Natalie occasionally liked to sweep her up bridal style when she was annoyed or flustered to calm her down. Well, that second part didn't annoy her truthfully, but no one else but Nat needed to know that!

She put her Lambeosaurus in front of Natalie's Dilophosaurus and made the two plushies give each other a swift peck on the cheek. “There. Now they’re dating. Like us.”

Natalie set her hand in Jordans as the two headed back into the throng of people. The roar of the crowd nearly drowned out their words, but Jordan could undeniably hear Natalie’s comment. “Dating? No, they’re engaged.”

Jordan’s head whipped toward her girlfriend as a blush crept across her cheeks. Natalie was suddenly down on one knee, diamond ring in hand. The paleo veterinarian seemed flustered, her usual collected exterior flooded with anxiety as she awaited a response.

Jordan was momentarily stunned and unable to cling to any thought spiraling through her head. It was really happening? Here? Right now? She wasn’t dreaming this, was she?

Her heart felt light for the first time in several years. She lunged forward, nearly tackling Natalie to the ground. Taking that as an acceptance, Natalie began to laugh. Jordan laughed with her as they held one another in a gentle embrace.

“…Did you just propose to me with crochet dinosaurs?”

[larkral]

Rules: Answer these 15 questions, then tag 15 people.

Tagged by...uh, kind of a lot of people (@asocialpessimist @artsyunderstudy @shrekgogurt @raenestee @stitchyqueer @cutestkilla), been on a work deadline and enjoying learning more about everyone, but also exceedingly tapped out.

1. Are you named after anyone? Nope! I am especially notably not named after my second cousin who was born right before my elder sister and received the name my mother was planning on giving my sister, which she then decided to save for me.

2. When was the last time you cried? I've been doing a lot more just sitting in sad silence than crying lately, so probably like...last Saturday? No special reason, just 'cause I was in my feels.

3. Do you have kids? Two little adorable gremlin children, yes.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yeah, yep. Yes.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people? If observing objectively, I probably notice the general shape of their face. Planes and structure and arrangement of features. If it's in an interactive context, I usually pick up on what their expectations of the interaction are -- do they want something from me, are they expecting to provide me something, etc.

6. What's your eye color? Blue.

7. Scary movies or happy ending? Is neither an option? Neither. Give me befuddling comedy horror or give me I guess like an architecture documentary.

8. Any special talents? I think probably my most valuable talent is being willing to just figure out how to do the thing. And then doing it. Building a retaining wall, tiling a bathroom, making a bouquet of paper flowers, yeah, I'm gonna make it happen if I want to make it happen. I'm also going to join the group of folks who are saying that their secret talent is signing, cause I do surprise people at karaoke. ;-)

9. Where were you born? In the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. At around one mile elevation above sea level.

10. What are your hobbies? Writing, sewing, knitting,

11. Do you have any pets? An adorable tiny toy poodle mutt who everyone thinks is a puppy. She's 7y/o.

12. What sports have you played? I played flat track women's Roller Derby for 5 years, and I was pretty fucking good at it, but also it was a thing I started doing in large part because I wanted to make friends, and I ended up with 0 roller derby friends, and spending ten hours a week on a pastime where everyone there is like, so-so on me was not a good vibe. I'd love to play again someday, but it might not be in the cards.

13. How tall are you? 5'8.

14. Favorite subject at school? Art. I always really enjoyed getting lost in the process of making art.

15. Dream job? Renaissance person. I'd like to just be able to do an extremely wide variety of things both physical and cerebral.

tagging @captain-aralias @facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @petedavidsonscock @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @fatalfangirl and I, like some others, did not have the energy to check whether you'd already done this, so I'm sorry if this is a redundant tag 😘

[videokilled]

The gasp that was about to be jostled from the TV was barely subdued as he was grabbed. Thoroughly startled by the manhandling and then also by the abrupt ferocity that he was held with. Vox's claws latched onto Alastor's wrists and electricity sprang up from his shoulders and danced down his arms like he was charging. Not releasing anything yet but alarmed enough for his own defenses to be raised.

His eyes widened further hearing Alastor's voice as sharp and angry and hurt and desperate as it was. The whirlwind of his own mental 180° shocked him into silence more effectively than anything he remembered to date. He hadn't believed him before- but he believed him now. He believed him now.

Vox knew he was under contract, he just didn't know what kind- or when- and this put a lot of context into that equation. He was well aware of types of contracts. And it looked like this one was the worse. Moreso it was there- before they met. He hadn't even considered that. The contract dragged him away. The contract also seemed to have kept him away.

Right as Vox opened his mouth to maybe say something probably affirming- to give some sort of validation or acknowledgment to the new angle he had light on now- the entirety of the walls and his place started to melt and pull and move like warm taffy. His cerise eyes widened even further, the blue pupils shrinking in much more acute alarm. The blue ice chips in his red eyes flicked up to hone in on the shadow looming closer- how long had it been there??

The cyan and white electricity increased along his arms, traveling from his shoulders down to his hands where it fizzled out and more followed.

"Okay- okayokay-" he found himself saying. His voice was accommodating and easy. Making space for Alastor to keep talking if it meant calming down. If there was one thing Vox excelled at it was de-escalation if he really needed too. He dodged plenty of bullets physical and metaphorical, from topside and here with this ability but never through this many emotions

Hearing what they had built a lifetime ago described as genuine from Alastor's mouth made him stutter a bit. His own tears started welling again gradually and something in his chest seemed to ease if only faintly. A lot of late nights and drinking and venting to Velvette sometimes made him believe that maybe he had bought into something that hadn't been there to begin with. Now Vox wanted to cling to that, ask for him to elaborate on it and talk about it for his own sanity, but Alastor didn't seem to be in the best state presently. With the walls turning colors.

Vox didn't think the shadow would lunge at him. He didn't think so... but not only was he unsure- but he was not within his element to fight it off. Especially if Alastor got involved.

