#body made of porcelain and marble

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[uniivrz]

mic'd up

katie mccabe x reader

+ summary: reader, still on the acl squad, has been approached by the arsenal media staff asking if she'd go mic'd up in the stands for one of arsenal's games.

+ warnings: ACL injury mentions right off the bat. swearing. made up game (arsenal v tottenham). reader really embracing the WAG life.

a/n: i came across a video of katie during one of the covid matches, and due to the empty stadium you could hear everything she said— and that's where i got this idea :) my first post, hope you enjoy!

like any other football player, you hated the dreaded three letters that would take whoever was the unlucky soul out of the game for a long while.

of course it had always been a fear in the back of your mind, you just never thought it would actually happen to you.

that day you went down on the pitch had been one of the worst. not just for you, but for katie as well as the rest of your arsenal team.

everything had been fine. arsenal was up by two, and half time had just ended. it was around the 52nd minute, when a purposely bad tackle from a chelsea player left you on the ground, clutching your knee as you attempted to keep the tears at bay. (only to fail).

some time later you were holed up in one of the physio rooms of the stadium, when katie came in, the look on your face confirming her worst fear.

honestly, it was getting quite scary how many arsenal players were getting ACL injuries.

she had been by your side for all of it, constantly making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed, as well as driving you to and from appointments.

the downside meant you weren't able to travel with the team for away games, forcing yourself to be holed up in your flat you shared with katie— often inviting the rest of the ACL squad over to watch the game together, knowing you'd be insufferable on your own.

luckily for you, today was a home game. you woke up before katie that morning, hobbling down the stairs on your good leg, (and nearly eating shit in the process), you'd prepared her a proper breakfast, consisting of pancakes, bacon, & eggs.

the brunette soon appeared in the kitchen behind your unsuspecting frame, an adoring smile crossing her face at the sight of you lightly nodding your head to whatever song came from the speaker on the marble counter.

nearly jumping out of your skin at the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around your waist, your body relaxed as you registered the familiar feeling of katie, her arms clad in her arsenal training jacket.

you leaned into her touch as you finished up with the bacon, her thick irish accent rang through your ears as her nose brushed against your neck gently. "you should not be on your feet,"

rolling your eyes fondly, you forced yourself to suppress a smile. ever since your injury, katie had been treating you as if you were a porcelain doll— going to break at the slightest touch.

while sometimes it became a little overbearing, it warmed your heart for her to be this protecting with you, and you wouldn't trade it for the world.

"i was cleared to walk without my crutches, katie," your giggled, relishing in the ticklish feeling of her light breathing against the back of your neck.

"still. ya should have waited for me." she murmured. "i could have carried you down here."

you rolled your eyes once again.

for the first few weeks/months of your injury, she had insisted on carrying you everywhere. from the bed to downstairs, from the front door to the car. no matter where it was— she wanted to carry you. wether it was bridal style, your legs wrapped around her waist, or giving you a piggy back, she didn't care.

after breakfast was finished, you rushed back up to change. you settled on one of katie's hoodie's, along with her jersey which you threw on top, and a pair of her sweatpants. nearly everything you wore was hers.

when you'd returned downstairs, she grinned widely at the sight of you dressed in her attire, and couldn't restrain herself from letting her hands roam your body as you shoved your feet into some sneakers.

"oi hands off, mccabe."

the ireland captain chuckled, tapping your rear end before you stood back up, sending you a cheeky wink when you glared at her.

arriving at the emirates with your personal chauffeur, the two of you made your way through the grounds, greeting any staff members you'd passed by and waving to the media staff as you each made your way toward your separate destinations.

you had a brief session with a physio to assure everything was still fine and dandy with your knee, whereas katie was heading off toward the locker room with the others.

as you left your meeting 15-ish minutes later, you had been wandering the halls when you were stopped by one of the media staff, claiming they had a task for you.

since you were going to be in the stands again, they had asked if you would go mic'd up, thinking it'd be a fun video idea for arsenal's youtube channel.

you agreed quickly, thrilled at the idea. they had informed you that there would be a camera a little ways away from you, to capture your reactions in both your voice as well as your actions.

one of the members clipped a small square microphone device to the collar of your (katie's) jersey, as another member held a camera and recorded your actions.

Youtube

Y/N L/N MIC'D UP • ARSENAL V TOTTENHAM

Arsenal 578K views 6:38

0:00

[Camera fades in from black to show you, stood in one of the many corridors of the Emirates Stadium.]

grinning, you gripped your shirt and pulled it closer, "we've got mccabe! katie mccabe! can you hear me?" you asked, looking into the camera that was recording you.

[Laughter is heard around you before the scene cuts and fades into a brief black screen. When it returns, the camera is unfocused, going in an out before focusing on you, looking at the camera as you don't realize it's recording.]

"is it going?" you asked with a dopey smile, the cameraman behind you nodding. "right. hi, i'm y/n l/n and today i'll be mic'd up as i watch tonight's game." you giggle, pointing at the microphone clipped to your shirt before you make your way toward your seat.

[Camera follows you down the hall before cutting to you sat with Beth, Viv, and Leah, the former two sat in the row below you. You pull a small, barely noticeable box out of your pocket. The camera zooms in on your hand, revealing the box is actually a miniature uno deck.]

"i know how we can pass the time," you grin micheviously.

0:45

[Camera cuts to the four of you playing uno, Beth and Viv swiveled in their seats to face you and Leah above them. It catches Leah attempting to peek at your cards before you shove her head away, the scene then switching to a new clip of the four women arguing.]

"absolutely not, beth cheated!" leah yells, hands dropping dramatically onto her thighs with a loud smack.

"you fucking wish! you just suck williamson!"

[Viv is seen trying to keep the peace as you laugh loudly, the four of you gaining looks from surrounding match watchers— only for them to look away at the sight of four of arsenal's own. Your laughter becomes louder as Leah slams her tiny cards aggressively onto your thigh, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair with a pout.]

"oh, cheer up captain," you pout mockingly, reaching to pinch her cheeks between your fingers.

1:02

[Camera cuts to the teams walkout, briefly showing Katie McCabe before turning back to you, a large grin on your face, never failing to leave.]

"that's my girl!" you shout, hands cupped around your mouth to make yourself louder. "let's go number fifteen!"

1:39

[Cuts to you leaned back in your seat with your arms folded. An amused look is on your face as you shake your head. Camera pans to the big screen as Katie's name is shown, a yellow card next to it.]

"it's been like thirty minutes and she already has a card," you giggle to yourself before sighing fondly, a gentle smile on your face. "that's my girl."

2:06

[Different camera shows Katie sliding her foot in front of a Tottenham player, successfully and cleanly retrieving the ball from her feet before panning to you with your elbows propped up on your knees, head resting in your hands.]

"oh my god, she's so hot." you sighed absentmindedly, momentarily forgetting about those surrounding you and the microphone attached to your collar.

[Beside you, Leah bursts out laughing, the sound picking up through your mic as the blonde discretely turning to the cameraman who has now directed it toward her, pointing at you before fake wretching.]

3:21

[Camera shows you jumping up out of your seat, annoyance clear on your face as your hands are perched on your hips.]

"oh, come the fuck on! that's so clearly a foul!"

4:38

[During halftime, the camera follows as the four of you briefly leave your seats to join the girls in the locker room. The cameraman does not enter, only filming the door, however you can be heard from inside.]

"north london is what?!"

"north london is red!" an irish voice answers you.

"hell yeah it is!" you reply, then followed by the sound of palms smacking against each other.

another voice cuts in, "alright, simmer down you two!"

"oi! put her down, she's fragile!"

4:50

[Camera cuts to you stood with your hands on Katie's shoulders, giving her your usual half time pep talk, brushing stray fly-aways out of her face as she smiles at you. The sound is cut off, so the viewers can only see the motion of both players' lips moving as you speak to each other, the final thing being Katie moving toward you, scenes changing just before any PDA is shown.]

5:47

[Camera pans from Katie running around the pitch celebrating, arms in the air and then back to you, the four Arsenal players chanting together, you being the loudest and most enthusiastic of the four.]

"we've got mccabe! katie mccabe! i just don't think you understand! she plays out on the wing! she hits it with a zing! we've got katie mccabe!"

6:25

[Video closes out with you and Katie stood outside of the stadium, her arm wrapped around your shoulder as you do the outro.]

"that was me mic'd up, i hope i was entertaining enough for you all. thanks for watching." you grin shyly, waving with both hands. "leave a comment if you think katie should get mic'd up next."

[Katie laughs before kissing your cheek affectionately, the brunette waving bye with her free hand before the video fades to black.]

Instagram Posts

ynln

Liked by victoriapelova and 51,094 others

ynln Watch me go Mic'd Up as I watch Arsenal Women's recent match against Tottenham!

Video is out now on the Arsenal Youtube Channel and the Arsenal Instagram Account!

— view all comments

katie_mccabe11 It's a good one 😉

⤿ bethmead_ We know why you think that 🙄

username petition to get yn mic'd up again, sign here

⤿ username signed

⤿ username signed

⤿ ynln signed

leahwilliamson Alternate title, YN thirsting over Katie for 6 minutes straight 🤢

⤿ katie_mccabe11 Jealous are we, Williamson?

Twitter/X

ynsmccabe that new video arsenal posted of y/n l/n is now my favorite thing

⤿ the clip of her and katie in the hall OMG

⤿ mccardlover no because they literally the only couple ever

⤿ meadema99 leah getting upset over beth cheating in uno after she literally tried to look at y/n's cards 😭😭

username pls the amount of bleeps they had to add to this video because of yn 😭

⤿ username never heard someone curse so many times in 6 minutes

katiespelova oh i need more mic'd up videos with the rest of the team now

username if my relationship isn't like katie's and yn's i don't want it

[yandere-wishes]

Spider Bite Love

Synopsis: Miguel loves you, this you know. But neither the story nor the hero ever stops long enough to wonder if you love him too. 

Warnings: Choking, Biting, Reader is from Miles' universe, Miguel is kinda a perfectionist. Yandere themes.

Author's note: Forgive the Spanish it's mostly found on Google. I took like four months of Spanish back in 7th grade and have retained exactly 0.1% of that knowledge. 

💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙

The future is porcelain, all marble white and reflective crystal. Flying cars and a horizon that echoes soft tamed pastels. Nueva York can almost be described as beautiful. Almost.

If not for the technicalities and lies and the loss of total freedom. 

If not for a fate that's been prewritten. Repeated across centuries and dimensions. So uncontrollable that it practically cultivates inferiority within your heart. An age-old tradition found in every child's tale about dashing heroes and harrowing villains.

If not for the looming uncomfortable, presence known as Miguel O'Hara who refuses to leave you alone. 

Your lover.

Your hero.

Your Spider-man

Although he's not your Spider-Man. Not really. And you're not the love of his life. Not really. You're both just Look-alikes, cheap replicas from a corner dimension. 

It's difficult to comprehend, pondering it encompasses you with an unruly headache. Galling and overpowering, not unlike your so-called "Lover".

To put it simply or rather to oversimplify. You are not meant to be here.  You are from Earth-1610, at least you think you are. It's hard to tell since apparently from what you've gathered there was another (y/n). One who looked just like you, acted just like you, and was essentially you in every microscopic aspect. At least that's what Miguel says, and you've come to learn that he's not awfully good at telling the full truth. 

She died or was killed. As is customary with every hero's first crush.  Thus leaving Miguel without a lover or a prisoner. Depending on which iteration of the story you fancy. 

Then Miles came along disrupting the canon and causing a dimension's wide spider hunt, with Miguel leading the charge. Somewhere along the lines, between chasing down Miles and barking orders at the other Superheroes his secret society was made of. He passes by your window. Caught a rogue glimpse and froze. He'd found you again, after all these years of believing that you were dead. Technically you were dead, his (y/n) was dead. But there was one here, another one, just as radiant and beautiful as his original lover had been. Miguel knew he had to have you. To take you back to his dimension. To complete his Canon. 

Your dimension was doomed anyway. 

So he wasn't really doing any harm. 

You shuffle uncomfortably on the couch, attempting to readjust your position as to better gaze out the window at the porcelain city. 

It's almost homogeneous to Miguel himself. 

A perfect city with no room for cracks or mistakes.

A perfect hero who flawlessly preserves the multiverse.

They're both perfect you think as you steal your gaze from the skyline. Although sometimes perfect and pristine aren't always reflective of a person's inner workings. Miguel isn't exactly corrupted but he's far from innocent either. You - and the motley amount of fang marks spread across your body- are living proof of that.

His apartment is clean, spotless, all ceramic tiles and snowy furniture. 

No room for faults or fallacy. His whole life is meant to be errorless. Just like the delicate spider-verse, he's all so keen on protecting. 

The door chimes, a light buzz and a thud. It's hard to remember that this is technically the future. That trivial things such as keys and locks have long since been eradicated. 

Miguel steps in, a bouquet of red and yellow roses grasped within his hand. He walks in as the door buzzes closed behind him. There's a docile look in his eyes as he spots you sitting on the couch. A repeated memory you realize and you wonder if his (y/n) use to wait for him to get back from Spider HQ, all patient and passive like a pretty doll awaiting her master. 

"Para vos, mi querida" he mumbles, somehow apathetic and bashful all at the same time. 

You reach for the flowers a practiced smile bearly tugging at your lips, your fingers curling around the bouquet, then you freeze eyes going wide. 

There's blood on his claws again, pristine rudy red that drips to an invisible tempo. You wonder who he's killed this time. A canon divergent Spider-Man or Spider-Women. A villain running amuck across the city. 

Or some regular civilian he was supposed to protect. A regular civilian who had some interaction with you on one of the rare times Miguel actually agreed to take you out. You wonder but you don't date ask. 

His suit is unscratched -as it always is- His face is bruise-less, so it makes you think that your final hypothesis may just be the accurate one. Miguel's eyes narrow when notices your frozen hand. 

"What's wrong," he asks a gruff edge in his voice, a warning.

One your mind begs you to obey. 

"Who did you kill?" You ask eyes concentrated on the sharp blue razors that make him look more monster than superhero. Your fingers abandon the bouquet's base and return to your side. You try to force your eyes into a glare despite the unruly beating of your fearful heart. 

One look from Miguel snuffs all that resistance out. One dark glare from eyes that can't choose if they wish to be red or blue. Human or hero. Human or monster. And you're back to cowering into the couch cushions. 

"It doesn't matter" he all but barks, a supernatural chill encompasses the room. As he throws the bouquet down onto the ceramic floor. His lips pull back in a snarl, showcasing milky white fangs that gleam in the low lights. 

"It does matter Miguel!" Your voice is raising, itching to scream to yell. To make him understand a fraction of your hatred

"You're supposed to be a hero, a savior, but all you ever do is act like a villain. You stole me from my home, you killed my universe's Spider-man, you destroyed my dimension! You're nothing more than a villain wearing a hero's mask." 

There's a punchline to this, you're almost sure of it. Some storybook explanation as to why you decided to lash out at the most terrifying creature you've ever met. Maybe in the heat of the frigid moment, you forgot that he's no mere spider. He's a tarantula, bloodthirsty and savage, ready to attack when someone goes poking at him with a stick. 

Miguel's fingers tighten around your throat, sharp claws digging into soft skin and delicate muscles. Pushing you further into the couch. Miguel's ears ring with the symphony of your gagging as he tightens his grasp. He thinks you're choking, suffocating, asphyxiating. 

Good. With any luck, you'll be dead soon.

"Mocosa ingrata"

He's not sure if your death will be significant in any way. You're honestly too trivial to have any impact on things. If you hold a place in the canon of his timeline or yours, he's yet to find it. 

Miguel hates oddities, things that disrupt the canon, selfish missteps that destroy entire dimensions. You're not quite an oddity per se, although everything in your timeline is broken. Dangling from a loose threat at the edge of a cliff. All because Miles Morales decided to be selfish and greedy and "change" what's been canon for longer than any "Spider-man" has been alive. Miles is a mistake. that whole universe is a mistake. It's bound to collapse on itself at any moment. So for the life of him, Miguel can't understand why you're so ungrateful. So desperate to reprimand him and belittle him when all he's doing is trying to save everyone. 

He's failed once, 

He's failed twice,

He refuses to fail for a third time. 