He was feeling shaky himself, trembling just a bit noticeably. In the effort of self preservation though, his hands let go of Alastor's wrists- but continued sparking as he held them outward palms out.

"Okay-" he said again because he couldn't find other words- but he usually was better at verbally diffusing too. The emotions were spilling over again, as were the tears. Building by his eyes and then running down his screen and gathering along the ledge of his frame, and dripping off the corner to the floor.

He had more to say- questions- but the shock of even just that new info was a lot to wade through when all his emotions would let him say was 'okay'.

Vox pulled his coat on but his hands paused when Alastor spoke again. He did sound sad. Maybe that's what he had been sifting for in his voice earlier.

The media demon wasn't sure if Alastor knew how much turmoil his disappearance had caused. He was sure the other chalked it up to be simply 'he was sad'. Interest wise? Of course he was interested. Even under all the big talk and drama, he was even self aware of how bad he had it for Alastor. Even now.

The louder more paranoid part of him said there was no way this wouldn't end the same. It took him 7 years to come back and say that he messed up. That he shouldn't have done that. That maybe that might have been hurtful. It wasn't even the first thing he did. He flaunted around and teased and did some low grade errands first. Not only that- they were only in this situation because Vox had kissed Alastor. Because Vox suggested they move somewhere private. Because Vox brought them into and compromised his private flat. What had Alastor done, stood in front of him and fumbled his way through an I'm sorry? After Vox told him to say it to his face. The only reason the media overlord had actually listened to him was because of the first sorry.

"I'm not asking about public relations." Vox said after a long pause, and his voice sounded just the tiniest bit pinched. Like he would have thought Alastor KNEW he wasn't talking about public relations. He didn't give a shit what the public thought. It changed with the wind. They were idiots.

Fuck. He was trying so hard to have this conversation without the emotions exploding from their overflowing compartmentalized box, but it wasn't working. Everytime Alastor hit a nerve it felt like a hairline trigger to more tears. He couldn't look like he was in control with tears ready at any moment.

He didn't believe that Alastor wanted this truly. But he wanted to believe that he did. He knew the other was just as ready and willing to pull some manipulative bullshit as he was. He had just hoped he wouldn't do that. Because that would cause hurt. Hurt which Vox knew he, himself, had caused to Alastor in the past.

Vox knew he had gone too far with his ability, his thrall, desperate to make Alastor stay and just talk it out.

Of course at the time Vox hadn't known the other had been under contract.

The media demon stole a glance at Alastor, looking on the verge of tears all over again- but resisting. It was just business talk. He could just treat it like business talk. He looked away again.

"I'm interested. But I don't trust you. I think you'll leave when you've had your fill." He said very flatly. His voice was even, having leeched whatever emotion would have been there out of its veins completely. But he definitely couldn't do the same for his expression, which is likely why he turned his head away when he had started speaking.

The TV slowly finished buttoning up his jacket. There were more tears in his eyes. His throat ached and his chest ached and his non-existent demon heart ached. He had no faith that Alastor would continue apologizing for what he did, and Vox was pretty sure that was the only thing that would soothe his bristling. That- or action.

[animesmolbean]

Guardian of Light

(Female)

Hello! Welcome to my rewritten story for Dune and Kingdom Hearts!

Some things have changed, and the story has more added detail that helps with the story.

Regarding updates, they will be slower because I really want to explore a bit of the story, especially for future chapters. But I'll try to update as soon as I can.

As shown up above, this is the female version of the chapter! The male version will be published tomorrow (Tuesday). The female and male verison will have some differences (if you read both of them) to show the different actions taken by the characters. This will mostly affect the intimacy part of the story and not really the actual plot.

One more thing, I was inspired to write this story after reading a fanfiction I read on Wattpad that is just phenomenal! My story follows the format of it (most of the time), but it's a completely different story!

I'll link the book here if you are interested in reading it!

With all of that out of the way,

Hope you enjoy the first chapter! ♥️

Dreams are messages from the deep.

“My planet, Arrakis, is so beautiful when the sun is low.  Rolling over the sands… You can see spice in the air.  At nightfall, the spice harvesters land.  

The outsiders and their army of demons race against time to avoid the heat of the day.  They ravaged our lands in front of our eyes.  Their cruelty to my people is all I've known. 

These outsiders, The Harkonnens, came long before I was born.  But their demon army only came recently with them.  

By controlling the spice production, they become obscenely rich.  Richer than the Emperor himself.  

Our warriors couldn't free Arrakis from the Harkonnens or the demons that lurk in the shadows, but one day, by the imperial decree, they were gone.  

Why did the Emperor choose this path?  And who will our next oppressors be?”

〰️

Chapter 1: Accepting a Deal

〰️

Year 10191

CALADAN, Homeworld of House Atreides

“I've been having these weird thoughts lately.  Like is any of this for real… or not?” 

A (straight/curly/wavy) (hair color) girl slowly woke up.  The soft glow from her light of her room, ridding her of any feeling of sleep.  

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair.  She looked around, seeing the familiar room she was given when she was a kid.  

“It was… just a dream.” She whispered. 

〰️ 

Meanwhile, a young boy was lying on a bed, shirtless, asleep, but tossed and turned a little as he dreamed.  He was dreaming about something.  Or rather, someone.  Her (Hair Color) hair gently blowing in the wind.  She turned towards him, her beautiful sapphire blue eyes sparkling with happiness as she smiled widely.

His beautiful best friend since they were kids, the girl who is always the light of his life.  (Your Name).

However, there was someone else with her.  It was another girl that wore a different outfit compared to (Your Name).  The boy didn't know who this was, for he could only see the side of her face.  But he knew that he had dreamed of her before too.

The boy's hazel green eyes opened, groaning softly, sitting up as the moving light came and shined against his shirtless form.  He sat up in his bed, looking down.

‘What could that dream mean?’ He thought to himself.

〰️

The same young boy was now in a dining room, sitting at the table, deep in thought as he ate his breakfast. 

An older woman who sat at the end of the table spoke up, breaking him out of his thoughts.  “It's good you're up early.  I just wish (Your Name) could be too.” 