It doesn't matter that you're some helpless civilian who was stuck in the wrong universe at the wrong time. All that matters is that you're (y/n), his (y/n). Every other Spiderman has their Gwen or their MJ. A dutiful lover, to return to when the night ends, when the fighting ends. When the ignorant sun finally decides to reawaken and cast the city in a temporary ray of peacefulness. Someone to love and cherish, to take their minds off of the dread and misery that runs amuck across their lives. 

Peter Parker has his Mary Jane.

Miles Morales had his Gwen Stacy.

So why can't Miguel O'Hara have his (Y/n) (L/n)?

When Miguel looks back down at you, he notices your dark eyes. How the life is slowly fading from your body. He relents, pulling you forward and slamming you into the couch one last time before retracting his hand. He sits down next to your coughing body. 

"I hate you" you manage to blurt out between desperate heaves. Trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible. You don't bother looking at him, you know he's mad. He's always mad when you refuse to act like his (y/n). When you poke holes at the perfect illusion he's created. 

There's a brief pause. A second of tranquility. Before Miguel grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap. His mouth parts. Fangs releasing and hovering above your jugular. His fangs pierce your vain, releasing his poison into your bloodstream. It's not lethal, at least not yet. Miguel prefers to think of it as a sedative for when you start to act up. 

It soothes you, calms you into remembering your place. Your head lulls to the side, falling on his shoulder as your groggy eyes look up at him with a stare that he can almost trick himself into believing is loving, or some variant of the same emotion. 

You're his, he knows that. You have to be. It's all he can tell himself as to stay sane. You'll understand someday. Realize you love him too. 

After all every hero needs a lover. 

[knightforflowers]

vestiges

(doodle dump + design notes under cut)

Had some fun with my thought process for these designs so I thought it'd also be fun to share <3

The two of them don't have skin per se— Koda is described to be a being of obsidian in the show so I wanted to lean into that as an overarching theme for the vestiges, where the solid part of their bodies (I think all vestige forms are like 30%-40% magical mist/smoke/whatever and 60%-70% actual physical mass, though the makeup varies between vestige) more closely resemble minerals and the like than anything organic. Koda specifically was designed after marbled obsidian, and Benevolence after shattered porcelain that is repaired via the Japanese art of Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with a gold dyed glue medium.

Benevolence only appears 'human' from about the chest up, the entire lower half of his body is a floating mass of hands and mist obscured by the robes the hands hold up. I like to think most vestiges look entirely inhuman like Koda does, but Benevolence assumed a (slightly) more human-like appearance after integrating himself with Hominine, likely in some attempt to appear more welcoming to his followers. His hair is also always moving as though weightless or underwater, functioning like the misty haze that makes up part of his form rather than how natural human hair should function. His halo also appears perfectly behind his head no matter what angle you look at him from, and can be slightly disorienting and almost nauseating to look at.

My Koda has antlers because of the Chaperones at the Auction choosing stags for their avatars, even if stags have no connection to Koda in canon I just liked the symbolism/look of it :3. My Benevolence is also blind, the significance of which I touch on a bit in this hc post abt prestige and its affects that I made a few weeks ago!

Other inspirations for their designs specifically are Kalameet from Dark Souls 1 for Koda and Miquella from Elden Ring for Benevolence!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 3]

The third time is... rather different.

Tim is standing still and prim in his new dress robes between both his parents, the shining and glittering ballroom full of soft chatter, music, and clanking glasses right behind him.

Daniel is standing in front of him, his back straight and his hair styled and gelled to the point where it looks like a beret on his head. He is wearing all white, pristine and perfect, and Mr. Masters, who is standing on his right, is dressed in a similar fashion. The man looks like a marble statue, if Tim is being honest, what with his pale skin, silvery hair and light blue, almost colorless eyes.

Tim hadn't paid attention to it before - to be fair, it's not like he had a chance to see Daniel up close until today - but the boy is also very pale. Not a hint of blush on his cheeks, no freckles or birthmarks that he can see. If Tim hadn't seen him move, he would have been certain he was looking at a porcelain doll, not a human being.

The other person accompanying them is a woman with short, cut just below her ears, ginger hair. And, unlike both Daniel and Mr. Masters, she is not as colorless, wearing a dress in light, shimmering blue, with a high laced collar and tight sleeves. She is smiling pleasantly at Mother as she greets her, keeping her hand on Daniel's shoulder, and, overall, looks a lot more alive than anyone Tim has so far met or seen tonight.

Which is nice. Tim didn't think that when people heard the name 'Winter Ball', they were meant to take it literally and show up acting like frozen sculptures.

The ginger-haired lady curtsies with a smile, and both Mr. Masters and Daniel nod before going past them and entering the ballroom of Drake manor. Tim glances over his shoulder - Daniel kept looking at him as if they've never met before, and Tim is not sure what to think of it - but the boy keeps walking after his chaperones without as much as acknowledging him.

It's only when Tim starts turning his head back that he sees the other boy shoot him a tiny grin over his shoulder.

Tim might not be an expert in body language or socializing, but even he knows that grin means nothing good for the guests at the Ball. Especially given Daniel's previous records. Tim bites back a smile of his own.