〰️

(Your Name) stood outside, in a loose gray long sleeve, baggy black Capri pants and her boots were off, placed by a rock.  

She dipped her feet into the large, cool body of water, walking until the water was halfway to her calves.  She looked out towards the horizon, in deep thought.

〰️

“Your father wants you two in full dress before the Emperor's Herald arrives.” 

The brunet boy raised his head up at this news, “Full dress?  Military?” 

“Ceremonial.” Jessica, the woman's name and his mother replied.

Paul let out a sigh.  “Why would we have to go through all this when it's already been decided?” Paul asked.  

“Ceremony.” Jessica simply replied.

The doors to the room suddenly opened, making the two at the dining table turn.  Paul's lips lifted up into a smile at who was standing there.  (Your Name).  

“Ah…” (Your Name) chuckled awkwardly.  “So sorry I'm late.” The girl walked over to the spot between Paul and Jessica.  

“Nice to see you here (Your Name).  And with shoes on this time.” Jessica lightly teased her daughter-like figure.  She knew this girl since she was around five years old.  She remembered the day the first time she brought her to Caladan. 

〰️

Jessica was out late at night, having trouble sleeping.  The sky was dark, stars twinkling and the moon being the only thing providing light, making anything the light shone on glow a soft blue.  

She walked along a beach that Caladan was known for, when saw what looked like a shooting star in the sky.  But she saw it was falling towards the ground, not going across the sky like a shooting star normally would.  

She watched the bright light and splash into a large body of water she was near.  She walked closer to the water, her feet touching the soft sand.  What she saw made her eyes widened.

What fell into the water was not a rock.  But a child.  She looked very young, like about five years old.  She wore a white loose shirt with black shorts and no shoes.

Acting fast, she took off the cloak she was wearing and grabbed the wet, unconscious child and carried her back to the castle to be taken care of.

Jessica walked towards one of the spare rooms, requesting one of their servants to find clothes for the child.  The female servant did what she was told while Jessica laid the child on the bed.  

She got a closer look at the girl.  She had (Hair Color) hair, (Skin Color) skin, all wet from landing in the water.  She frowned and stroked the girl's wet hair.  

This action caused the child to stir and mumble.  Jessica watched the childhood slowly come to.  When she opened her eyes however, Jessica felt her heart beat increase.

The girl's eyes were a deep blue.  Like the color of sapphires or cobalt.

Jessica knew then, she needed to keep this girl safe.

〰️

(Your Name) chuckled shyly at Jessica's teasing, playing with the silver charm on her silver necklace; shaped like a small crown.  She smiled back then looked over to her best friend who was already staring at her.  Before she sat down, she greeted Paul with a kiss on his temple.  The male smiled softly at her.

Once (Your Name) was seated and eating her breakfast, Jessica told her what she had just told Paul.  The girl was confused as to why they were having a ceremony but she gave Jessica a nod before she resumed eating.  Jessica poured a glass of water for (Your Name) and slid the glass to her.  The (Hair Color) haired girl thanked her quietly.

Jessica did the same for Paul, “Thank you.” The boy whispered.  Jessica replied, “If you want it, make me give it to you.  Use the Voice.” 

(Your Name) guessed that Jessica wanted Paul to use the voice to bring him the water. 

“Mom, I just woke up.” Paul protested in a gruffy, morning voice.

Jessica just stared at her son making Paul roll his eyes as he reluctantly agreed to try. He turned his body in the chair to use the voice, “Give me the water.” 

It came out more like a soft, raspy whisper than what it was intended to be.

(Your Name) let out a muffled giggle at Paul's weak attempt.  “The glass can't hear you.  Say it to your mother.” She whispered.

Paul gave the girl a look before looking back at his mother.  Seconds felt like minutes.  The atmosphere shifted to stillness as (Your Name) watched Paul and Jessica stare at each other intensely, waiting for Paul to use the Voice again.  

Moments later, his lips moved.

“Give me the water.” 

The voice came out gruffier and a bit distorted.  But it did its magic.  Jessica took the glass and pushed it towards Paul a little.  But as quickly she was under the spell, she quickly snapped out of it.  She pushed the glass of water closer to Paul.

“Almost.” 

“Almost?”

Paul's voice was back to its normal pitch.

“Bene Gesserit skills take years to learn, Paul.” Jessica told her son as he reached out and grabbed the glass.

(Your Name) nodded.  Even though she wasn't being taught to use the Bene Gesserit, she understood its complexity and why it's important to master.

Jessica observed her son before speaking again.  “You look tired.  More dreams?” 

(Your Name) raised an eyebrow in confusion.  She looked at her friend with worry.  ‘Has he been dreaming too?’ She thought to herself. 

Paul shook his head muttering, “No.” Then he went back to eating.

“What about you, (Your Name)?  Have you been dreaming?” Jessica asked.  

The girl looked down before muttering, “No.” 

〰️

“Extreme temperatures and treacherous weather events make life outside the cities of Arrakis truly hostile.” A robotic voice came from a recording that laid on the ground and showed visuals of what they were talking about.

After breakfast, the two childhood best friends decided to spend some time studying before they had to head to the ceremony.

The recorded voice from the video played as Paul had a book in his hands about the Fremen, reading it as his back leaned against (Your Name)’s torso.  The girl was in a kneeling position, her arms were wrapped around his neck, forearms resting on top of his shoulders.  Her head was on top of Paul's, silently reading along with him, occasionally nuzzling her nose into the boy's curly hair.  She was only half paying attention, focused on looking at the book, listening to the recording and trying to be as close to Paul as possible.

“With sandworms powerful enough to cut through metal.  Only the native tribes known as the Freman and one other special person, that hasn't been seen nor born for centuries known as the Haris Aldaw’ have adapted well enough to survive.” 

(Your Name)’s attention was diverted when she heard that name.  Haris Aldaw’.  She moved her head off of Paul’s.  She has heard that name before.  From where, she wasn't too sure.  

Paul turned his head to look at the (Hair Color) haired girl, his hazel green eyes showing worry.  “(Your Name), are you okay?” 

The (Hair Color) haired girl blinked before nodding.  “Yeah.  I'm alright.  Don't worry.” She replied to the boy.  

Paul let one of his hands go from holding the book, grabbing one of (Your Name)’s hands, giving it a gentle squeeze.  (Your Name) welcomed the comforting pressure and did it back to him.  But to her surprise, Paul pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.  

The (Hair Color) haired girl felt a blush blossom onto her cheeks at the gesture.  Now flustered, she looked away shyly.  

Paul let her hand go and smirked to himself before he continued reading.

“Preferring to inhabit the remotest regions of Arrakis the Freman share the deep desert with the giant sandworms, known to the Fremen as Shai-Hulud.  Long exposure to spice has given the tribe their characteristic blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad.”

‘I wonder if it's as blue as my eyes.’ (Your Name) thought to herself, her focus back on the book and the recording.

“Little else is known of the Freman except that they have some sort of power that controls the Earth and the Freman are dangerous and unreliable.  On the other hand, much is known about the Haris Aldaw’.  They are known to control elements and have other magical abilities such as being able to glide.” 

(Your Name) bit her bottom lip.  ‘My dream last night was about gliding… and falling.’ She thought to herself again.

“Freman Attacks make spice harvesting extremely hazardous.  For the Freman spice is the sacred hallucinogen which preserves life and brings enormous health benefits.  For the imperium the spice is used by the navigators of the spacing guild to find safe paths between the stars.  Without spice, interstellar travel is impossible, making it by far the most valuable substance in the universe.” The voice recording concluded.

〰️

(Your Name) and Paul were now standing outside, dressed nicely for the ceremony, both dressed similarly; since (Your Name) prefers men’s clothes for mobility.  There were rare occasions where she dressed like Lady Jessica but only for very special occasions.  The two of them stood close to each other as they waited. 

The (Hair Color) haired girl turned her head to look at the bearded man in the center.  Duke Leto Atreides.  The man she saw as her father for many years now.  She remembered when she first came to Caladan, he was confused as to how she got here and where she came from.  Jessica had explained the situation and the Duke didn't want to believe the tale but when he saw how adamant she was, he believed her.  

He took her in and cared for her like she was one of his own kids, raising her alongside Paul.  Teaching her many things like reading and writing, alongside Lady Jessica.  She couldn't be more graceful to the two for taking her in.  

The Duke turned his head and saw the (Hair Color) haired girl looking at him.  He gave the girl a subtle nod to her; a gesture she returned to him, a gentle smile on her face.

An enormous oval shaped ship landed on the ground.  The ramp was placed down as the important people walked out from it.  They were wearing their house clothes and walking respectfully towards them.  (Your Name) wasn't exactly sure who they were but knew they were of utmost importance if they were coming to speak with the Atreides.  

“Smile Gurney.” The Duke said, looking forward at the approaching visitors, his tone calm but with a touch of joking as he spoke to his trusted member. 

“I am smiling.” Gurney replied monotonously, a blank expression on his always serious looking face.  

(Your Name) bit her bottom lip to suppress a snicker from escaping her lips.  Paul looked at her in mild amusement. 

The Duke shook his head at Gurney’s deadpan response, “How much will it cost them traveling all this way for this formality?” 

“Three Guild navigators and a total of 1,460,062 Solaris for this round trip.” Another trusted advisor answered beside the Duke. The Duke turned his attention back to the new visitors.

(Your Name) watched as a member of the group that arrived from the ship bow to the Duke, “By the grave of Shaddam IV of the House Corrino, ascendant to the Golden Lion Throne of Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe, I stand before you as Herald of the Change.  We are witnessed by members of the Imperial Court, representatives of the Spacing Guild, and a sister of the Bene Gesserit.  The Emperor has spoken.”  He pulled out a scroll, unrolling it before he read, “House Atreides shall immediately take control of Arrakis and serve as its steward.” The member closed the scroll.  Do you accept?

The Duke took a couple long strides, stopping at the top of the stairs, “We are House Atreides.  There is no call we do not answer.  There is no faith that we betray.  The Emperor asks us to bring peace to Arrakis!  House Atreides accepts!” 

“Atreides!  Atreides!  Atreides!” The soldiers that stood everywhere, representing House Atreides, started chanting as the Duke made his way down the stairs to sign the paper.  

Before he does, the Duke looks back at his son and (Your Name), seeing them both giving him a subtle nod in agreement, silently approving him. They watched him sign the paper using his signet ring.  

As he did, (Your Name) felt a feeling in her stomach that she couldn't quite place.  Like a feeling of unease.  She wasn't sure why she felt it just now.  ‘Probably from all the people staring at us.’ She thought to herself.

“So it is done?” Leto asked the Herald.

“It's done.” The Herald responded, face blank, not showing any emotion.

Once the deal was finalized, (Your Name) scooted closer to Paul, pressing her right arm against his left one.  The curly haired boy looked at the girl.  He gave her a gentle smile which she returned in kind.  

She always liked Paul's smile.  Paul thought the same thing about her.  

Taglist

@skeletonixsstuff

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[zinder-fox]

Had to think for a bit on some of these. I'm the worst at picking favorites...

Last Song: Shadow by Livingston - my phone was just playing Spotify in my car

Currently reading: nothing? I am, for once, between fics and haven't really read books lately... I guess my outline notes for 'open my eyes' might count?

Favorite Color: I like most colors, but I gravitate toward teal/blue the most. (Runners up: red, purple, and silver metallic/shiny)

Last movie: Howl's Moving Castle, I think. I don't watch movies much so it's been a while.

Currently watching: Dungeon Meshi is the main one right now, but also slowly making my way through Case Study of Vanitas and Demon Slayer. And My Hero Academia season 7 as it airs.

Sweet, savory, or spicy: Generally, I'll go sweet. But sometimes savory wins. Spicy is good in moderation, but I don't have an especially high spice tolerance.