Good. This party can definitely use some elephant trunks, in his opinion.

~~~

Roughly an hour later, when Tim had long lost sight of the whole Masters family in the glittering crowd, and, to be honest, kind of forgot to anticipate whatever Daniel was going to do, the boy shows up in front of him again.

He appears from what seems to be thin air, out of breath but with his robes still perfectly white - Tim suspects some sort of spell - and cuts right in between Stephanie and Tim, grabbing the latter's wrist.

"Dance with me," he breathes out urgently, and Tim blinks. Daniel's fingers are cold as ice on his skin.

"What?" He asks, baffled, and Stephanie makes a loud, undignified snort, not bothering to cover her mouth. Daniel shoots her a quick surprised look, like he didn't even see her until she made a sound, but she just shakes her head and makes a tiny step away.

"I don't dance," she says, an innocent smile on her lips, and that's a lie, Tim knows she can dance, she did that not ten minutes ago. She just wants Tim to suffer, the blond traitor in an embroidered dress.

"Good, because I didn't invite you," Daniel smirks, tilting his head to the side, and it should sound like an insult, but somehow doesn't. Stephanie grins back. Tim has an awfully damning feeling like the two of them would get along like a house on fire, given half a chance. And he doesn't like that idea.

Merlin, when he wished for the ball to be a little bit more fun than it is, he didn't mean this. Not that he intends on stopping either of them, but he is pretty sure they are not allowed to join efforts because that will end with the ballroom in ruins. And Tim likes his house in one piece, thanks.

It's also quite irritating how the two of them can just exchange ten words with each other and become friends.

Tim twists his hand in Daniel's grip and grabs him, all but dragging the boy away from Stephanie and to the brightly lit dancefloor. He wanted to dance? Tim can dance, no problem. He bets he can dance ten times better than Daniel, he's had so many lessons.

The boy makes a short, surprised sound at the sudden movement, but then follows suit without a word. His hand is still cold. Maybe one of them should wear gloves.

"Why did you want to dance?" Tim asks, as they get to the edge of the crowd, where the glitter of jewels and the flurry of robes are making a complicated picture of waltz. Why did you ask me, Tim wants to ask, actually, but he is not sure he wants an answer.

Daniel pulls him back by their still joined hands, making Tim turn around, and puts his other hand on Tim's waist, like it's the most natural thing ever. Dancing, right. Tim puts his own hand on Daniel's shoulder and steps closer.

"Sam would actually murder me if I asked her, and I don't know anyone else," the boy explains with a careless shrug, tilting his head to the side and listening to the music. Tim sees his lips move but hears no words - counting the steps, no doubt.

"You don't even know my name," Tim rolls his eyes, and maybe he is a little petty, but he doesn't need to count steps. He just pulls Daniel into the dance, careful enough not to bump into anyone else. The boy follows his lead easily enough, even though he seems a lot more concentrated on where he puts his feet than Tim is. So, he is better at dancing. Nice to know.

"I do, you're Tim," Daniel tells him a few minutes later, when both of them are fairly confident they are not going to trip over each other's feet. Although Tim almost does anyway - he didn't expect that.

On the other hand, it's probably Samantha who told him. Mrs. Manson brought her over to Drake estate a few times but made sure not to invite Tim to Manson's. Probably in order to avoid the same daring escape to happen twice.

"And you're Daniel, but we were never introduced," he counters, "You're not supposed to know."

"That's a stupid rule," Daniel huffs and loses his footing slightly, stepping on Tim's toe, "Oh, sorry. And it's Danny, not Daniel. I hate 'Daniel'."

Tim rolls his eyes and is a little proud that it doesn't cause a single pause in his steps.

But then, there's a crackle up in the air above them, like a firework that went off too close to the ground, and that causes Tim to startle and almost trip over Danie- Danny. The boy's grip on his waist tightens as he keeps Tim from falling, and when Tim looks back up at him, Danny is grinning, wide and excited, and happy.

Just like he did back when they first met. Well, when Tim first saw him.

Which is kind of making Tim's stomach feel weird, but also can only mean one thing.

Tim looks up.

The chandeliers in the ballroom are all giant and lit with a thousand candles, and the patterns of countless mirrors on the ceiling and walls only make the lights seem endless. Not a starry sky, but a myriad of tiny suns thrown all over the high ceilings.

Another crackle follows the first one, and Tim sees a dozen of tiny explosions go off from the chandelier, shooting in all directions and turning into bursts of white, sparkling stardust that slowly fades in the air.

"Pretty, right?" Danny asks quietly as more and more little stars are born high above the crowd, filling the air with shimmering lights. Tim suddenly realizes that they've stopped dancing - and everyone else did, too - and his mouth is hanging open, because this is the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and he didn't expect Danny to do something beautiful. He expected a prank, a joke, something ridiculous like the elephant trunks or the escape on a broom, but this-

This is magic.

Tim can't look away, he doesn't want to look away, but he still tears his gaze from the ceiling and looks at Danny.

"How did you do it?" He asks, quiet enough so no one would hear them over all the fireworks. The boy shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes hold the reflection of all the sparkling stars above them.

"If I tell you, it won't be that fun," he says, smiling.

Tim doesn't ask again, instead looking back up to the ceiling full of exploding sparks.

It's the best party he's ever seen.

—☆—☆—☆—

Visuals that I might have spent too much time looking for:

And Tim's obligatory post-party drawings:

[Picrew]

Also, for the ambiance reasons, listen to the 'Once Upon a December' cover by Céline Lavigne.

—☆—☆—☆—

More random info on the characters:

Stephanie Brown is related to Lavender Brown, they are distant cousins, with Steph being a few years older. Her father is currently in Azkaban, and due to this fact, Steph and her mother are not often welcome in most social circles. They have a somewhat tense relationship with the rest of Brown family, but they are not ostracized, just generally frowned upon. Steph doesn't care much, though, you can break walls with her self-esteem. Her mother was a Hufflepuff, and she wants to be one as well.

Jack stayed home with Dani because she is too young to go through a whole ball without getting bored and stirring up some trouble. Danny was allowed to go under the condition that he won't ruin the evening, and he didn't! He made it better for all he knows! Malicious compliance, his favorite tool to use.

Later that evening the guests kept giving Jack and Janet Drake their compliments for the fireworks, and they both gladly accepted them, all while wondering who the fuck did that.

Neither Tim nor Vlad or Maddie, who knew who's at fault, said anything, although Maddie did ask Danny to never do that again without giving prior warning.

[<- part 2 | part 4 ->]

[the-midnight-blooms]

the vampire's paramour | smg

previously titled: sanguine metal and pearl

pairing: vampire!song mingi x accusedwitch!reader AU: fantasy au word count: 5.8k warnings: violence ATEEZ as angst tropes series: Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Betrayal 

Thunder cracked across the sky, the rain beating down on the earth, wind hitting against the frail leaves as a hollow figure dashed across the drenched field. Her boots squelched beneath her feet as she tiredly trudged, panicking as she attempted to seek solace in the large abandoned manor on the hill. By no means did she expect it to be inhabited with as much as warmth, but anything was better than the coarse battering of the rain provoking her skin. Her pale fingers squeezed against the slash penetrated across her abdomen-blood oozing out of the wound like a scarlet river. Beads of sweat formed on her upper brow; heavy pants silenced by the harsh winds. At last, she reached the cobbled roads no longer restrained by the depth of the muddy grass, sprinting down the path. Out of sheer habit, her fists pounded loudly against the wooden door, rapping at the knocker not long before she jerked the door handle. Her body pushed into the foyer, hastily parrying the biting winds the loud slam venerating the hallways.

A quiet sigh escaped from her lips; her eyes fluttered shut relishing the warmth of the atmosphere that eased the tension in her muscles. Despite this, she had lost too much blood. Her dress, her hands all soaked red- the objects in her line of sight all bleeding together. With an agonising wheeze she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, her mind racing at a million miles per minute.

I could die like this I suppose, at least it’s warm.

A sudden of rush of emotions overcame her, fatigue moulding into sadness as she recollected how she got there. Where a storm now brewing outside the bow windows, the translucent glass blocked some of the light that spilt into the dark foyer- when she came home a few hours ago, the air was soft smelling of the sweet musk of honeydew and freshly cut lawn. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the white clouds hung in the sky. Painful coughs trickled up her throat, blood dribbling from her lips onto the wooden floorboards her head clouded by the pain- at once tearing her away from the pastoral fantasy. Mind rocking back and forth, stumbling on the thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Through the slits of her shutting eyes, she sought a tall, dark figure looming over her- her body elevating from the ground. Perhaps it was the Grim Reaper taking mercy on her, ready to return to her parents’ side. For his ominous eyes bored into her own, her soul magnetised by its enigma.

Death is a beautiful man.

Peering through the windows of his warm study, the fireplace was lit the embers spitting as the flames oscillated beneath the cracked marble. Rain shot down from the sky, hammering against the porcelain tiles, infiltrating down the drain leading to the gutter as he sought a figure staggering down his pavement.

‘Manyeo’ he heard the servants whisper through the kitchen walls of his almost desolate home. Witch. But there could be no such creature. Not when he had lived through centuries, rendered an immortal being by mortals who distinguished the same face being transplanted down through generations. Just how strong was his family’s genetics really? He respected her resilience, despite the pain boiling within her human flesh she made her way to the door of his home. Mingi ripped himself away from the window, stalking out of his room.

The hallways were much larger than one would anticipate, not all them were covered with wallpaper, but the walls were particularly dark basking his view. They were littered with more candelabras, elegantly carved Greek statues, brushed with a few cobwebs indicating its age and neglect. Paintings embraced the lurid walls, particularly renaissance paintings of the past including many figures rendered to thoughtful positions encrusted in pale browns, reds, soft creams and light blues blending together to create an image of classism. After descending down the staircase, he reached the foyer a feminine figure draped across the floorboards her scarlet red blood blessing the ground beneath her. Slipping his slender fingers around her body, he encased her fragility within his strong grasp holding her close to his chest.

Sunlight streamed in through the crevices of the white chiffon curtain, whirling with the warm breeze that emptied into the large room. With the air brushing at her soft skin, her eyes fluttered open staring at the canopy ceiling above her. A distressing grunt left her as she adjusted her position- sitting up back pressed against the headboard. Instinctively, her hands reached towards where the stab wound was, lifting the hem of the cotton white dress to reveal a roll of bandages securely wrapped the whole way around her stomach. Someone had stitched her up. With furrowed eyebrows, her eyes travelled the breadth of the room. The walls were plastered in ivory green wallpaper, detailed with golden floral patterns. Beside her was a small nightstand, above was an unlit brass candelabra, burgundy red leather-bound books with ochre spines. The canopy bed was draped with white netting, the plush cream bed covers softening her stiff limbs inviting her back to sleep. Persisting against her tiredness, she crawled out of the bed- chilliness shooting up her as her feet dipped onto the floorboards.

Above the dressing table held a large mirror, reflecting her thinning figure lacking the liveliness that it used to have, dark circles embodying her youthful eyes. A crisp card note embedded with dark ink, folded in half grabbed her attention.

Miss Min,

I hope you are feeling much better after a long bed rest. If you feel yourself able, I would like to request for you to dine with me tonight. Please help yourself to any of the dresses in the wardrobe, see it as your own for the duration of your stay here at Song’s Manor.

I shall hope to see you soon,

Your saviour.

Who was this man? How did he know her name? Was the manor not supposed to be empty? The townspeople claimed so, yet they weren’t the brightest or trusting of people. She was still, yet, naïve for believing their words despite all their dishonest allegations. A witch. Out of all the things they deemed her, for being an academically inclined woman at that. With her mother passing early on her childhood, her father, a scholar, was left to take care of her upbringing. What could a man teach her about the ways of the household and domesticity? So, naturally, he taught her all that he knew which was the art mathematics and science. She spent the most of her adolescence cooped up on the brown leather chair analysing diagrams from scientific journals; helping her father with his research by transcribing his words and knowledge as his health dwindled. After his own passing, she was left to survive for herself and with the uprise of paranormal activity in her town- the people pointed a finger towards the scholarly woman. For when people are afraid, they point towards the most estranged person they know.

Dressed in a floor length black dress, black lace netted over the cotton fabric- large bell sleeves covered her thin arms. The dress accentuated her figure in all the right places, addressing the curves of her body that she had not noticed up until now. Her long hair was clipped back by a silver claw clip- she felt everything on her body was too rich to belong there. It was hard to believe that this was one of the simplest dresses amongst the ball gowns hung in the old chestnut wardrobe. Her hands had rifted through reams of silk, satin, chiffon, mesh, cotton of a consistent maroon red, creams, ivory white and black colour palette. There was the occasional green and blue, but the colours so deep it felt like delving into the depths of an uncharted sea.

A small knock venerated through the room, the wooden door creaking open as a timid pair of eyes peeked into the room, the maid slipped in straightening her posture.

“Count Song requests your presence in the dining room, Miss Min.” She felt astounded by the endearment- despite her father being an astute scholar she was never held on a pedestal among others, she was simply one head in a crowd of masses. Miss Min followed after the maid, every step feeling like she was treading on sharp glass, the skim of the substance penetrating her-dreading the cauterise of a thousand hot blades on her skin. Her mind rinsed with the memory of him piercing his knife through her abdomen, every time she closed her eyes-even if it was just to blink- she relived that moment over and over.

The maid had led her into the dining room. The oak dining table stretched over the length of the whole room, patterned with black leather chairs which in itself was probably worth more than her whole home. The dining room was painted scarlet red, and much like the rest of the home, the walls were encased with grand paintings which she had only seen in books. At the top of the table stood a tall man, clad in black velvet. With his sharp jawline and narrow eyes, he feigned an intimidating impression, the shadows loomed ominously in his presence leaping of his slender body as if ready to latch and destroy anything in its path. He drifted forward, as if being carried by the shadows that substantiated him. He could only be the infamous Count Song, owner of the manor she once perceived as deserted.

“Miss Min. How do you feel?" he questioned, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine, thank you so much for your hospitality, Count Song." She claimed, ignoring the frequent pangs of pain that seared through her. Her vision blurred ever so slightly-the defined features of his blending together, yet still creating a perfect picture at that.

"There's no need for formalities, you can call me Mingi." He introduced. At once, the suggestive smirk moulded into a warm smile revealing the dimples that adorned his pale cheeks. Her lips formed his name; to soundlessly masticate the vowels on her tongue- it tasted so natural to her. "Come, you must be hungry." He led her to the top of the dining table, adjacent to where his own seat was, pulling it out in a gentlemanly manner. A blush crept on her cheeks as she sat down. A mere minute later, servants compiled into the room, an array of dishes covering the vast half of the large table. Her widened eyes instilled a chuckle from Mingi, he watched with adoration.

Miss Min was a beauty, a sight to behold. All the light in the room revered her, shining towards her figure ever so specifically- so much that you would think she was the beacon herself. The black dress hugged her figure so perfectly, he wanted nothing more than to snake his hand around her waist and pull her closer to him. The smell of her blood so divine, it was driving him insane. He bit his lip, hands balling up into fists as if to hold himself back from digging his teeth into the curve of her gleaming neck. Once the servants had fled from the room, he reached forward to cover her plate with a bit of each dish served before them.

"Mingi-," he silenced her with a hard stare.

"Hush now, you need as much food as you can get. How would you get better otherwise?" This sudden solidarity had startled her, no less. When was the last time someone had given her this much attention? She became so used to fending for herself, that help of others was so foreign to her. Perhaps this was all temporary and Mingi was seeking something from her in return of his services.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you know my name?" she questioned, as soon as he compiled a few dishes onto his own plate-reaching for the fork. He stopped, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket, pulling out a black book with her name engraved on the front.

"This was in your cloak." Cloak, a word that disgusted her. Almost made it seem like she was a real witch. He settled the book down next to him- tentatively, she grabbed it, flicking through the pages to see if any of the loose sheets she'd placed in there had fallen out. The chances were that they had when she was making her way up the hill. “Took me a while to get my head around that satanic scripture.” He joked, raising the wine glass to his lips. Her head snapped toward him. Cloak. Satanic scripture. What did he know and what was he trying to imply?

My, my, Miss Min. You are sharp.

Mingi held her confounded stare for a few moments before gesticulating for her to eat the food he’d so kindly put on her plate.

“What are you trying to imply, Mr Song?” She challenged, there was no point beating around the bush. If he, as so much thought that she was one of the devils men- then she was treading in the enemy’s territory. She deduced the secretive airs around him, the way he paused before speaking choosing his words carefully.

“I might not get out of the house much but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my eyes and ears everywhere. Did you not think for a second I wouldn’t question why there’s a woman bleeding out to death on my doorstep?”

“If you were wondering so, then you didn’t need to invite me to eat with you. You could’ve asked me the second I woke up and I would have told you.”

“Oh I know you would have, Miss Min. But what kind of man would I be, if I didn’t put food before a starving woman? So, eat your food and if you don’t like it then I can get you something else.” He instructed, salient eyes burned into her own, tearing her stare away she stuck the fork into plate- engulfing her meal hungrily, but in a civilised enough manner that the man beside her didn’t think she was an animal. They ate their food in tense silence, Miss Min still eager to galvanise answers out of him. Mingi scoured through the depths of her mind finding nothing that wasn’t already new to him. Just a young soul brimming with beauty and inquisition. At the end of the night. Mingi escorted her back to her quarters-the pair loitering outside of her door. Mingi, unable to leave until he knew she had gone into the room, and herself thinking of something-anything- that would eradicate the taut atmosphere. She pushed her door open, thanking her saviour for his hospitality. Sometimes it was better to say nothing, than something. Deep down she felt that he would not leave her questions unanswered. Regardless, whatever it was that he was hiding from her- she took it upon herself to find out. One way or another.

A gold, rusted candelabra rested in her palms as she sauntered through the desolate hallways. It had been a while since their last encounter; Mingi's latency around the manor was absent. She tried to pry the maids for information in lieu of her nosiness but they all dismissed her inquisitiveness, instead doting over her lecturing her to rest and take care of herself. A sense of pain still provoked her bearings despite all this rest she was advised to take, deciding the best cure to her apathy was to give herself that tour that Mingi did not give her. Avoiding the steps that descended to the ground floor, she took the staircase leading the the upper floor hands gliding up the railing to secure some stability, she still felt her head rocking from side to side- heavy pants fleeting from her aching lungs as she wandered to the upper floor. The second floor stretched out into a long hallway, around six black, wooden doors all equidistant from each other. To her dismay, three out of six were locked and two were simply storage rooms holding boxes of trinkets, dusty furniture, a grand piano, cello; some other boxes contained velvet curtains, bed spreads and just other menial household items. Reaching for the copper doorknob, she twisted the handle pushing it open to reveal another set of staircases that led further up the building. From the outside, the manor looked to only have two floors, the high ceilings feigning an impression of many more. Shutting the door behind to preserve the warmth, she glided up the staircase, nudging through yet another door before entering a large space. The light from the flame flooded into the room, this room was much more fastidious than the rooms below with white sheets draped over the furniture; carefully arranged in parallel rows either side of the room. Amongst the walls held portraits, an array of people all dressed in the clothing that was deemed fashionable of its time. They were all encrusted in deep reds, velvety purples, pearl necklaces wrapped around their necks. A certain figure on the walls, drew her, his face similar to that of Mingi's. There seemed to be several that masked his features, all dressed differently-as if his face was a family heirloom surpassing generations.

Her eyes latched onto a book perched on top of one of the tables, a thick layer of dust coated on the front cover. Reaching for the book, she wiped away the dust with the sleeve of her arm, erupting into a fit of coughs as the particles entered her nose. Through the little light, her eyes barely made out the writing engraved across the front.

‘Mr and Mrs Song’

“What are you doing up here?” His deep voice bellowed into the attic, startling her. "What's that in your hand?" Clutching the book to her chest, Mingi grabbed at the candle holding it towards his face, his dark eyes glared at her a look of question fulfilling his features.

"It's mine." she blurted, he raised an eyebrow-almost amused by her proclamation. She cleared her throat, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. "I mean...I got it from the library. I also got a little bored. So I thought I'd explore." The cold look on his face softened, as he watched her stumble a little, leaning on the table for support.

"You're still in pain, you could have explored the castle later. Or asked me.” He offered.

“I’m beginning to think you’re nocturnal, Count. It’s actually appalling to see you’re gallivanting through your own hallways in the early evening.” Mingi shook his head whilst rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you’ve just been missing me.” A playful smirk held up on his sweet lips. She wanted to reach out and touch them, hold her fingers on his lips for a while. See what it would feel like to have his skin pressed against hers. The thought itself astounded her. His beauty was certainly a thing to behold but where had she conjured such thought from? “Come with me, Miss Min. We’ll gallivant through our hallways together,” His outstretched hand gesticulated for her to join him. They sauntered down the corridor, the book pressed against her chest. A maid rushed over to them, panting heavily.

"There is a man demanding to see you master. He goes by the name of Choi San." Her blood ran cold, limbs paralysed as the name reverberated at her core. Choi San, the town's exorcist had been the one to spread the word of her 'witchcraft', he had also been the one to plunge his 'holy' dagger into her stomach. Mingi stalked towards the entrance, the maid scuttling back to her duties. Hesitantly, she followed after him descending the steps. Listening carefully, she heard San introduce himself listing his many revered titles. 'Priest, Merchant, Scholar'. Yet it didn't take a genius to figure out that San was no god-fearing man and cleverly manipulated the townspeople's naivety to create his own rules and have them bending to his will. If anything, he thought he was God's greatest gift on earth.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." Looking up at the top of the stairs, he shot her a devious smile. "Why don't you come down for me, dear?" Her body trembled, moving further down the steps. Hiding behind Mingi’s towering figure, his hand settled on her waist behind his back. San, unimpressed, mockingly cocked his head to the side like a drunken father playing hide and seek with his fearful child.

“This is my wife, you are talking to Mr Choi. Maybe you should reconsider your position whilst you are stood in my house threatening my wife and by extension, me.” Wife? Her heart fluttered, indecently, as Mingi’s grip on her waist tightened. Leaning her head against his back, her eyes shut tightly.

“Very well Count Song, I was unaware of this arrangement. I suggest you tame her. A woman like her does not belong here. This is not the last you'll see of me.” San spat through clenched teeth sending her one last sinister look before departing from the manor. Before Mingi could step forward to argue, she tugged at his arm. A breath of relief of escaped her lips, Mingi turned around to envelop her within his embrace- sinking her head into his chest the warmth from his body soothing her.

“It’s ok, nobody can hurt you now.” Her head piqued up, a grateful smile dancing upon her lips.

“Wife?” She teased, Mingi shrugged- a guilty look forming on his face.

“I didn’t know what else to say. It’s final- you’re staying here now Miss Min, whether you like it or not.” A few days later, Mingi had summoned her to his study. She kicked the album underneath the bed the canopy bed that same day-only to find it missing when she returned to find it. Did he take it? What was in that album that he did not want her to see, aside from the possible fact that she was prying around in his home-looking for answers he would not give her. “You marry me, Miss Min and you’ll have my protection. No man can ever lay his hands on you.” Her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the sheet.

“What’s the catch? What do you get out of this arrangement?” He looked slightly taken aback by her inquest, but which man would willingly spend the rest of his life with her? Mingi frowned a little as he read her thoughts.

“I get the pleasure of your company. Not that in that way, of course.” He quickly clarified, a blush creeping upon his cheeks. How cute. “I promise I won’t keep you bored, you’ll have my undivided attention.” She contemplated the thought. It was clear that she couldn’t go back to her home, her seclusion would only provoke San to go after her again and she couldn’t have that. On the other hand, she barely knew Mingi. How much could she really trust him? Then again, how much choice was she left with?

I guess we’ll find out.

The ink spilled out from the nib, her signature sprawled across the page. How bad could it be to be tied to Song Mingi for eternity?

Oh you little lamb, you have no idea of the being I am.

After the establishment of their matrimony, the pair had become a lot more distant than that was usual of a married couple. Miss Min felt it in her to be the wife that her mother was for her father, but did not know how. Mingi felt it in him to be more affectionate or available but his nocturnal nature prevented him from doing so. The servants had prevented her from entering Mingi's quarters, especially during the day. A pang shot through her at the thought that maybe he was with another woman. Her speculative nature had been suddenly inhibited, every time she thought about Mingi's disappearance during the day- the notions were vanquished substituted with the lies he fed her spinning in her mind like mantra chanted by a camaraderie of soldiers. With the days becoming shorter and nights longer, his presence pervaded the household more often- summoning his wife to his study to drink tea together.

“What is it that you do?” Mingi looked up from his book, as wide-eyed Miss Min settled down her porcelain tea cup. “I mean, what keeps you so busy and away from me?” She thought out loud. Frequent he felt his vampiric essence was a curse. He wanted to be close to her, without feeling the urge to sink his teeth into her neck. He wanted to hold her in the light of the day, in ways he believed she should be held.

“The boring stuff, like tax collecting, administrative duties, trade. All the stuff that everyone dislikes." Particularly her father. He would always have the tax collectors at their door, every month because he was too invested in his work-he'd forget about his taxes.

"That does sound incredibly dull." Her heart fluttered again at his intoxicating smile. "Does that mean you're somewhat good at maths?" Mingi snorted. Whilst he had been occasionally praised on his academics (a thousand years back when he played the role of a gentry scholar), he knew he didn't hold the admiration for it as much as she did. It was small moments like these which bridged the distance between the two. The tea in his office during the late afternoon had become a ritual for the pair.

One night Mingi was fixated upon writing his report to his superior, when a servant scuttled in.

"Mr Choi has requested to see you again, Master." Placing down his ink nibbed pen, Mingi let out deep sigh permitting the priest to enter his study. A broad-shouldered man strolled into the room, face wrought with wickedness.

"Can I help you, Mr Choi?"

"It's Father Choi, Count Song. I shall hope god forgives you for your disrespect." Mingi bit his tongue, impatience seething through him as he echoed San's devious stare. "It's rather, I can help you. It has come to my attention that there have been reported cases of paranormal activity around the manor." The vampire snickered, knowing it was better to stay relaxed. Throughout his lifetime, he'd been accused of immortality, the matter resolved dubiously.

"Is that so, Father-" San held out his hand, silencing the vampire. Mingi wanted nothing more than to grapple his hands around the man's neck.

"There's no hiding from me. I know you're a vampire Song." Each word felt like taunt, an attempt to instil a sense of action from Mingi that would only prove San's 'allegation' against him. "And I have the cure you've been looking for."

Mrs Song, sped down the hallway to her husband's office. Eyebrows furrowed as she noticed San being escorted out by a maid, attired in the typical black silk gown suited for his position. Staggering to the door, she swooped into the office-ignoring Mingi's dazed look and the formalities.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about him. Come over here.” Gently, he pulled her into his laps. Slightly irked by his dismissal, she leant into his touch, fingers circulating through his hair. For a moment, her mind went cloudy, envisioning a blur of a figure transcending down the hallway next to a servant, the throbbing sensation in her temple deepened. Maybe it was just a group of maids making their way to their quarters. “Darling Miss Min, the treasurer of my heart, please would you do me the honour of accompanying me in the rose garden?” Playfully, she hummed pretending to be contemplative.

“Darling Mr Song, it would be my honour to accompany you in the rose gardens. Though it's too dark out, how would we see anything?"

"Never mind that, I find that thing's are much more peaceful in the night than during the day."

"Let's just stay here like this." Slumping down a little, she curled up into a ball resting her head against his chest, eyes closed as a shot of pain seethed through her. Her rationality was decomposing, and she hated every moment of it.

All she could think about was Mingi. All she wanted was Mingi. To feel the strong hold of his arms around her forever, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin, forever. Is this what it felt like to love? To adore? Goodness, she used to chastise such emotion primarily because she had felt the predatory gaze of men her whole life but when Mingi looked at her, it was if she embodied of the moon itself. For he, a dead being, felt his heart beat again at the mere sight of her. There was something so pure and domestic about the fact she was wrapped up in his arms, falling asleep to his whispers.

As she had promised Mingi, she accompanied him through his luscious rose gardens- an abundance of deep red roses enamouring the air. Her husband was correct, there was a beauty to the night relinquishing all of the fears that one associated to it. The moon hung serenely in the night, scintillating down at her husband. With the twisting of his stare, she snapped her head back toward the roses. Suddenly, the rain began to heavily beat down, the wind nipping at their skin. Encompassing her smaller hand into his, he dragged her back into the manor. A heavy thud emulated, as he tightly fixed the door. The pair exhaled synchronously, before he led her back to her room. With the candles already the lit, the heat juxtaposed from the chaos of the weather relaxing her muscles.

Mingi stared down at her, enraptured in her beauty. He could not help himself as he glazed his fingers over her skin. Erratic breaths infiltrated the air, leaning closer and closer to each other.

"I need you in all the ways holy and sinful, my dear. I want you as mine, eternally." I love you.

“I’m yours.” She breathed out, lulled by the intensity of their emotions. That was all it took for him to break. His touch eradicated the symphony of aches seething within her bones, the taste of him like opium reaching back for more and more. She could not get enough of him, and him her. Everything about the way the ardour flooded through them that night was divine and if it was all just a passionate dream she didn’t want to wake up. She could spend the rest of eternity stuck within this dream and she wouldn’t complain.

“If I asked you to follow me, without telling you where I was going, would you come with me?” He asked her one evening, tangled in each other’s arms in her room. Her finger drew down the bridge of his nose, over the curvature of his pink, plump lips.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” She announced. I'd follow you anyway for I am your devoted slave. His dimpled smile and siren eyes, pulled her off her bed taking her to the opposite ends of the manor. As they approached deeper into what seemed to be Mingi’s quarters- it became much more colder. The windows were obscured by thick black velvet, hallways narrower and not a single candelabra in sight to guide them. Yet Mingi seemed to know where they were going, she followed him aimlessly as cattle did to a shepherd.

They glided up a set of staircases, his arms around her waist as glimpsing through the window overlooking the vast lawn. The night was beginning to settle in, the lights from the village evaporating. Resting his chin on her head, he nestled his face into her hair- pressing his lips to the top of it.

A sharp pain protruded through her lower back, an agonising scream terrorising the hallways. Her knees weak from the pain- it was as if she was being mauled by horses on a race track, their strong legs thumping against her skin. Tormenting sobs illustrated the air, her body sliding down his back- Mingi sinking to the ground with her.

"Oh don't cry my blossom, please."

"How can I not? When you've hurt me. All this time you were just the devil in disguise." Choking on her cries, begging to the Lord to cease her pain.

"I'm not the devil, I am so much worse. For I spoke to him and he begged me not to hurt you. How does even a fallen angel sink to his knees before me?" Tears slid down his cheeks. She had never seen a statue cry before. He had corrupted her so much-even through the incessant pain she wanted to reach out and kiss away his tears.

"Why?" she managed to croak out. Letting out a gasp, his grip on her tightened as he slid out the dagger.

"It's just my nature. I needed you to bring me back to life. You were my key to mortality" He closed his eyes, her body wracking with sobs. San’s words ringing in his head. You have to make a sacrifice, kill the one you love the most in exchange for the gift of mortality. And he had become so deranged with living a thousand years, falling in love with her in each century only to have her taken away from him. Though he had stopped her several times from looking through the album. The truth was that Miss Min’s face lived as long and true as his own. A curse had set upon him when he had first become a vampire, that his lover would be given and torn away from him until the end of time. He just had to kill her this one time to break the cycle, her blood on his hands- the only cure ready to free him from his hellish state of mind.

“I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you. But it’s the things we love the most that are the ones we can’t have. My heart beats to your name. You brought me back to life.” A sudden roar flooded up the hill, the dissonance hitching a breath in her throat.

“You lied to me Song Mingi.” Her shaking hand, attempted to crawl backwards away from him, but with no strength left in her bones- she slipped against the stairs. He took everything from her, all her love, all her purity, all her sanity- moulding it into something that became utilitarian for him. You said nobody could hurt me. You wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on me. “If I were to be ever reborn, I ask of the heavens to keep me away from you- for being in love with you was the greatest curse that has been bestowed upon me.” In the finality of her receding breaths, her body warped against the staircase- her soul gone with the howl of the wind.

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘min’ meaning wisdom

A/N: It honestly feels like such a relief having published this. Mingi I love you so much but why did you give me this much grief? also, i didn’t intend to kill so many people off but i cant hold back i guess 🫣 i hope you guys liked vampire mingi <33

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[voiceofthebroken]

here's my Broken design after several attempts at sketching the variations and being stuck on certain parts :3

Hunted // Cheated // Opportunist // Broken

(additional notes and headcanons under the cut)

initially when I started designing Broken a while back, I went with something more akin to a priest because of some of Tower's lines and the whole worshipping aspect

I decided to give him elf ears for some reason since I thought it would fit Broken. the ears are always drooping down like the eyebrows(?)

their eyes have a glassy texture like "glassy eyes" and they become more clear and focused when he is seen to be more apparent with the empathetic parts

I wanted to give a few glass metaphors on Broken's design because of Spectre's line of referring to the Voices as shards of glass on the ground, and also because glass is easily broken (a broken will in a sense)

Broken has a large wound on their torso that constantly bleeds from stabbing themself repeatedly in the Tower

the jagged lines underneath Broken's eyes are somewhat resembling cracks

Broken's horns resemble glass shards, and became stained glass shards during the coloring process like stained glass windows seen in churches to some degree

in the Wild, the horns are branches, and the outer strands of the hair transition into roots. his lower half also became roots, similar to the Wounded Wild. Broken's body is also melting due to the events from the Beast that led up to the Wild (acid disintegrated his clothes)

in the Apotheosis, Broken's horns are made of marble. there is also a wound on his throat from slitting it. he gains a third eye as he seems to "open his eyes" to the Apotheosis's radiance as he worships her. also somewhat inspired by the Komeiji sisters from Touhou with the satori species that reads people's minds/hearts and thought it would be a nice touch. the third eye closes when they fight back against the Apotheosis.

in the Fury, the outer parts of the hair are unraveled and part of his cloak robe garment is stitched back together. his horns are the atoms seen in the route

in the Cage, the outer bits of hair, like the Wild, fade into chains. the horns become broken chain links like breaking the cycle of the pattern

in the Razor, the horns become shattered bits of a blade, and in the Moment of Clarity it's broken pieces of porcelain

no set pronouns for Broken because they think they don't deserve them (I write Broken with he/they pronouns)

the top part of the cloak is a fading blue which was meant to be like a "fading hope" or pessimism, and the red symbolizes sacrifice and blood

his eyes are usually closed. they only really open their eyes when there is something they really want to express to others (or during the Tower and parts of the Apotheosis when he is devoted to her)

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Kept ya waiting, huh? Miss me?

Hoo boy, I think this is longer than both parts prior, at least it felt longer. (Speaking of, read both parts here: 1 2)

Feels good to get back to writing (three week sudden hiatus who? not me, haha please laugh). But with that said, let’s skip the foreplay and get straight to it, yeah?

Tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @etanesnil @jgvfhl @roachs-pet-roach

CW: mentions of sex (oral and anal) and gym injuries

Enjoy!

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (3)

Eight weeks came and went, and unfortunately for Price, mind-numbingly so. In the first week, after enough grinning and bearing it and letting Nik pamper him (Price did not have to force himself to accept the expensive as hell cigars and whiskey), the pilot finally stopped hovering around him like he was a porcelain doll centimeters from the ledge. Weeks two and three consisted of what Price could only call tooth-rotting domesticity. The only meals Nik didn’t home make, were five coursers he had some American bloke fly in to make from them. There was more than a few instances of near quiet between Price and Nik—filled only by ambient sounds from inside the house like water flowing through pipes and outside like chirping birds and light winds—that never veered towards awkward, only peaceful. One morning, Price was (forcibly) carried to a beautiful garden out back where he lit up while Nik read, leading to Price resting his head onto Nik’s shoulder with Nik’s free hand idly carding through his hair.

The serenity of the moment was almost enough to convince Price it was a good thing he wasn’t back in his office working to catch the slippery bastard that evaded them, without nearly getting himself and his men killed this time. The peace almost made him forget that if he hadn’t fucked up so colossally, Nik wouldn’t have to be benched and wouldn’t have to be subtly checking him every other second like he was waiting for Price to keel over. The sappy romance of it all almost made him believe he deserved things so easy and pure.