Current main obsession: Bungou Stray Dogs (for show) and bookbinding (for hobby)

Tea or coffee: Coffee, but I really only like it a couple ways from certain coffee shops so I don't actually drink it much. I've tried a number of types of tea and have found only one or two fruit teas drinkable and still not my favorite.

Last thing I googled: 'tweet format' while hunting down good options for formatting tweets from a fic for a physical book

Relationship status: legally taken 😌

I never know who to tag in these... @the-port-mafia, @eijunes, @tirsynni, @silverystarswanderer (and anyone else that feels like it, feel free!)

tag 9 people you want to know better

tagged by: @nathanmillers thank you friend 💛

last song: champagne jack by gene noble

favourite color: orange

currently reading: a script

currently watching: power book ii: ghost, atla, degrassi 😇

last movie: potc at worlds end

sweet, spicy or savory: spicy

relationship status: single

current obsession: non really just waiting for the my sims re-release date

tea or coffee: coffee

the last thing i googled: underground roller rink

tagging: @miss-lauryn-hill @zalrb @initiumseries @gemleilou @adorableanonymousbutterfly @spikeface @userlaylivia

@slice-of-magenta @beesly-pam

[cursedwriter]

Promise me - Fushiguro Megumi

Synopsis: After being attacked by a cursed spirit, Megumi comes to a realization that will change everything

Words: 3.8k

Author’s Note: My requests are open, so feel free to send me short prompts or headcanons if you want to! (For Jujutsu Kaisen characters) 

You turned and tossed in your bed, trying to finally get comfortable, but no matter what you tried, nothing felt right.  For the umpteenth time you reached for your bedside table, searching for your phone in the dark. When your fingers brushed against a sleek surface, you grabbed your phone and the screen illuminated, making you wince and squint your eyes. The artificial light bathed your room in a cold blue color, causing the shadows at the foot of your bed to dance. They looked a lot more frightening than usual.

You sighed, turning to your side and trying not to look too closely at them before your imagination could run wild. Besides, you had other things to worry about.

You tapped your screen, watching as the image changed to your recent chat with your boyfriend. He still hasn’t read any of your messages and that had you worried.

[5.56pm] Megumi: Hey, are you home?

[6.02pm] Y/N: Yeah, I’m here!

[6.06pm] Megumi: Is it okay if I come over later?

[6.07pm] Y/N: Of course!

[6.47pm] Y/N: Hey, I know you didn’t specify when you’d come, but will you be long? I could cook dinner if you haven’t eaten yet. What do you feel like having tonight?

[7.25pm] Y/N: Megumi? Is everything alright?

[7.55pm] Y/N: Why aren’t you reading my texts? I tried to call but you’re not picking up… I’m worried. Pls just tell me you’re okay

[8.32pm] Y/N: Megumi?

[9.45pm] Y/N: Hello?

[10.39pm] Y/N: It’s getting really late… I take it you’re not gonna make it…

[11.16pm] Y/N: I’m going to bed now… I placed the spare key underneath the mat out front just in case you’re still coming. I hope you’re safe… call me anytime and I’ll pick up

You reread your texts over and over, gnawing on your bottom lip. Could something have happened? Did he get into an accident? Or maybe he was back doing whatever shady things he did at night. Megumi wasn’t the most upfront about his feelings or things that were on his mind. But it wasn’t just that… it wasn’t necessarily that you thought he was lying to you, but he wasn’t telling you the whole truth either. A few white lies you could excuse and you hoped that eventually he’d be comfortable enough to open up about the things that were gnawing on him. Time passed, your relationship moved forward but still… he never seemed to be fully honest with you.

The familiar sound of a key being turned in its lock brought you back to reality. Immediately, you jumped out of bed, wobbling through the darkness with your phone as a flashlight. The door creaked open as you peered around the corner. Logically, it could only mean that Megumi had decided to come after all, but you wanted to make sure that it wasn’t in fact a burglar or creep that had seen you put the key under the mat earlier in the day.

The person coming through the door grunted, toeing their shoes off by the entrance and moving forward sluggishly. The light your phone had provided earlier was off now and you couldn’t see the intruders face. Another low grunt left his lips and he cursed under his breath, telling you everything you needed to know. It was definitely Megumi.

“What the hell took you so long?” You questioned, turning the light on. Megumi flinched at the sudden brightness… or your voice, you couldn’t tell. Another curse word left his lips and upon finally being able to see his face you couldn’t help the gasp that was caught in your throat. There was blood all over his face. His right eye had a dark purple bruise beneath it and his clothes were dirty and torn. One arm was slung across his torso as he stood with a slight slouch as if standing up straight would tear him apart.

“I’m sorry…” He croaked, face contorting in pain, though, you could tell he was trying to hold it back. Hesitantly he took another step forward while you rushed to his side. “I’m sorry,” he repeated as he tried to hold onto the wall, but before he could even reach out, he stumbled forward and collapsed on the floor.

“Megumi!”

***

“This one’s for you,” she smiled at him while placing a cup of tea and a tasty looking pastry in front of him.

“I haven’t ordered anything yet,” Megumi told her, but her smile didn’t falter.

“I know,” she said and he looked at her confused. “It’s my treat. You look like you could use a little something to cheer you up.” Megumi still looked at her in confusion, which she mistook for dislike. “Uh, I’m sorry… Maybe I should’ve asked first if this was okay… Maybe you don’t even like tea. I can get you something else too, no problem. Or the pastry… I mean maybe you’re allergic or something… I really didn’t think that through, did I? Oh, I’m so sorry!” She stumbled over her words as she hurriedly tried to place the tea and pastry back on her tray. Gently, Megumi placed one hand above her own to halt her hectic movements.

“It’s fine, thank you!” He tried to offer her a smile, but the way the corners of his mouth pulled up felt foreign on his face. It felt like a puppet master was pulling the strings and he didn’t like it. “I appreciate it. I was just surprised, that’s all,” Megumi reassured her and he could instantly see her relax.