Almost.

For all the endearing sincerity of the domestic moments, there were more than a few…erotic ones that Price was more than willing to allow as distractions. When a gaggle of men came by for landscaping, one tall, fit lad—a man with skin smooth as marble the shade of mahogany and half Price’s age—had taken off his shirt in the heat, revealing abs Price couldn’t have even dreamed of at his best. It caught Price’s eye from the window, of course, and though he knew he couldn’t be less interested, some people are impossible to look away from. Nik also noticed the man, but more so, he noticed how the man winked at Price once he had been staring for longer than 30 full seconds. When the Russian went outside, Price was half afraid (and half turned on) that Nik would break the lad’s jaw. Instead, he took off his own top and got to work with the law men. It’s not as if Price had anything else to do but even if he did, he was fully glued to the window by this point, forgetting all else but the powerful body obviously showing off for him. Price was all but literally drooling and knew exactly where he wanted to quench his thirst.

Later that night Nik was more than willing to give Price what he needed. There was never a question, but Price himself was more than willing to ensure Nik who he belonged to if the way he screamed his name was any indicator. Though, frustratingly, even sex couldn’t entirely distract Price from the war in his head as he could tell Nik was much gentler with him physically due to his leg. Nik valiantly attempted to mask it as another way to pamper Price but he could feel the restraint.

He didn’t intend it to, but it made Price pull away from Nik—not literally, the jaws of life couldn’t pry him away from that warm, fuzzy chest—it didn’t feel right to encourage Nik’s coddling of him. The pilot clearly meant no harm, but Price could feel the strain he was putting on his partner. So, Price stayed quiet as they caught their breath and did his damndest to hurry to sleep, maybe then he wouldn’t be stressing Nik out so much.

Week four was when Price started going to physical therapy. Nik gave him what he thinks are words of encouragement on the first ride to the therapist’s office. It was sweet but if anything heightened Price’s nerves. If he didn’t do well in physical therapy, they would likely extend his leave. The thought shook him to his core.

In reality, PT was dreadfully uneventful. The first few sessions were simple joint and motor control exercises—swinging his leg and rolling his knee, that kind of stuff. There was, disappointingly, still some soreness and discomfort in many spots. It shouldn’t have disappointed Price, he knew he wasn’t gonna walk any time soon, but still, knowing he was crutch bound was annoying to say the least.

Weeks five and six saw real progress being made. With every PT session he felt more and more comfortable using his leg, though he still couldn’t stand on it and apply very much pressure at all, it was better than he was before. The therapist attributed it to the rest Price was getting more than the exercises but Price wouldn’t tell Nik that lest the Russian go full nurse on him again and never let him leave his bed.

Speaking of, even with Price’s steadily increasing mobility, Nik was not seeming to get any less vigilant. It’s like he was waiting on Price to fall at any given moment. Price wanted to believe the man was just over worrying out of concern but he knew what Nik knew—that Price was a liability now—so he only went above and beyond in his exercises. Needed to prove him wrong. Needed to get better. If he hurt himself a little then no one had to know, especially as he mastered hiding his winces.

Week seven saw Price getting beyond antsy; as besides physical therapy, he had not left the house in weeks. Normally without work to focus on, he could go fishing, hit a pub, or hit a gym. Though right this instant, he knew he needed more physical activity than fishing could offer and he had ample liquor at his disposal thanks to Nik and still needed to get out of the damn house; so, gym it was. Nik initially wasn’t fully convinced it was a good idea, even after Price promised to stay light on his leg like the physical therapist ordered and focus his arms and chest. But Price did remember his mum joking with her friends about the three ways to a man’s heart—so after a full dinner, half a bottle of vodka, and a few minutes with his head between Nik’s legs, Price had managed to crack the Russian.

The gym was thus far the only thing to get him out of his head and keep him out. Something about the burn of each muscle as he worked it gave him something to hone in on. It certainly helped when Nik would join him and give him a sight to see. Watching the Russian throw weight around didn’t just give Price a problem in his joggers, but it was nice to see that Nik was still, well, Nik.

The Nik strong enough to hop out of his heli to help Price carry men too wounded to walk on their own was the same Nik repping 50kg bicep curls like it was nothing. The Nik so ready for anything he brought bags to dispose of bodies in an alley before Price had even asked was the same Nik that had his bag packed with spare clothes and protein bars and their water bottles already filled for the gym this morning before Price left the bed. The Nik who got the perfect arsenal fit just for Price like he could read his mind was the same Nik who not so subtly laid claim to a machine in the corner of the building, somewhere he knew Price wouldn’t be interrupted and could focus.

Seeing Nik still be Nik, even with Price crippled and burdensome as he was, felt like a pressure lifted off his ribcage—and he didn’t mean the barbell he was absentmindedly lifting off his chest. Maybe this is exactly what Price needed after all; to get out of his head, to see that he wasn’t some corruptive force, ruining his partner. Maybe he could just be a bloke who shattered his leg with a lover who jumped at the opportunity to care for him. The thought was…was nice. Maybe he could have this nice thi—

Price let out a strained yelp as the barbell came crashing down onto his chest. If he had been paying attention—or had a bloody spotter—he would’ve noticed his left wrist wobbling before it gave out. Guess he wasn’t as much out of his head as he thought. Luckily, he caught the weight before it fully crushed his torso but the sharp pain and winded sensation he felt confirmed that it was only just barely. Instinctively, Price rolled the weight to one side and ducked to the other, ending up arse over tea kettle next to the bench he had been on catching his breath with the bar rolling away.

At the sound, Nik turned and saw the state of Price—now flat on his back, eyes shut tight in pain and clutching his chest. “Chert voz’mi!” He threw the weight he was in the midst of lifting down and hurried over to Price’s prone form. “Mishka! Jonathan, what happened, are you alright?”

Price forced his eyes open and saw that wretched worry had made its way back onto Nik’s face. Price groaned and turned to roll over, whether in pain or embarrassment he wasn’t sure, but was stopped by two large warm hands on his shoulder.

“Nyet! Do not move!” Nik started feeling across Price’s body, clearly looking for wounds or blood. A large bruise was already forming in the space between his clavicle and left pectoral. “Blyat! I knew we should not have come here. I am no medic. Here, I will carry you to car, let a doctor see—“

“No!” Price stubbornly rolled away, forgetting about his still recovering leg and groaned in pain. Nik shouted his name and came over to him but Price kept his eyes screwed shut and stopped fighting, knowing that he looked more and more like a foolish brat or a stunted dunce rolling around on the gym floor with a fractured leg after nearly offing himself. The irony of this being the second time in as many months that his poor judgement was nearly his demise. No wonder Nik was looking at him like he was frail little thing as he scooped him into his arms.

There were a few worried gym goers and an attendee even offered to call an ambulance for Price, but Nik just held him tighter to his chest and waved them off as he carried Price and their bags back to the car. After carefully setting Price into the passenger seat and buckling him in, Nik took no time to buckle up himself and take off. Price finally turned over to look at Nik, the pilot visibly stressed.

“Nik, please, just—. ‘M fin—“

“You are NOT fine!” Nik yelled out a growl. Price’s eyes widened as he couldn’t recall the last time Nik had raised his voice at him, barring once in a club in Bosnia with speakers that apparently couldn’t be lowered under three thousand or so decibles. “You—you, I…” He was stuttering, and Price pretended he couldn’t see the way his lip quivered because there was no way he was actually seeing that—he would not believe it.

“Alright, ‘m not fine, yer right.” Price cut Nik off this time, “‘M all fuckin wrong but please don’t take me to the bloody doc. Please.” He put his hand on Nik’s forearm to get him to look him in the eye. Nik had a face between a kicked puppy and a rankled coyote.

Nik turned away and seemed to fight himself in his head before pulling off to the side of the road. “If I cannot take you to the hospital then who?”

“Who?”

“Who will care for you?” Nik looked at him like it was the most obvious thing. The Russian dragged a hand through his hair, “I know you do not like hospitals, that is why I took you in. Somewhere nice, or I had hoped. But you hate it there.”

“Nik, I don—“

“You do. You can not wait to leave it. And I understand, it does not suit you. So while there I try to distract you but you are always—your mind, it is elsewhere.”

“Nik—“

“Jonathan, I want to help but I am clearly not! You are hurt and I can do nothing but make it worse and I am sorry. Who—“ He took a deep, wet breath. “Who can I take you to that will take care of you better? Please tell me, rodnoy, I can handle it.”

Price hardly recognized the question. Too caught up on…on how wrecked Nik sounded, as if when the weight crashed on Price chest it was Nik that was crushed instead. Did…did Price make him feel this way? Fuck.

“Nik, I—fuck me…” Price rubbed his face with his hands as he let out a strained breath. “I— don’t think there’s anyone in the world who can take care of me, if ‘m honest.”

Nik became visibly more distressed at this. If there was ever a wrong thing to say to his emotionally devastated partner, count on John Price to find it. Price stuck a hand out before Nik could react.

“What I mean is—I’m not one to be cared for in the first place. You won’t find someone ‘better’ to care for me. So why don’t you just take a deep breath and take me back to the house, eh? You could ice my chest, check my leg—hell, even read me a bedtime story if you want.”

“That is—but you are not happy.”

“Of course ‘m not! I’ve been benched almost two months now! Never thought I’d miss paperwork this much. But it’s almost over, I’ve been counting the bloody days so I know it’s almost over. Then we’ll be back to normal.” I won’t be a damn burden anymore is what Price almost finished with.

“You counted th—right. Da, of course, you counted.” Nik let out a sigh. Frustratingly, Price could tell it wasn’t one of relief but he couldn’t tell what it was. “Okay. No hospital. But I will read you bedtime story.” And like that, he was back to normal.

Well, normal enough. Price could tell there was something there, but frankly, his chest hurt like hell and he’s all emotionally tuckered out, so he’ll look into it later if he needs to. “Knew I shouldn’t’a made that bedtime story joke.” Price grumbled but with no heat in his tone.

“Too late. As the sergeant would say, ‘no takesbacksies’.” Nik grinned to himself as he drove back onto the road. “Let me think, ah! Da, I know the perfect story: the Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

“Oh bloody hell!” Price groaned.

By week eight, Price was all but literally bouncing off the wall—only because if he were, it’d definitely fuck up his leg. Nik actually walked with him into hospital, not wanting to be a part after having to give Price space during the PT sessions. Sessions that Price got full marks on, much to his pride. Now it was just a matter of Dr. Omar giving a second approving opinion and final verdict. He felt like he was being court martial’d.

After a nurse kindly guided them to an empty room, Price sat in the bed—an uncharacteristic anxiety rolling off him. Nik next to him tighten his grip on Price’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“You will be fine, Mishka. Even if the good doctor advises more leave time, you will not die.”

Price dismissively harrumphed. “Agree to disagree.”

Dr. Omar didn’t keep them waiting too much longer. “Good morning, Captain Price, Mr. Nikolai.” She walked in clipboard in hand. Her tone was light and her face neutral; Price attempted to decipher if that was a good sign or not.

“Good morning, good doctor!” Nik greeted with a firm handshake.

“Mornin’ doc. Got good news for me?” Price cut straight to the point. He felt Nik tug on his hand, almost like a silent rebuke. Price did not acknowledge it.

“Always business with you, Captain.” She smiled, holding in a chuckle. “I understand, I can only imagine you’ve been itching to get back in the field.”

“More than you could ever know.”

“Well, then yes, I have good news.” She looked back at her clipboard. “According to this, you’ve been an excellent patient for the physical therapist.”

“You sound shocked. ‘Ave I been that bad a patient for you?” Price said, finally cracking a smirk of his own.

“It’d be unethical to lie to you and unprofessional to answer that question the way I’d like so I’ll plead the fifth, Captain.

At that, Nik got a hearty chuckle and even Price approved the cheeky shot with a soft laugh.

“As I was saying, the physical therapy seems to have gone well. I’m glad you took your recovery so seriously. I’ll ask you, how are you feeling, Captain Price?”

Price took in a breath debating saying what he thought would get him the result he wanted but thought better of it. For all he knew that would backfire immediately. Interestingly, on top of Dr. Omar’s eyes, he felt a pair of deep browns burning holes in the side of his head without even turning to see them. Sighing, “I feel fine. Some days have been better than others and there’s soreness here and there. As much as I’d like to be in tip top shape, I know I’ve still got a way to go ‘til 100%, doc.”

Dr. Omar smiled. “I appreciate the honesty, Captain, and based on what I’m reading, I’m inclined to agree.”

A hand grasp and release of breath to his right that Price is sure was done subconsciously confirmed that Nik shared a similar sentiment.

“Knowing what I know about your field of work, your medical history, the state of recovery, your age,” Dr. Omar continued, pausing at Price’s disgruntled grunt at the reference to his age, “you know it’s a factor like any other, Captain, don’t shoot the messenger. Anyway, I think you’re clear to go back to light work. Nothing extensive, definitely nothing in the battlefield—“

“Desk duty.” Price summarized for her.

“Desk duty.” Dr. Omar confirmed with a nod. “But it is me allowing you back as soon as you’d like.”

“That would be now.” Nik half-joked.

“Well, then don’t let me stop you! Let me get you some reading material and see what alterations or additions need to be made to your prescriptions and then get you outta here, Captain!” With that, she handed Price a thin packet and left the room.

Price sighed in relief. Nik moved his hand to Price’s shoulder and brought him into a side hug before lowering his lips to Price’s temple. In Nik’s arms, knowing he was minutes from medical freedom—sorta, Price felt for the first time in two months some semblance of normal. Though, he could tell that Nik’s grip around him still had the same tension as before, as if he thought Price would slip from his grasp. It was a reminder that he couldn’t get comfortable yet, couldn’t let his guard down. He knew that the moment he did, he’d do something to fuck it all up again. He wouldn’t let himself, not after the shitshow that was the last eight weeks, and all the stress he put Nik through.

Price would make it right. He’d get better, he’d be a liability no longer. He had to.

[mizutsugi]

i need a hannibal washing will’s hair fic pretty please🙏

in safe hands ⊹ (hannigram)

↳request!

↳word count: 1,370

↳cw: sfw, mentions of blood/murder, non-sexual nudity

↳a/n: i had no idea what to do for this and then BOOM i was cooking on my laptop at like 1 am... this is vaguely inspired by when hannibal washed bedelias hair in s3, and also when will came to hannibals house that one time and had a "mild" seizure (i mean, he said it was mild)...hope this fulfills your vision! thanks for the request :)

Will looked down at his hands, trembling and drenched in crimson dried blood. He was shaking in a panicked state, unsure how exactly he ended up on Hannibal’s doorstep. He must have knocked, or made some sort of noise, because the door opened. Hannibal materialized in a white button up and slacks, appearing to have just started getting ready for bed. He observed the boy, shaking and disgruntled while covered in blood, and he ushered him in, glancing behind Will’s shoulder to make sure no one had seen him in such a state. Will entered the foyer, starting to stammer while Hannibal closed the door.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know how I got here.” Will stuttered out, unable to lift his gaze from his hands.

“You are covered in blood, Will. Do you know who it belongs to?” Hannibal asked, used to Will’s occasional lapses of time. He knew better to coddle him, but he still walked to Will and pulled his jacket off, leaving him in a blood stained flannel. Will didn’t even notice, but he had blood all over his clothes, face and hair, too. He reached up to Will's face and gently pulled his glasses off the bridge of his nose, watching him shudder both at the touch and the sight of more blood, spattered on his lens. 

“I… I don’t…Oh my god.” He stammered. He truly couldn’t remember what happened. He knew he was at a crime scene with Jack and Bev, but that was as much as his mind could draw back up. 

“Will…” Hannibal grabbed Will’s shoulders, attempting to ground him as he continued to shake like a nervous dog. “Will?” 

Will’s eyes flicked up to Hannibals, pupils blown in panic. 

“Follow me.” Hannibal ordered Will, letting go of his shoulders and walking towards his master bathroom. Will summoned all the energy he could expel to move his feet, shoes still laced to his feet as he shuffled behind Hannibal. Hannibal opened the door to his grand bathroom, marble tiles leading up to a porcelain tub. Will followed him in as he turned the tap on, plugging the drain and allowing the hot water pouring in the tub to gather at the bottom. Hannibal opened a glass vial of bath salts that was sitting on the edge of the tub, pouring them in. He turned to Will, who watched him with vacant eyes and was gripping his own shoulders, attempting to stop the tremors. 

“Can I undress you?” Hannibal asked, approaching him. Normally, Will would be extremely uncomfortable with the situation and give a firm ‘no”, but he wasn’t exactly himself at the moment. He watched steam rise from the tub, dancing in the air behind Hannibal’s back, and wanted nothing more then to wash every crevice of his body until he couldn’t feel the painfully tacky blood on himself. Just the thought of it momentarily stopped the impulsive movements under skin, and that brief feeling of peace was enough for him to nod his head in permission. 

Hannibal kneeled down, pulling at the tight laces on Will’s shoes until they came undone, allowing him to pull them off entirely. He then gingerly unbuttoned Will’s flannel until he reached the bottom of the garment, then pulled at the edges back until it fell off, leaving him in a plain white fitted tee. He then took the bottom of the shirt and pulled it upward so that it dragged up Will’s chest and over his face, leaving him only in his pants and socks. Hannibal pulled Will’s belt out of the loop, removing it with a tug. When he reached for the top of Will’s pants, Will’s hand flung to his own, holding it there and preventing further efforts to undress him. Hannibal looked up to Will, who was nervously shaking his head. Hannibal nodded in silent understanding, walking past the other and facing the wall to let him finish on his own. After a few moments Will was sinking into the tub, allowing the silky water to pour over his form. The salts colored the liquid a soft white, offering Will some peace in being relatively covered. Some of his dignity was left, after all.

To Hannibal, though, there was no indignity in being nude. Many of his drawings included the nude form, and it was never something that was inherently sexual to him. Either way, he waited until the sloshing of the water died and turned around, observing Will as his eyes locked on the tap, watching the water pour out of the nozzle. He knelt down beside the tub, turning the tap off once the tub was about three quarters of the way full. Will’s gaze remained glued forward, his mind still racing. He was unconsciously trying to regain some sort of memory, though it was yielding no results. Hannibal pulled a washcloth out of a nearby cabinet and squeezed some ivory body wash out of a nearby pump attached to the wall, allowing it to sink into the spongy material before dipping it into the water. He began to lightly drag the cloth up the exposed skin of Will’s shoulder, causing the other to jump at the impact. His trance broke, and he watched as Hannibal slowly cleaned him. 

“Will, I want you to try to remember what happened.” Hannibal asked quietly, dipping the now bloodied cloth back into the water before dragging it over the stiff muscle of Will’s back. Will closed his eyes, attempting to activate his mind enough to recall the past four hours. 

“I didn’t… I was at a scene in Reston. I was there to consult the case. There was… a family.” Will recalled, eyes remaining closed while Hannibal rolled up his sleeves to dip his hand into the tub, cleaning Will’s chest. 

“Were they already dead?” Hannibal prodded, gently scrubbing the dried blood off Will’s collar. He shuddered at the closeness, squeezing his eyes shut harder. 

“Yes, they um… They were killed. Murdered. By…” Will paused, mentally probing for a photo, a name, anything. Hannibal waited patiently, finishing cleaning his torso. He reached for another pump, shampoo falling into his palm. Will opened his eyes, watching as Hannibal lathered the shampoo in his hands. 

“It was a man. Uh, Henry. His name is Henry.” Will recalled, Hannibal digging his fingers in Will’s scalp. He groaned at the touch, feeling the digits drag over his head in a way that made his back slide down a bit, melting into the tub. Hannibal cupped his hand and dipped it into the water, pouring the liquid over Will’s head as he washed the red-tinted suds out of Will’s hair. 

“Was Henry there? Did you shoot him?” Hannibal asked, now reaching for the conditioner. The hair wash smelled like a light musk with a hint of barley, and as Will physically relaxed, he felt his memory slowly come back to him. 

“I…” He hesitated, not wanting to confront the truth that had suddenly hit him. Hannibal halted, holding his hands over Will’s head, waiting for him to confess. 

“I did.” He whispered huskily, and Hannibal, unphased, dipped his fingers back into Will’s hair. He ran his fingers through the small curls, delicately rubbing the silky-smooth conditioner into his scalp. 

“I need to go… I have to go back. I need to go.” Will gripped the edges of the tub, attempting to push himself out. Hannibal looped his fingers tightly into Will’s hair, keeping him stationary. Will’s heart raced with panic, but when Hannibal continued his massaging, he felt himself torn between complete peace and complete anxiety. 

“There’s no use going into the unknown without clothes on and soapy hair. Let me finish and I’ll come with you.” Will hummed, feeling drops of water falling down his forehead as Hannibal washed the conditioner out. “Jack will understand whatever you have done, especially if I am there to help explain.” Will nodded at the sound logic, allowing the other to finish cleansing him of the blood. Hannibal took care of him, knowing that whatever Will had done, he was acting in his best and truest nature. Knowing he chose to come to his door for protection meant that he already had.

↳a/n: for getting my second to last final done and whipping out an academic essay, my special treat was to write and post two fics in the same day... my mind is a WEAPON!! hope everyone is staying warm and having a lovely day/night <3

[xxdemonicheartxx]

The flights and their major exports

Ice: furs, fish, culinary or food grade ice, unique and seasonal herbs, spices and flora that only grow there in the spring, super rich culinary culture has formed here and it attracts tourism and foodies, cooking oils and fats, seeds and nuts for consumption

Nature: lumber, meats, spices, fertile soil, insect cuisine, perfumes, freshwater fish, houseplants, seeds and shoots for farming, decorative plant or wood working, plant based oils for cooking or fuel

Light: wheat, plant based fibers and fabrics, paper and or papyrus, chalk and marble, huge bread and baked goods industry, baskets, porcelain, exotic percivore cuisine, pigments, seasonal fruits

Earth: cactus fruits, minerals and stones, gemstones, terracotta creations or construction pieces, ceramic work, glass tile work, roots and tubers, fossils, pigments,

Wind: rice, grains, construction grade bamboo, paper, rice paper, fabrics, plants and small birds for consumption, instruments (specifically wood-wind), silks, ribbon, sonorous sculptures

Shadow: fungal harvests, wire craft, tactical suits and mantles to conceal the body, iron weaponry with decorative detailing, insect and plant exports, huge root farming industry, lantern exports, candles, woodturned tools/utensils/decor/etc

Water: shells and abalone, fish, seaweed and kelp cuisine, boats and boat blueprints, crustacean cuisine, huge huge huge provider for the pescatarians, opal

Lightning: machinery parts, batteries, cactus harvests, insulation for both heat and electricity, exotic insect cuisine, dried and aged foods, electricity is produced in excess enough to provide immediately to the surrounding territories

Arcane: stained glass, lumber from the starwood strand (has unique properties and could be used for construction or artistic works), magical batteries made from the crystals, tomes and books, lenses, exotic herbivore cuisine, luminous pigments, tapestry work

Plague: immunizers/immunizations, craft and construction grade bones, leather, ale/mead/wine/whiskey/etc because they have the most intricate and detailed brewing and fermenting processes due to the understanding they have surrounding bacteria, pickled foods and pickling kits, surgical grade tools, cheeses, dry aged meats, medical practices unlike any other

Fire: weapons and armor, exotic carnivore cuisine, glasswork and glass blowing, obsidian and basalt export, geothermic energy(they can provide power enough to the surrounding territories) intricate mosaic and tile work, mineral exports, ceramic exports, blackened foods, metal shells and armor for vessels and vehicles and mounts

These are just what I can think of by examining the map and element at face value, there are millions of things these places can produce and export but I think these are the big ones or what they are known for, maybe even just the best quality versions of the export! If you want to use these ideas or add your own feel free!

[rabbit-flaying]

Humanity's Collector

Genres: Fantasy and Science Fiction

Content Warnings: Dehumanization, Kidnapping, Casual Violence, Claustrophobia, Mild Cosmic Horror

Note: I want to get back to positing my writing on Tumblr. Maybe someone will recognize this. Probably not.

"Gosh you're pretty," Glade cooed, its voice sounding a bit like Harlow's mother, a bit like a brook, and a bit like paper being crumpled up and cast aside.

Harlow looked around desperately. For he had to find escape from the strange realm he had woken in. All manner of miscellany took up space in the void around him. It looked like a storage closet, if every storage closet in the world were connected together, and the possessions of kings and paupers alike were granted permission to socialize.

He ignored Glade and stood from his wicker chair, quickly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the realm and number of objects held within it.

Above him the color white stretched out into infinitum. True white, not the dirty kind found in snow and house paint. It hurt his head, making his temples throb and blood vessels contract, so he looked away from it.

"Where am I?" Harlow demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Glade," it answered. "You're in my home."

Harlow made the mistake of eye contact. Glade's eyes shone with the light of galaxies, a dazzling rainbow of nebulae, planets, and suns. The entirety of the universe, and many more beyond it, seemed tucked away within the perfectly spherical marbles buried in the putty-like flesh of its glowing face.

He finally broke away from the hypnotic sight, his puny brain unable to handle the visions within. How much time had passed, every one of his neurons firing at once in an attempt to process the cosmos of Glade's eyes? Seconds? Minutes? Hours, even?

He needed answers, yet he did not know the right questions. Glade didn't seem human, instead a creature from a story book. And this monolithic hoard couldn't possibly be real.

"Your home?" he asked in a strangled sort of voice, staring pointedly at the patch of ebony wood ground he stood upon.

"I'm a collector," Glade explained, running their sharp nails, painted with glitter and adorned with scraps of emeralds, through Harlow's silky hair.

"What do you collect, exactly?"

Harlow watched a glittering blue beetle crawl across the ground, finding a hiding spot underneath a red and purple feathered ball gown displayed on a copper mannequin.

"All sorts of things," Glade said, flapping its hands wildly in a mimicry of human excitement. "Your world is fascinating. I remember when your kind learned how to create fire and tame animals. You have grown so much since then. I needed to have one of you for my own. Your creations are not enough any more."

Harlow carefully took in Glade's appearance, avoiding its hypnotic eyes. Despite its alien nature- as clear to Harlow as it would have been to his ancestors as they huddled around campfires concocting stories to explain their world- it chose to appear humanoid, though not precisely human.

Glade was the kind of thing that would hide in a child's closet, and speak to them in a parental fashion, loathing the knowledge that the child would never be believed no matter how loudly they spoke of its existence.

Its iridescent skin glimmered, changing colors with every movement, no matter how slight, as stunning light produced by the void poured over its body. Its proportions sat beyond the human view of normal, uncanny like an airbrushed model, but far more monstrous. Behind its smiling lips were two rows of porcelain and copper teeth, slicing perfectly through its pale gray gums.

Delicate jewelry of book pressed flowers and dragonfly wings adorned its warped elven ears. It was clad in a fur cape, the stitched together pelts of numerous small animals, fur colors clashing and asymmetrical. Its heels, as thin as sewing needles and seemingly impossible to walk on, granted half a foot of height to their seven-foot frame.

"Don't worry," Glade continued. "I'll take care of you. I've been collecting humanity's creations for millenia. You may use what you find around you to its fullest extent."

"I want to go home," Harlow said, finally realizing that this was not a dream that could be banished away by opening his eyes and pouring himself a cup of black coffee mixed with salt. "Please let me go. I'm sure there's someone who would love to be here. But I like my life on earth."

"But I wanted you."

Glade hugged Harlow tightly, mimicking how it had observed humans comforting one another. Its skin had none of Harlow's warmth, and he found this hug as uncomfortable as cuddling with a marble statue would have been, if he had ever been bold enough to break the omnipresent rule of not touching museum exhibits.

Harlow closed his eyes. "I have to be dreaming," he said, his lie cloaked in a defeated sort of tone. "This can't be real."

"Of course this isn't real," Glade said, holding its newest acquisition out at arm's length. "But it isn't a dream either. You are within my home, far outside of your universe."

"Please send me back. I don't know why I'm here, or how, but I can't do this."

"Yes you can," Glade said. "It's easy. I will take care of you, and you will be my plaything. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harlow broke away from Glade, and took off walking. There had to be an exit. Everything had an exit, whether it be a school or a church or a corner shop. The exits were always there, saddened as they were that so many people were afraid to break the rules and only took advantage of their ability to leave at certain appointed hours.

The void still seemed to stretch on into infinity, swelling larger and larger the farther and farther Harlow walked. But everything had an end if you traveled far enough to find it. Even the deserts that passed past any human line of sight and the mountains that seemed too high to ever climb over.

But now Harlow was applying rules from his original plane of existence to the alien one he had been so rudely whisked away to. And that was very foolish indeed.

"No, that doesn't sound nice," he said angrily, as Glade easily matched his pace, wearing a concerned expression it had stolen from a grandparent not too long ago. "I'm leaving."

"You can't leave. Because I didn't steal you. The original Harlow Finch Echowood is still in his home, playing solitaire and chatting away to his cat. You belong here with me."

Harlow stopped in his tracks, sitting down on an ancient jeweled throne. It had held countless kings before him, but he respected them not, only using their seat to keep from collapsing in shock.

Glade smiled. "We are going to have so much fun, and no one will ever know you to be here. Come now, I have food prepared for you."

"I can't eat your food," Harlow argued, remembering what he had learned from a book that lived in his elementary school library. It had worn a shiny green cover, and the name Susan Macintosh was written inside the front cover before his own. "I'd never be able to leave if I did that."

"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for some of my cousins," Glade said. "You will eat, or you will starve. And you're never leaving because you belong to me. It doesn't matter what you choose to do."

Harlow stood up, his dizziness replaced with a red-hot temper. "I hate you! Let me go! You can't keep me here!"

Glade looked deeply wounded, but Harlow knew within the depths of his very soul, that it was only mimicry of human emotion.

"I couldn't send you back, even if I wanted to. Then there would be two Harlow Finch Echowoods trying to live your singular and unique life."

"I don't believe you. I'm still me. I still remember my life."

"You are an exact duplication of the original Harlow Finch Echowood. You have the same soul and the same mind and the same DNA. Of course you still remember."

With every passing moment, Harlow's belief in Glade's words only grew. Any attempt to fight against them was snuffed out by diluted logic and the omnipresent knowledge that he was still alive. He breathed. Blood rushed through his veins. More importantly, his mind continued to produce thoughts and feelings to process the outside world.

"Just combine us again or something," Harlow begged. "I want to go home. I never asked to be brought here."

"I cannot combine nor reconstruct nor mend. I can only make copies of beautiful things, and things not quite so beautiful."

Glade spread its arms, gesturing to its hoard of human objects collected in centuries long past. The treasures of every empire ever risen and fallen was present, both the spectacular and the mundane side by side in a discordant visual melody.

"Why me?" Harlow asked. "I didn't do anything."

"You speak as though this is a punishment. I have simply added you to my collection." It flicked the tears from his face, scratching him with its nail. "Now come, I have made you good food."

Glade gripped Harlow's arm and dragged him far away, weaving throughout its collection at a brisk and even pace, avoiding falling into the gaps between pieces of floor, which only infinitum laid below.

Soon enough, they came upon a small 1950s era kitchen. Two marble counters, a dirty stove, and a teacup filled sink formed a corner tucked away between a row of unplugged televisions and a huge crooked stalagmite growing from the polished tile floor.

Glade opened the oven and pulled out a pan of fresh bread. Its hands were bare, but unburnt by the hot metal dish. It grabbed a knife from one of the many drawers and cut through the bread without displacing a single crumb, before laying the slice out on a neon green plate.

"Eat while it's still hot," Glade said with a bright smile. It was a well used expression by those of Harlow's time who prepared meals for other humans, and it planned to repeat it often.

In its time spent with Harlow, its teeth had dulled significantly, and its gums had taken on a pale shade of pink. Why it had not mimicked a perfect human before meeting Harlow was beyond him, and it seemed perfectly capable of warping its appearance to become more like him.

He reluctantly tried the seed filled bread, finding it to be heavenly and soft. Faerie food or not, he scarfed it down, suddenly famished beyond all reason.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

"I have much food. It is scattered about my home, and easy to find if you look. It never spoils, so you may feast on it as you please."

Harlow sighed, and clambered up to sit on the counter. An act of rebellion his twelve year old self would have been proud of, even if Glade didn't give him the smallest sliver of annoyance, having no understand of manners itself.

"I'm really never leaving…" he said, his voice like a half-deflated party balloon still adored by a kid who refused point blank to throw it in the trash. "If that's it then, what happens when you get bored of me?"

"I never get bored of my playthings."

"How big is this place? Is it a universe, or a realm, or a room in some alien mansion?" Harlow thought these reasonable enough questions, considering his circumstances.

"An infinite pocket dimension," Glade replied. "If you travel far enough, my collection begins to grow thin. There is a boundary of where my possessions lie, and after that is the abyss. It is nearly impossible to find one's way back from nothingness."

"I hate it here," Harlow said, as though he had not made this feeling quite clear before. "I want to be around other people. Not you."

"I will bring you some," Glade promised. "Allow me a few minutes to collect them. You shall have a companion, as all humans crave, or more than one if it suits your fancy."

Harlow froze, debating his own morality versus the loneliness soon to bloom from this isolation. How could he allow more people to be stuck in this horrible purgatory of preserved humanity, just so he could have someone to talk to? The truth? He couldn't bear it. At least, not yet.

"No," he begged, the first tears ever created in this pocket dimension blooming in his eyes. "Please, don't put anyone else through this. I'll be good. I won't complain. I promise."

"Oh, how you confuse me." Something odd bloomed over Glade's face, a poor mimicry of a half-understood human emotion. "I see… Come along then."

Harlow hopped off the counter and followed Glade as it walked under a vast canopy of safety pinned together curtains fashioned from every familiar fabric and exotic cloth created by the hands of humanity.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Glade called in a sing-song voice. "I've brought a new trinket. This one can talk, so I'm sure you'll like it."

People approached Glade and Harlow from the shadows. Well, not people, exactly. They were like Glade, monstrous and wonderful, stepping straight from a story book and into Harlow's waking nightmare. There stood more figures than Harlow could keep track of, intent on viewing the treasure Glade had discovered.

"I finally brought a human home," Glade said proudly, if such a being were capable of pride. "Isn't it just a doll?"

Harlow flinched as numerous hands and insect-like feelers crept over his body, Glade's companions examining him all too closely. He felt as though he had jumped into those foam pits he had so loved as a young child, touched in all directions yet floating in oddly empty space.

"Get off of me," he demanded, forgetting his promise not to complain as he shoved the nearest figure away. "Stop it. I said stop!"

Harlow tried to break free of them, pushing and shoving, even striking at them with closed fists and elbows. But he was pulled back, the creatures murmuring in appreciation on how bizarrely Glade's newest acquisition behaved.

"Stop touching me," Harlow cried. "Please. I hate being crowded. What are you doing?"

"What is it doing?" the specter asked. It brought its freezing yet intangible hand to Harlow's face, as though to seize his tears.

"That is so weird," another remarked, clicking its pincers in an oddly specific pattern.

The different figures murmured to each other, formulating explanations.

"Is it because we're touching it?"

"It's water… I think."

"He's crying," Glade explained, flapping its hands in mimicry of human excitement. "It means it's upset. Isn't it the most delightful thing?"

"I hate you," Harlow said thickly, as tears continued to stream down his reddened cheeks. "I want to go home."

"You are so repetitive," Glade remarked, before perfectly imitating Harlow's voice. "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

Harlow finally relented. As the nightmarish figures poked and prodded him, discussing him amongst each other, he only hoped that they would soon grow bored and move on to newer shinier pursuits.

How could he stand to do this for the rest of eternity?

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 13}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Shadows and light play across your mind and feelings as you reveal more about your past to Din. Propositions made and discussions about what to do next as things back on Nevarro spiral as a result of Din's defiance of an organization he took part in for years prompt you both to evaluate everything you've become to each other.

Word Count: 12.6k (!!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, language, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past sa trauma (non-descriptive), anxiety, confessions, illusions to the pull of the force, allusions to past violent tendencies of both reader and din, brief mentions of death, allusions to order 66, reader has a lot on internal monologues in this one, nightmares, bad dreams, anxiety, outbursts, emotional turmoil, readers shares more of her violent past with din, sexual content, sexual intimacy, body worship, fingering, sexual themes, argumentative language

A/N: returning to this fic with a beast of a chapter that traverses so much. it's the longest one i've written yet and i am so excited to share it with y'all. i sincerely hope y'all like everything i poured into this. please let me know what you think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Water gently splashed against the side of the tub, bubbles sticking to the porcelain, small waves created by the movement of Din’s hand as it trailed down your navel. Fingers eliciting tingles of pleasure as they smoothed over soft skin slick with the oils added to the water not even a few moments ago. You gasped, head thudding back against his broad, bare shoulder as the tips of them brushed over course hair before slipping between your folds.

Your nails dug into the skin of his thighs, mindful of the healing wound there, his bronze knees bent up and cresting over the water, caging in your wriggling form nestled back into him. Your hips bucked as his fingertips ghosted over that exciting bundle of nerves to stroke down toward your fluttering entrance. Water sloshing at the sudden disturbance. He groaned, deep and gravely right into your ear, the helmet hiding little of his arousal as he carefully rubbed around it. You clenched, body feeling how close he was and needing to be satisfied.

His index finger hovered over you, a silent question and you whined out a needy sound. Not caring if it was desperate, your fingers gripped him tight, and you bucked your hips to get him closer. He circled your entrance, once, twice, three times. Pleasure rocked through you, a fire blooming to life in your core.

“Din, please,” You panted, unable to catch your breath between the heat of his body, the heat of the water and steam surrounding you both, the heat he was stoking in your very nerves. A hand shot out of the water and scrabbled at the back of his helmet; fingers slippery with bubbles.