“Okay, good,” she sighed in relief. “Well, then enjoy it. If you want to order something else, just wave for me and I’ll be sure to get it.” Her smile on the other hand didn’t look forced or that it held any malice behind it. Instead, it offered warmth and Megumi found himself craving more of that strange feeling that was starting to spread through his whole body. It was stupid, really. All she did was smile and offer him some tea and a pastry, but yet… he couldn’t help but notice that the small smile on his face no longer felt so foreign to him.

***

Megumi winced as he opened his eyes. He was met with a dark room. The only illumination coming from a creak in the blinds where the light of the street lamps from outside caused shadows to dance on the opposite wall. His head was pounding and it took him some time to recollect everything that had happened.

Right… He had been on his way over to your place when he suddenly felt an immense presence of cursed energy fast approaching. Without thinking, his legs took him where the energy felt the most concentrated. It didn’t take him long to find what he was searching looking for. The curse seemed especially heinous, but it couldn’t have been more than a semi-1 grade. He was sure, he could take it. So without further ado, he summoned his shikigami and attacked the cursed creature without mercy. He had been fine at first. It hadn’t been that difficult to hold his own against the curse, but not long after a few successful strikes, the situation turned on him and he was thrown across the space like a rag doll. He was able to recover quickly, but the hit had definitely caused some damage. Nonetheless, he was able to exorcise the curse, but collapsed soon after. When he came to, his whole body hurt, but he was sure that he wasn’t bleeding internally and the worst thing he had were probably a few fractions along his ribs. He should be fine. And then he remembered that he was supposed to meet you. His phone had been completely demolished and he didn’t know how late it was. At first he debated if he should just go to Jujutsu Tech right away, but when he looked around himself, he noticed how close he was to your apartment complex. Why had that cursed spirit been this close to a normal residential area anyways? Without thinking about it, he willed his beaten body to move forward. He had to make sure you were okay, not matter what.  He would just check and see if you were okay and then he could leave again and seek treatment for his wounds. But you had to be his priority right now.

When he reached your apartment, though, he noticed the black spots that were already clouding his vision. Maybe the hit to the head had been worse than he anticipated… That’s where his memory gave out. He must’ve passed out again shortly after that.

Megumi heard a light whimper from somewhere beside him and his head immediately snapped in the direction of the sound. Form the looks of it, you had fallen asleep sitting by the bed. Your head was resting on your arms and your hair had fallen in your face.

Megumi dragged one hand over his face, feeling that his face had apparently been plastered with gauze. You must’ve cleaned his wounds. He sighed. He shouldn’t have come here. He didn’t even mean for you to see him like this. All he wanted was to check if you were okay and then leave again. Now, he had you worried and how in the hell was he supposed to explain what happened anyway? Getting you mixed up in his business was the last thing he wanted. Someone like you should remain in the light, oblivious to the things that lurked in the dark. Megumi was not part of that light. He belonged in the shadows. And while he always thought that light had the power to cast away shadows and expel the darkness, he realized now that that thought had been foolish. The darkness also had the power to swallow the light. A sudden image of his sister flashed before his inner eye. Megumi was cursed in more than one way, but he’d be damned if he dragged you down with him.

Suddenly, everything became clear to him and he knew what he had to do, though, the thought made him sick. Couldn’t he be selfish just this once? No, not if that meant forcing you to go through the same hell he went through every day. He couldn’t ever be selfish if it came to you.

Megumi sat up, low grunts leaving his throat as a surge of pain traveled up his spine.

“Huh?” Your voice rang through the darkened room. Shit, he didn’t mean to wake you up. “Megumi? Are you awake?”

Shit, shit, shit… No, he couldn’t face you. He didn’t know what to say. “Uh, yeah.” His own voice sounded foreign to his ears. It felt like he was underwater. Everything was muffled and sounded miles away. The throbbing in his head didn’t make things any better.

“How are you feeling? Do you need some pain killers? Water?” You immediately jumped to your feet, frantic at the thought of him being in any pain whatsoever. It made his heart ache for you. Even though, he told himself that he could never be selfish when it came to you, he knew that was a lie. He had been selfish all this time. Getting involved with you, spending time with you and getting to know you… falling in love and making you fall for him. That was probably the most selfish thing he had ever done in his life. And now he was paying the price for it…

“Don’t worry so much, I’m fine.” He swatted away your hand that was holding out a glass of water for him. Reluctantly, you sat it back down on the nightstand.  

It was silent for a little while. Neither one of you sure what to say, but when Megumi heard your quiet sobs he was sure that the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces bounced off your apartment walls. “Of course I worry, Megumi… How could I not worry?! I mean, look at you!” He could tell that you tried your best to muffle your cries, but the pain in your voice was still very much evident. He hated this…. He hated himself for this… How could he have been this stupid?! “What happened to you? Please, tell me what happened… I know you like to keep things bottled up and I don’t ever want to pressure you into telling me things you don’t want to, but Megumi, please… I – I just don’t know what to do anymore… I feel so helpless seeing you like this. I just – I…” It was hard finding the right words to express what you were feeling. Because suddenly no word in the world felt close enough to be able to describe the pain you were feeling right this moment.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he brushed you off. What could he say anyway? On my way here, I fought a cursed spirit and while I was able to exorcise it, I sure got my ass handed to me? Right, there was no way he could tell you the truth. Nor did he want to. Another image of his sister reminded him of what he had to do… Why didn’t he see it sooner? He couldn’t drag you into this.

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?? Why?!” The tears were streaming down your face freely now. There was no longer any strength left in you to hold them back. What was the point? “I mean, how is this supposed to work if you can’t trust me? If you can’t talk to me?” You asked him, tone desperate, almost sounding like a plea. “How is this going to end, huh?” With your sleeve you dried your cheeks, blinking rapidly to clear up your vision. Everything was a blur, but you had to see his face. A gut-wrenching feeling overpowering you, telling you that this might be the last time you’d see it.