His thick finger slid in easily, between the water and the slick that was surely tainting the water you were both partially submerged in. The hand he had curled around your middle was reaching up to cup a breast covered only in sweet, scented bubbles and you moaned. Low and guttural, the stretch so unlike anything you felt before. Almost sweet in a way that it had never felt before.

He crooked his finger, nudging it deeper inside and grazed against a soft spot that had white sparking across your vision. A keening whine sprouted from you, loud in the marbled room. He stilled for a second, reveling in the way you felt around him, clenching him tightly. There was no discomfort, with you feeling so completely safe and protected.

“That’s a good sound, mesh’la.” His raspy voice was close, the bottom of his helmet hooked over your shoulder. He carefully pumped his finger into you, trying to go slow in case it was a stretch that overwhelmed you. But you huffed as you moved against him, the palm of his wide palm rubbing at you in a way that stoked the fire licking at your nerves.

“M-more, please. Linibar or'atu, copad at aalar or'atu be gar.”

Need more, want to feel more of you.

Your words were a quiet plea on shaking breath, a heavy exhale as he gave you what you wanted, slipping a second finger in alongside the first on his next plunge into the silky, wet heat of your core.

Back arching, pressing you impossibly closer to him, feeling the hot line of him as it nudged at you from behind. You whined out as his fingers stilted and he flexed them, stretching you out to see what felt good, what lit you up even more. They crooked inside of you and brushed against something that had you crying out, that same spot from earlier, he rubbed at it deliberately. Stomach lurching, the flames that had been slowly smoldering sparked across the entire expanse of your body.

“Ha-ah, Din, gedet'ye vaabir ibac tug'yc!”

Please do that again!

Your hips bucked into his hand, urging him desperately as you felt a tightening form low in your stomach. He remained still save for the crooking of his fingers once more and you moved against him. The water licking up the sides of the tub at your rushed movements, bubbles inching higher up both your overheated bodies.

His fingertips hit that spot on each thrust as he pumped his fingers in a steady rhythm, arms muscles tensing as he wrapped himself around you completely. The fire crackled and you cried out as pleasure tingled all the way to the tips of your fingers, heart beating hard in your chest. Your vision was blanketed in white sparks, and you clenched them shut and tried to catch your breath. Din’s hand worked you through the aftershocks, his palm hot against your skin where it brushed against you.

“Clenched so tight around me, mesh’la.” He rumbled into your ear, his hand gently moving away from you. He rested it low on your stomach, taking in the way your muscles jumped underneath his touch as your fingers around the back of his helmet pulled him closer. Your lips pressed to the column of his neck, tongue darting out to taste the exposed skin there.

He moaned a guttural sound at the feel of you marking him for your own, the hot swipe of your tongue giving way to a gentle nip of teeth. You felt him twitch against your backside and you shimmied back to press against him, loving the velvet softness of the hot line he made against your skin.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He said softly, despite the thrumming in his own body, the sinful sounds falling from your lips, because of him, for him, having worked him up.

“Need to touch you now, it’s your turn.” You slipped away from him with a hush of the water, turning in his grip. The tub was only so big and you nudged at his knees, still cresting up over the water’s surface to lay flat where your body had just been. You held tight to the curve of his shoulders, moving to straddle the width of his hips. You could hear the crackling of him sucking in a deep breath through the modulator as you settled over him, hovering.

“San…”

“I know I don’t have to, cyar’ika.” You leaned your naked chest to his, the soft hair decorating his chest tingling against your hardened nipples and you tossed your head back. Chin jutted up, it exposed your throat to the man so close, his hands loose around your waist tightening and pulling you flush against him. A strangled noise fell from your open mouth as his cock bobbed up and nudged at your core hovering so close to him.

“Din,” You panted, fingers splayed on his neck, reaching up towards the bottom of the helmet. He paused, his fingers so tight around your hips, and you realized how he read that. The desperate plea of his name coated by the velvet caress of your voice. The sultry glaze to your eyes as you stared directly into the dark visor that covered his own.

“I don’t want you to remove it, just..just want to feel, but…but I understand if that’s a line you need to draw. I respect you, I respect your Creed. I’ll keep my hands to myself if you aren’t comfortable.”

His hands snapped up to grip yours tightly, bringing them up to the underside of his helmet, the seal deactivating as he moved a thumb to press something along the space beneath his chin. A hiss filled the air and your fingers twitched in his as he guided them to press against the skin just below the cool beskar. Your fingers reached toward his jaw, where the stubble of his facial hair was peeking out from underneath. It was rougher than the hair on his chest, similar to the coarse hair that was a dark shadow beneath the water. You settled over him fully just as your fingers splayed over his jaw, feeling both patches at the same time and letting out a low whine as the silken skin of his cock settled against your slippery folds.

You felt the groan that fell from him in your bones, so close to you, impossibly close.

“Dank ferrick, mesh’la.” Din growled as he slumped back into the wall of the tub, his hips bucking up suddenly. You had no fear of him breaching your comfortability, of crossing a line that had been talked over. You trusted him, you felt so safe with him. And it felt like nothing you’d ever known before, so enraptured by someone and comforted in their presence. It felt like the ocean inside you that had been choppy for as long as you could remember was beginning to settle.

Din’s hands were tight around your hips, helping you to move against him, guiding your motions as he thrusted up to slide against you. Your soft, slick folds nestled over the length of him, creating a channel of friction that was too much for the man. His breathing hitching as he chases his own high, another one flaring quickly in your middle to match him.

He didn’t last long, the drawn out groan of his peak rumbling through you, the modulator no longer hiding the deep baritone of his voice in a veil of mechanics, but unfiltered for only your ears to hear. He bucked up, body twitching as you felt him throb between your legs. The water turning murky from his spend around you both. As he canted his hips to keep you close, you felt the head of his cock nudge at your fluttering entrance and pleasure ripped through you. Keening, the waves crested in a delicious feeling that took over your body.

It was a few moments before you came back to yourself, body limp as you leaned all of your weight against the temptation of Din below you. Forehead nuzzled into his heaving chest. Letting your body move along with the way his own moved as he came down from his own pleasure. His arms were now wrapped around your back, holding you to him, his head knocked back against the tile lined around the tub.

All you could whimper was his name, a small sound more breath than voice.

“I’ve got you, mesh’la,” He spoke softly, voice back to that modulated mockery of what you knew his deep, velvety voice actually sounded like now. “Fuck, mesh’la, you did so good for me.”

“W-wanted to.” You placed a kiss to where you could feel how fast his heart was beating. A delirious giggle sprouting from deep within you.

The room was soft, from the carpet plush at your feet to the bedding atop the large bed, to the blanket thrown over the back of the couch and the one in the crib that had been delivered to the room right before your arrival. It was quiet, the faint neon lights of the city blurred behind drawn curtains in the middle of the night.

Din was asleep beside you, safe inside the covers while you struggled to catch your breath as you had been jarred into consciousness from a bad dream. Silently, you slipped from the bed, leaving the warmth of him behind. Silent tears were cascading down your face, the fear and loss of the dream too much for you to handle and your mind had decided to pluck you from the pain of it just as the figure of your guardian had fallen in front of you once again.

Feeling raw and exposed, you slipped on your cloak that had been draped over the back of the couch in the living room. The door to the bedroom left cracked behind you as you walked over to the crib to find ad’ika staring up at you with big eyes. He quietly cooed as he reached out for you, his little claws gripping you tight as you lifted him up and cradled him close to your chest.

Settling into a corner of the couch, you dragged a blanket over both you and just sat there, not bothering to turn on a light lest it wake the resting man who was snoring slightly.  You hadn’t seen him so relaxed since meeting him, something about the comforts of the booked room easing his anxieties and paranoia of always having to look over his back, always be on alert. Even if the reason you insisted on getting the room was to throw off a tail. You wondered when the last time he slept so soundly had been, when the last time you had been before your mind decided to remind you of why it was such a rare occurrence.

A small hiccup sounded and you looked down to see ad’ika clutching to you tightly, his own little mind playing tricks on him and bringing up things from the past. You let him curl a claw around a few of your fingers and brought it up to place a gentle kiss atop it. Emotions and energy flowed between you both, flashes of harsh light and the echoes of blaster bolts and the hum of swinging lightsabers sounding in your mind. He had been just a child too, when it all happened. When the only life you both had known had been ripped out from underneath you.

You thought back to the way Akiz would hold you in a similar way, to help ease your mind when nightmares plagued you. And for all the bad that occurred in your life, for all the things you had to endure, you were glad to be here in this moment to mirror his behavior for the small being cradled close to your chest. His other claw was laid flat on your chest, over where your heart was hurting. Trying to calm your breathing, you tightened the crossing of your legs beneath you both and closed your eyes.

“It’s okay, ad’ika. I’ve got you, I swear it.” You whispered to him as you tried to concentrate, meditating second nature. After a few moments, he looked up at you, his own breathing had calmed to copy yours, feeling the deep inhales and exhales of your body he pressed up to. He seemed to work himself up again, thoughts plaguing him, pushing memories of his own into your mind that were coated in fear, hitching your breath as they hit you at full force. The faint images in your mind’s eye as he had experienced the very same thing you had, a new perspective to the traumatic occurrence. Little brow furrowed and deep wrinkles in the green skin there, you chuckled lightly as you tried to smooth them out. “We’re safe, we got out. We made it out, ad’ika.”

He cried out softly, tensing in your hold. Trying to gather yourself enough for him through the haze of emotions and memories he was flooding you with, you gently rocked him. Hushing him quietly to ease his worries. His breathing evened out from the fast staccato it had taken on and the clenching of his eyes relaxed as you focused on sharing the feeling of warm water, the soft noise of cresting waves, the feeling of gliding through water on a board that you had crafted with our own small hands so long ago. Good memories from your childhood, the things you missed from it that felt like another lifetime.

A coo pressed into your neck and then a small giggle as you shared with him a memory of feeling so completely free, swiftly moving through a tunneling wave. The colors of the water illuminated by a blinding sun dulled to emulate the lights that surrounded the ship during hyperspace travel. All soft blues, tinged greens, soft white.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” You whispered, trying to keep the calm murmuring low as he relaxed under your attention. You nuzzled your forehead against his smaller one, letting him feel the calming thoughts you were pushing through the connection, hoping it was doing more good than just blanketing the harsh reality of your lives. “Let’s breath and focus, okay? We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

You didn’t hear the soft steps that moved across the plush carpet of the room or catch the glint of the dulled city lights reflected in the beskar that peeked through the opening of the door behind you.

“Mesh’la, I’ve drawn a bath for you.” Din’s voice was low, baritone close to you and you startled from where you were still cuddled into the corner of the couch. Slumber dissipated like a leak from your mind as your thoughts got staticky with anxiety at being caught unaware as you sucked in a deep breath through your nose. Ad’ika was asleep in your arms, eyes cracking open at the sound of the armored man’s voice. He jostled with the force of your jumping nerves as you flew from the couch, skin alight with the instinct to push up and away until you realized that you weren’t in any actual danger.

“Kriff!” You settled the small form in your arms down on the couch, still wrapped up tight in his blanket.

Leaning down to do so, you could feel the pull of your back muscles for your choice in sleeping arrangements. Din has stepped back calmly, not showing the fast beating of his heart or the guilt he felt at scaring you. You dotted on ad’ika, making sure he was okay and not at all alarmed by the rather abrupt awakening you both just had. Din’s hands came to grip your own, his gloves gone.

“I’ve got him, you’ve been up with him all night. I set fresh caf and one of the books from your bag out for you.”

Moments later, you were submerged in a perfect imitation of the bath you had drawn the night before.

Thoughts swirling like the cream you had poured into the cup of caf resting on a board spanning over the tub, securely nestled around the lips of it. Taking a sip, you leaned back onto the waterproof cushion fastened to the end of the tub, back muscles relaxing as the liquid warmed you from the inside out while steam wafted up from the hot water surrounding you. True to his word, Din didn’t disturb you, giving you a moment to yourself.

Warm arousal sparking through you as your body recalled the sensations from the night before. The feel of his strong body pressed against yours. The way he had curled his arms around you, the way he had thrusted up against you, dragging his hard cock through your folds, head stroking that bundle of nerves, pulling a second release from your worked up body while he chased his own. Hands recalling the feel of his thick curls tight in your fingers as you pulled on them, the feel of his jaw underneath them, the softest brushing against his lips before he had softly asked you to stop.

Guilt flared up at the pushing of his boundaries, at the closeness you both shared between bare bodies, but the recollection of how soundly you had both slept right after, curled into each other far outweighed it and you found peace within yourself. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, it had been…it had been euphoric to feel so safe with him in that way.

You hummed into the ceramic of the mug, taking another delicious sip. Leaning forward you placed the drink back on the board and took the moment for what it was. An easy morning with the two beings who meant so much to you in the other room, setting up breakfast before the day started.

The ship was silent as Din guided it through the space around the planet, preparing to jump into hyperspace. A relatively small planet he had picked out for the next stop, unsure of an overreaching plan but knowing that it was best to move. Especially now, having gained a tail in the marketplace. You had both spent a good amount of time going over the interior and exterior of the ship to ensure that no tracking beacons had been fastened to the aircraft. Even if the display on the man’s cuff hadn’t told him of the doors opening while away.

Just to be safe, to be cautious.

On alert and on guard for a majority of both your lives coalescing into an easy routine of ensuring complete safety when returning to where it was deemed home for the time being. Because that’s what the ship was to the man seated in front of you, his broad form filling out the pilot’s chair. And it was quickly developing into that for you as well, the bond between you both allowing for you to feel like you could share in his sentiments even more concretely.

The toggle he switched didn’t yield any change on the screen and you could hear the resounding sigh from the man but it didn’t sound as an alert for a message popped up. You prepared to leave the control room, knowing that some aspects of Din’s life were still unknown to you, not wanting to breach his privacy even if it was a simple message sent to his ship. But it was intended for him and him alone. It could be personal, it could be professional, but either way: you wanted to show respect for him in any way you could.

He must’ve clocked your movement, because his shoulders stilled from maneuvering his hands over the control panel and he turned in the chair to glance at you.

You offered him a tired smile, picking up the bundle that was a fast asleep ad’ika in some blankets in the third chair. The marketplace stop for supplies before returning to the ship had tired him out after his sporadic sleep the night before.

“Going to lay him down in my bed, let him sprawl out and he’ll wake to the lights.”

“Messages to me are messages to you. Unless they contain information on where the covert has relocated. But even then, I believe you’re entitled to that should you want to know. You have history and a connection with the Mandalorian culture and people.”

“But I am not Mandalorian myself, Din.” You reached out a hand to rest over the pauldron atop his shoulder. “It’s not a problem, I’ll leave you to it. Going to organize and see what supplies we have and make a list.”

You were about to cross the threshold when the voice of a man Din had last encountered back on Nevarro. The very one that had run him off world with the concentrated efforts of the entire Guild he had once been employed by. His helmet lifted slowly from where he was focused on the panel in front of him toward the hologram message as it displayed itself from another panel.

“My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive.”

Anger and frustration boiled in your stomach, filling you with negative and ill intentions as you turned on your heel in the threshold of the door. The figure of the man who had shot at you, who had wounded you, who had caused such a huge fight to erupt in the face of a personal vendetta he held against Din’s actions to save ad’ika formed to play the transmission. People had died, people had fled, the city had taken damage and destruction not only physically and so many individuals had been affected by the very man’s choice to move against Din in an orchestrated attack.

“You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we could call it even.”

You couldn’t help the snarl of your lips as you took in the smug way the man’s displayed form settled his hands over his hips, seemingly unnerved by the way he had fired at you. Nearly taken your life and gotten Din caught. Nearly caused all three of you to be taken captive.

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild.”

“He should’ve thought of that before he even let them set foot there.” You growled, voice low and threatening as you felt your emotions spike. Din’s visor turned to you fully, taking in the way the ends of your loose strands had begun to float, harnessed by the lack of control you were exhibiting in your worked up state. The visage you created, standing there in the semi-darkness of his control room with a bundled up child in your grip and a hard look decorating your features was formidable. Someone he would have to track and observe before moving against. Someone who would fight until they couldn’t anymore, until someone was dead and the conflict was no more. Your eyes flashed with the brightness of the transmission playing out, making him pause as he thought he caught something else in your eyes for the barest hint of a second. He turned back to view the transmission your eyes were glued on.

“We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out.”

“He’s going to ask for your help.” You strutted forward and pushed the pause button on the panel without asking. The displayed figure frozen in a stance with his arms crossed and a hard look about his own features. “He’s going to ask you to risk yourself after attacking you and causing the covert to lose members and relocate.”

“He can do whatever he wants. That doesn’t mean-“

“You’re going to help him, I know you. I know you feel at fault for what happened, feel the need to right the wrongs that have sprung up because of your decisions. You worked with him, with the Guild for years, you feel an obligation to help them. Especially if they ask for it.”

“You don’t think I should.”

“No.” That same glint shone in your eyes despite the transmission no longer playing and it made the man seated beside you pause. Your entire demeanor so unlike your normal one. He had seen you be harsh in fleeting instances, more in response to something he had harshly said or done when first meeting you, in the way you had interacted with Xi’an and Mayfeld. The way in which you had cut down that thug back of Sorgan, the scratches you had left on Callican’s neck. Hints of an attitude and allusions to violence you were capable of that he had yet to see fully unleashed. It didn’t worry him, nor make him afraid, but it did make him pause. Cara had been right when she had seen your weapon for the first time: you were strong. Capable of doing so much damage with a simple twitch of your wrist. The ability to harness such a power as the Force and wield a weapon that could cut through anything made you dangerous. Even if he knew you wouldn’t use it against him or ad’ika.

“I’ve lived my life hiding and running, because taking them on and truly eradicating the threat was too much of a challenge.”