Megumi didn’t say a word, but the pain in his eyes reflected your own. There was a slight tremble to his lips, but he collected himself and went back to his usual stoic expression before you could confirm it soundly. Silently he got up from the bed, averting your eyes as he stood up. At first you thought he was going to take you in his arms, cooing into your ear that everything would be alright. That he just needed a little more time, but surely, he would open up eventually. You wanted his arms around your shaking body. You wanted to feel safe, you wanted to feel loved… by him. And only him. But you should’ve known better. This just wasn’t Megumi. Instead of taking you in his arms, he brushed past you, leaving you trembling as shaky and shallow breaths threatened to suffocate you. For just a split second, you couldn’t move. Your mind twisting and turning in every direction, making it feel like you were glued to the ground for an eternity. Your vision started to blur again and you desperately looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. Everything felt suffocating. The ceiling. The walls. It made you feel like you were trapped inside a tiny box with no way to escape. Were you having a panic attack? In an attempt to control your breathing, you clutched your heart, feeling it hammering inside your rib cage at an abnormally accelerated speed. Were you going to pass out?

The sound of shoes being put on, broke you out of your frenzy, though, it put your nerves on edge even more… if that was possible. Was he leaving? He couldn’t be… Not now, not at a time like this… Not when you needed him so desperately.

Your feet moved before your mind registered it. Megumi had one hand on the door handle and when he finally spoke, he didn’t even look at you. “I’m sorry for causing you so much pain, Y/N. I really am… but I think it’s better that way.”

He turned the knob of the handle while your mind tried to keep up with what he was trying to say. It didn’t take you long to piece everything together.

“No! Megumi, please! Wait!” You rushed forward, one hand on the door, keeping him from opening it. “Please, don’t do this. Please.” Your voice was barely above a whisper at this point. “Please, you can’t leave me. Please.” Uncontrollable sobs were leaving your mouth. Under different circumstances you’d probably be embarrassed by the way you were acting, pathetically, sobbing like a child.

Out of the corner of your eyes you could see Megumi’s lip tremble again. This time, though, he wasn’t as quick to cover it up. Was he crying too? Was this why he wouldn’t look at you? But you needed to see his face. You needed to see his face so desperately. What if it was the last time you’d see it? The last chance to see his beautiful ocean eyes framed by his long lashes? What if this was it? Forever?

“I’m sorry…” Megumi spoke again. His voice was collected, but you could tell, it took him a lot of strength to uphold the façade. “I can’t do it anymore, Y/N. We don’t work… this,” he gestured between the two of you, “doesn’t work.”

“Where is this coming from all of a sudden? Why now?” He still wasn’t looking at you. Anger welled up inside of you, enhancing your utter frustration.  “Look at me! Why can’t you even look at me?!” Your voice rose an octave, visibly catching Megumi off guard. He flinched slightly, but remained as rigid as before. Until finally, he turned around.

Salty streaks painted his cheek and his eyes were more bloodshot than before. So he was crying after all.

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself, Megumi!”

“Would you just stop?!” He snapped. He ran one hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. “Just shut up, okay?” Though, he lowered his tone a little, the words still cut you all the same. It felt like he was plunging a dagger in hurt chest, twisting and turning the handle and ripping you open from the inside out. “I should’ve never gotten involved with you in the first place.  It was a mistake… Us, we’re… we’re –,“ he stuttered, words caught in his throat that were painful to utter out loud, but Megumi knew he had to say them. He had to, although, he didn’t mean them. You needed to hear these words and you needed to hear them from him. He had to hurt you like that or else you might never let him go. But you had to if you wanted to live the happy life he imagined for you. With him in the picture there was no bright future. All you would get and all he had to offer was pain and despair. This was his life. This was his burden to bear. Not yours. He wouldn’t condemn you to a life of misery. A life in darkness. It was a shame that it took him so long to realize this. “You and I, we don’t work. This has been a mistake from the start. I don’t think I ever really loved you, Y/N. I’m sorry…”

Your eyes widened in shock. If his previous words had hurt, these words were giving you the final blow, death already lurking behind the corner. This had to be a joke, right? How could he say that? How could he say that to your face like that? And why was he looking at you with pity in his eyes? Were you that pathetic?

“You don’t mean that,” you croaked out. Your throat felt like the Sahara with no water in sight.

“I do,” he confirmed dryly. Suddenly, every emotion seemed to have left his body. All that remained was his natural stoic expression. Maybe he really didn’t care about you at all.

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked.

Megumi sighed. Was he annoyed? Probably… But you couldn’t just let him go, right? You just couldn’t… “Don’t make this harder than it was to be. We’re done, Y/N, okay? Just get over it!” He said it as if it were that easy. Just get over it… Right!

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you….,” you repeated the phrase over and over again, shaking your head as if you could shake the hurtful words out of your mind with the action.

I don’t think I ever really loved you.

I don’t think I ever loved you.

I don’t think I loved you.

I don’t love you.

“No, no! You don’t mean that! You don’t!”

Megumi hated seeing you like this and he hated it even more that he was the one causing you to hurt so much. But deep down he knew this was for the better. Eventually you would get over it. It might take you a while, but time healed all wounds, right? Someday you’d find someone who could give you the life you wanted. A happy one, a safe one. And that’s all he could ask for. So, he had to make it as easy for you as he possibly could. A clean cut was better than a messy one. Better to just rip the band aid clean off and let the wound heal. “Would you stop it already?!” He yelled. “Look at you! Why would I ever want to be with you?!”  You gasped at his words, tears pooling in your eyes once more.

“What?” The sound was barely audible, shock sitting deep in your bones.

“I don’t want you anymore, you get it?! It was fun while it lasted… but you were just convenient to me, so don’t get the wrong idea, alright?” Megumi’s hand was still resting atop the door handle. He twisted it once more and this time, you didn’t hold him back.

“Convenient?” You asked more to yourself than you meant for him to hear.

Megumi sighed as he turned around to look over his shoulder. You were trembling like a leaf in the wind, arms wrapped around your tiny frame as if you could fall apart at any second. “This was never meant to last…,” Megumi started, his throat oddly constricted as he noticed that you couldn’t even look him in the eyes anymore. Instead your eyes were glued to the ground as if there was a hidden message carved inside that only you could see. “So, please, Y/N, for your sake… just forget about me all together. Forget I ever existed, forget this ever happened. Just promises me to move on, okay? I don’t deserve your tears anyway…”

Before you could even respond, he was already gone. The cold wind from outside lashing at your face mercilessly while all you could do was stand there, unmoving… and you just knew that you couldn’t make that promise.

How could you ever forget him?

***

Part Two

[drabbles-mc]

Happy Hour

Juice Ortiz x GN!Reader

Inspired by Day Two of the July Prompts list: cocktail

Warnings: alcohol, Juice being a lil cutie pie

Word Count: 1k

A/N: This is just a cutesy lil ficlet. Sometimes our boy just needs a fun, soft night out and that’s okay

SOA Taglist: @garbinge​ @masterlistforimagines​ @adela-topaz-caelon​ @mijop​ @chibsytelford​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @kkim120​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ @mayans-sauce​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @punkgoddess-98​ @paintballkid711​ @black-repunzel99​ @jitterbugs927​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ (If you want to be added to the list just let me know!)

You smiled when you saw him walking out onto the bar’s patio. He carried himself so differently when he didn’t have his kutte. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he felt a little exposed without it. Waiting for him to look over in your direction, you smiled and waved. Relief flooded over his features when he saw you and he quickly walked over to the table that you were sitting at.

He leaned down, pressing a light kiss to your lips before taking a seat across from you. He looked over at you, letting out a deep breath as he finally let himself take a moment to really look at you. Actually going out to grab drinks had been your idea, curious to see Juice outside of his natural habitat of the clubhouse.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he tapped his fingers nervously on the tabletop, “Got caught up with the guys.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “You’re fine. I did get started without you, though,” you lifted your drink to your lips.

His brows instantly furrowed, “What is that?”

You laughed at his disbelief, “What?”

“It’s blue.”

“Okay and?” you held the glass out for him to try a sip, “It’s good! Try it.”

He shook his head, “No way. There’s no good reason for a drink to be that color.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “Just because it’s not the room temperature beer from the clubhouse, doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with it.”

He laughed, “What’s it even called?”

You paused as you set the cup down, reaching over to grab the cocktail menu and find what you were drinking. Truthfully, you never paid super close attention to the names of drinks, just what was in them. When you found the drink in question, you pointed to the name as you handed the menu over to him.

“Electric City?” he chuckled, “How do they come up with these names?”

You chuckled, “Yea, like the names of all the beers you guys find many any more sense.”

The two of you chatted for a couple minutes before the waitress came over to see if you needed anything else, not having noticed Juice when he first walked in and over to your table. You smiled as Juice looked over the entire cocktail menu and yet still ended up getting a beer anyway.

“Oh,” you caught her attention before she walked away, “could we also get an order of onion rings?”

She nodded, “Sure thing. I’ll bring those right over.”

The two of you sat out on the patio, drinking and working your way through most of the appetizer section of the menu. You didn’t make any comment on it, but you noticed how, as the night went on, Juice got more and more comfortable just being himself. Very rarely did the two of you hang out somewhere besides one of your homes, or the clubhouse. You didn’t mind the routine and consistency, but you were also craving a bit of a switch-up.

“You know,” you stirred what little was left of your current drink, “I think that this is the first time we’ve been out and you haven’t worn your kutte.”

His eyes widened slightly at your observation, “Yea?”

“Yea,” you finished your drink, “Sometimes you can just be Juan, you know. I even kinda like that guy,” you laughed.

There was a soft smile on his face as he watched you peruse the drink menu, looking for what you were going to order next. You’d always been accepting of the club, knowing exactly what you were signing on for when you started dating Juice. However, one of the things that he loved most about you, was that even though you were there through all the club bullshit, you were also a safe place for him to go where he could be more than just a Son.

The next drink that you ordered came out, and it was pink. Juice laughed at the giant grin that took over your face as you stirred it.

“They got one for every color of the rainbow here or something?”

You shrugged, chuckling, “That would be pretty amazing if they did,” you took a sip, nodding in approval, “Try this one—you’ll like it.”

He shook his head, tilting his cup of beer towards you, “I’m good.”

You stuck out your bottom lip, “C’mon, Juan. Just one sip. If you hate it, I’ll never try to make you drink my fruity drinks ever again.”

He had never been able to really say no to you. With a sigh, he reached out and took the drink from you. “What’s this called again?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You shook your head, “I’ll tell you after you try it.”

He looked back and forth between you and the drink for a moment, but when he saw the anticipation on your face, he knew he couldn’t back out of it. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip.

There were a few beats of silence before a smile crossed his features. You could tell that he didn’t want to say it, but he enjoyed it. He shook his head as he lifted the glass and took another, longer sip before handing the drink back to you.

“Colorful drinks aren’t so bad, huh?” you smirked, “Want me to get you one?”

He looked at his nearly-empty beer glass and nodded, “Sure.”

With an excited grin, you flagged down your waitress, “Hey, can you bring over another Singapore Sling, please?”

Juice couldn’t contain his laughter at the name. Once the waitress walked away, he spoke up, “So that’s why you didn’t tell me the name.”

You chuckled, “You can’t take drink names seriously, Juan. Especially not specialty cocktails. They’re always something ridiculous.”

“Gathered that from all your happy hour experiences?”

“You’ll learn,” you laughed.

“Will I also learn how to order them with a straight face?”

Your smile felt like it was permanently etched into your face, “Something tells me probably not.”

His hand crept over the table and he locked his fingers with yours. It was the most at ease he’d seemed all night. He traced his thumb over yours, and he had that dreamy look in his eyes that he’d had ever since you met him.

“I love you,” he broke the silence with a grin.

You nodded, giving his hand a light squeeze, “I love you too.”