All he could do was nod, letting you know that he heard you and would take your words into account before he allowed the rest of the transmission to play out.

“If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. Both of their prizes.”

You roughly pushed the pause button again, heart thudding in your chest.

“Din…” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, only guessing at what the man on display was about to reveal. Something you weren’t ready for anyone to know, a part of your past you tried to forget and shove down to never be thought of again. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, feel the black visor trained on you so directly that it nearly branded your skin. “He has my file, he has the ability to find out anything and everything about me if he’s the leader of the Guild. He- he knows who I really am.”

“And who are you?” His voice didn’t hold any accusations of malice, it was even in tone, telling you he was willing to listen to what you had to say. That he wanted to hear what you were willing to share with him.

“Someone who had trained with their top forces in order to infiltrate their ranks and get intimate details of how they operated until they were found out.” You exhaled heavily, aware of how tightly you were holding onto the blankets that were swaddled around ad’ika’s form. Your fingers going numb with the force of your desperate attempt at keeping your mood from spiking anymore. “Someone who did it to save the only person who ever looked out for them.”

“Akiz.”

“He had been injured beyond general medical procedures at the time, but the Empire…they had the means and equipment that could save him. I was offered an ultimatum, and I took it. I did it for him, I turned to them for him, bid my time and learned everything I could while he recovered.”

“You said he died protecting you.” Not an argument but a statement, a recollection of what you had told him of your beloved guardian through teary eyes.

“He did.”

A moment passed with no response before Din pressed play on the control panel, giving you both a moment to grapple with the truths you just revealed.

“You are in possession of one of the most sought-after bounties they’ve commissioned for. And a person of their ranks who betrayed them and destroyed an entire fleet of ships in her attempts to flee found alongside it. I had no idea when I handed you that last puck, commissioned by her mother. The officials here found it and her name was given to me to say to you, the truth about her revealed to me to allow me to understand the severity of the issue here. Return to Nevarro. Bring the child and woman as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection.”

You watched the stoic expression of the man as he delved out the information and his idea of a plan so plainly.

“Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and the woman. I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism.”

A heavy silence followed the end of the transmission, Din’s visor trained on you holding the child tight in your grip. It followed you as you finally made an exit to lay ad’ika down in bed, roving over your back in a way that made you feel utterly and completely exposed.

You were in the hammock that was strung up in the hold space, the remainder of the day spent traveling somewhere that Din had chosen to guide the ship towards. He had left you and ad’ika to your own devices, opting to stay secluded in the cockpit for the day. No doubt going over everything from the transmission and dissecting your admission. You hadn’t eaten but had made sure the small being in your care had been fed and washed before laying him down for the night.

Din would come down eventually and you didn’t want to impose yourself on him. You should’ve told him before, but he had assured you to take your time with sharing things about yourself. Understanding all too well that certain parts of both of your pasts were harder to share than some. Not borne from unwillingness but of shame and fear of how it would reflect the decisions each made once upon a time.

His steps were nearly silent, but you could hear the hush of his cape as he moved about. Your breath puffed out as you turned in the hammock, facing the wall and adjusted the blanket over you to cover you completely. A possible interaction lighting up your body with an anxious hum. He had been so quiet after your confession. You knew what the Empire did to his people, how they manipulated the very trajectory of his life. How, years later, they did the exact same thing again. Endless attacks on innocent people and powerful cultures alike in their path to controlling the galaxy how they saw fit. And to find out that you had served them? That had to have hurt him.

It had hurt you to admit it. To reveal that part about yourself that brought you nothing but shame and regret, even if it was done with good intentions to save the life of someone important to you. And they had lost their life in the end regardless. A mistake that would haunt you every time your emotions flared, and the pull of the Force took hold of you.

Din’s presence was close, having descended the ladder. You could feel the way he moved about the space busying himself with making a meal before bed. The domestic sounds lulling you into a half- conscious state.

A hand encompassed your own with a gentle tug, but you only mumbled out something incoherent.

“Mesh’la, let’s go to bed.”

“’M comfy.” Was your rather muffled reply as your face was pressed heavily into the pillow beneath you.

The silence allowed for you to slip deeper into your slumber, the figure of Din not disturbing you in the slightest. But he must’ve felt differently, his mind heavy as he tried to decide what to do, what would be the best course of action. His words were quiet, though his tone held an honest admission.

“I don’t fault you or judge you for the things you did. For the choices you made…I wanted to thank you for telling me.”

“Wanted to.” You mumbled back, brain moving slow.

A squeeze to your hand was the last touch of him before he retired to his quarters, letting you sleep where you lay.

Sorgan was a beautiful sight once again as Din directed the ship toward the planet. Telling you of his plans to pick up Cara in hopes of her wanting to and being able to help with the ask from the transmission. It had been a long conversation in the early morning, you waking to the darkness of the hold and moving to the cot alongside the resting man. He had told you of his plan, of his worries about the task. But it was a mutual agreement to take it on.

He had assured you that you would remain unharmed and by his side. That he was doing it to ensure a safer future for you and ad’ika. You brought up the argument that this may not be the only surviving ranks that still operated, but that it was likely ad’ika’s life was known about only by those that sought after him. But it was the move to make, you had agreed with him on that. Promising him that you would make sure they were both safe, that they would be your top priority in the face of conflict.

You hadn’t gone into town with Din, opting to stay behind and stick close to the ship. A trek in the trees to help keep your head level and your emotions in check. Basking in the plush atmosphere and abundance of greenery that you loved so much, had always loved so much. Ever since your first time seeing such a landscape when you were younger and on the cusp of beginning your journey to who you were now.

The pull of your lips was a genuine one as you recalled the memory of a wider smile, a gloved hand holding yours and leading you off of a ship, murmured words of comfort from a man who you trusted with your life. One who trusted you enough to take back to his home planet and show you the ways of his people once yours had been threatened and attacked. It had been a difficult conversation for you, him telling you that it was dangerous to return to your own planet. Serenity flowed through your veins as you felt close to the man who had saved you in countless ways, even when you couldn’t save yourself.

The feeling and memories of him in the trees you brushed your hand out to feel the leaves against your palms. Comforted by the way they all felt the same even if they were scattered on different planets, a part of you that you sought after even after banished yourself to a desert planet as a punishment for the things you had done, the choices you had made.

“Well, hey there, cyar’ika.” Cara’s voice greeted you as you left the protection of the trees and walked into the clearing where Din had landed the ship. She was beside Din, ad’ika choosing to move toward you while they both waited for the ramp to open and settle to board the ship. Her smile was dazzling as she took in the easy way you moved about, no longer worried about upsetting or triggering Din’s instincts to chase. No longer closed in on yourself and only a shadow of a person. You walked as his true equal now and it was a world of difference. “Don’t you look well rested.”

“Hello to you too,” You returned her greeting with a nod of your head and leaned down to scoop of adi’ka, his grabby hands too much of a cute display to ignore his silent request to be picked up. He must be tired from the walk, his legs so much smaller than Din’s, his gait less of a strut and more of a waddle. You nuzzled your nose against his tiny one in greeting. Aware of her eyes watching you, taking in the simple outfit of form fitting pants to the cape you wore over your shoulders, hair braided and pulled back out of your face as it looped behind your head and was pinned securely in place.

“Did burc’ya make you walk the whole way there and back?” You cooed, relishing in images he was pushing into your mind of his visit into town. Proud of him for picking up the skill you had been sharing with him, to make it easier to understand the things happening about him and for you to know what he was asking after less of a guessing game. You laughed as he pushed the feeling of excitement he had felt at watching Cara fight with another patron in what had to be a bet. “He’s a big ole meanie, isn’t he?”

“Don’t listen to whatever he’s telling you, he wanted to walk the whole way. Fussed when I tried to pick him up.” Din defended, though there was no harsh tinge to his words. If you could guess, you would say the man was smirking beneath his helmet, enjoying in the teasing banter.

“Is that right, wanted to show Cara here that you were big and strong, huh?”

You sidled up beside them both, following them up the ramp and into the ship.

Cara’s voice carried down from the control room to the hold, where you were tidying things up and ensuring that nothing was out of place to make the ship feel cramped with more than two average sized people aboard. You did leave out the current piece of chainmail you were working on though, not wanting to disrupt the pattern you had decided to try your hand at.

“He alright up there alone?” The woman asked as she followed Din as he made his way down the ladder, the cabinet that he stored his weapons in opening with the press of a button on his vambrace. His easy answer had you shaking your head, knowing he was about to eat his words. Ad’ika was anything if not mischievous, finding things to get into at a moment notice.

“Pick one.” Din instructed her, wanting the woman to be as prepared as you and him both for the upcoming conflict.

“Do you trust the contact?” She picked up and weighed the feel of a few pieces, her eyes finding your own at the table where you were working on hammering rings of metal together with concentration.

“Not particularly. He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business.”

“Not too fond of how he fired an actual bullet at me.” You muttered as you leaned in close to make sure the closures were secure before moving onto the next line of your work. The memories of that injury stirring in your body, phantom aches sprouting forth. It had been harsh, the recovery from such a wound, but if it hadn’t been for Din, you wouldn’t even have made it up from the floor of the ship. You felt the weight of Din’s visor on you and looked up to share a look with him. A silent confirmation that you were still okay with the decision to face the threat head on, with following his lead.

“So then why are we going?”

“I don’t have a choice.” You wanted to interject, but let the man speak plainly. Knowing why he was choosing to do what he thought was necessary. What was for the best, should it all play out according to plan. “You saw what happened on Sorgan. We had a tail on the last planet before we came to you. They’ll keep sending hunters. The kid will never be safe until the Imp is dead.”

“And you’re okay with bringing him back there?”

“Not really.” His voice lilted, his emotions obvious as he revealed how hesitant he was to take both you and ad’ika so close to danger, too close to those who were actively hunting after you. “That’s why I’m bringing you.”

Anymore of the conversation was cut short as the ship began to roughly jostle. Alarms sounding from the cockpit where they had left ad’ika alone. You easily looped the last ring on the row you had begun a few moments ago and set it in the crate designated for your work and tools. Clasping it shut from your seated position didn’t work as your hands couldn’t find a steady hold. Your hands scrabbled against it as the ship continued to warble in its course, no doubt the culprit of ad’ika messing with the steering.

“We need someone to help watch that thing.” Cara’s voice was stern, worry evident.

“San tries her best, but he is a handful. Especially if we’re going into enemy territory.”

“You got anyone you can trust?”

You were just entering the cock pit to let them know you were going to lay down for a moment, when you spied the coordinates Din was punching in.

“Arvala-7?” You turned from the control panel displaying the route of travel that Din had programmed into the system. There was a never-ending replacement of the plush, rich landscape that brought you so much comfort with that of harsh winds and gritty sand that spanned for miles and miles. So unforgiving in the way that the land simply was, no thought for nourishment or refuge to visitors. A far cry from where you felt you belonged but always found yourself returning to. A darkness shadowing over every beam of sunlight that you tried to bathe yourself in.

“Yes, but…”

“No.”

“You won’t have to disembark.”

“Burc’ya n-no, please don’t take me back there.”

“I’m not taking you back, I made sure that compound was destroyed. We’re just going to see if he’ll be willing to help.”

Ad’ika was whining, uncomfortable with the heightened emotions in the small room. He could pick them up from you and Din both, the confusion of Cara making the scene into something he didn’t like. 

“I don’t- what’s going on?” Cara seemed surprised to see you openly upset, still getting used to you speaking unprompted, of moving about as comfortably as you did about the ship. She had spied the room behind the cockpit, done up with a cot and a trunk for storage of personal possessions. Your bag set atop it along with a pile of neatly folded clothing. Though the bed was made and untouched save for a smaller blanket thrown over the top. Suspiciously the perfect size for ad’ika’s little form.

The touch of your presence was noticeable all over the ship, from the hammock in the corner of the hold, to two pillows atop the second cot nestled into a small space that was undoubtedly Din’s personal quarters, to the open crate of metal working tools and pieces of chain mail in variant states of completion. You had folded yourself into the space, his space, and the two of you seemed to be on equal terms compared to when she last interacted with you both.

It could be noted that you both didn’t stray too far from each other, you from either him or the small creature of the child. A soft-spoken name for one and a comfortable, easy-going rapport with the other.

“The person who helped me last with him is on the same planet I found San.” Din spared a glance over as Cara, not willing to take his eyes off of you completely, you were so tense he worried for the soreness that would follow if he could get you to relax.

“We need him, you know this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“What’s a bunch of sand and red rock gonna do to you, cyar’ika? C’mon, you got me and Mando to watch out for you, no one is going to take you. I’m pretty sure the tin can over there would fire on someone if they so much as looked at you.”

“Would you want to go back to the place where you were drugged, tortured and taken advantage of? Used as a plaything for anyone and everyone?” You couldn’t help but snap, emotions jumbled and intertwined so tightly underneath your skin. Too overwhelming and difficult to separate in order to think properly. The mess of them prompting you to reveal in plain words what you normally would only allude to when asked. Din’s motions of going through the contents behind a panel below the controls halted, a crackling sounding from the modulator as your words settled in the air. Cara, similarly, dropped into your normal perch behind the pilot’s chair. At a loss for words, knowing whatever they chose to say would be the wrong thing.

You didn’t wait for their attempts at a response, instead crossing the small space and entered your quarters. Overly sensitive in the wake of memories of your past guardian found in the soothing embrace of the forest.

This was a bad idea, this was a monumentally bad idea. It didn’t matter how much faith and confidence you had in everyone’s abilities. Going back to the place that you had experienced such negative emotions was potentially triggering. You could already feel the pull of the Force when just seeing Greef Karga again, and that had only been a hologram transmission. Not even the real, physical form of the man who had shot you and nearly killed you for not reason other than simply being abord the Razor Crest.

Fear overriding everything else, self-preservation in the most selfish of ways rooted deep in your very being since you had last run from the very same people commanded you to be handed over now. You would apologize later, for your harsh words, but right now you needed to be alone. You needed to meditate and concentrate, push back the pull you felt so strongly inside of you.

Faint sounds of the pair of them could be heard as they moved about, Din rustling in the crate of errant machinery and parts he kept aboard the ship. You wondered what he was looking for, what he was doing but you felt too raw to face either of them. Their voices a soft murmur as you sit in the middle of the small space and try to focus on the push and pull of the Force all around you.

“So…”

“Don’t start.” Was Din’s simple response, knowing he was about to get an earful from the smirking woman sat across from him at the makeshift table. He had a spare bin placed atop most of the surface, tools and other parts surrounding it while he worked on a making a crude impression of the pod that ad’ika had been found in. While he knew you had only been teasing, you had been right In your observation of the small child being tired from his trip into town to fetch Cara. He was too small to be without transportation aid and the protection it would allow him.

“She seems like a completely different person. It looks good on her.” Cara lifted the mug in her hands to take a sip of the steaming caf she had made. The set up looking extremely well kept and stocked, everything neatly labeled in clean script. She hadn’t been able to read any of the words, Mandalorian, but had known that Din wouldn’t choose to spend his time with such a small thing as organization. It had to have been you who took the time to do it. “You did the right thing, not finishing her job.”

“She’s an admirable travel companion.”

“Is that all she is?”

The armored man didn’t respond, knowing what the ship looked like, what is allowed for other people to read into. He had no shame about the nature of his relationship with you, but he wasn’t sure if you would take kindly to him speaking about it plainly with the woman across from him. While he was comfortable in her presence and they were more than acquaintances at this point, he had firsthand experience with seeing how you interacted with people who seemed to know more about you than you cared for them to. He wasn’t about to break your trust, just as he wished for you to not break his own with you.

“Now I know why that lovely widow wasn’t an option.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder to where the door to his quarters was open a crack, allowing her a view of the two pillows atop the cot only big enough for one person.

“Cara.”

“San is a gorgeous woman, Mando.” Din’t hands froze as he recalled the way your face bloomed when overwhelmed with pleasure. He shifted his hips, feigning reaching for a tool just out of his immediate grasp, adjusting himself as he felt a jolt of heat between his legs. “It looks like she’s really adjusted to life here on the ship. With you. Takes care of things.”

“She fights and does her far share of the hard labor, though she doesn’t know a kriffing thing about flying or anything beyond basic mechanics.”

“And you find that endearing, don’t you?”

“She has other skills.” He stated, a slight defensive. It was easy for people to take a glance at you and see only what you allowed them to, he had done so himself when first meeting you, taking you as a quarry all those weeks ago. But Cara had seen you fight, for a moment, surely she hadn’t forgotten that so easily. He did know why he felt the need to remind her that you were more. Perhaps it was a protective manner, to rekindle the knowledge that you were skilled, that you should be treated with respect, though he knew logically that the woman across from him did and you were both on good terms with each other.

“I’m sure she does, it takes a lot to survive on your own. Especially if she was on the run for as long as her puck had described. Her own trauma would’ve been enough to take a normal person down, but she’s strong. And the way she took down that raider? It was as easy and breathing for her, even in recovery. She makes armor too?” A hand reached out to inspect the contents of your haphazardly shut crate. A nearly finished piece of chainmail in the form of a shirt was folded over the lip of it and she carefully extracted it. An impressed hum fell from her lips as she took in the care and attention your gave to the piece, the rings closely knit and fastened tightly together. “Good quality armor.”

“Family business, it’s how she’s been helping to contribute. Sold a few pieces for a few thousand each.”

Cara let out a low whistle, eliciting a giggle from ad’ika as he swung in the hammock in the corner.

Placing the piece back into the crate, she spied the open notebook you used to scribble in. The pages were folded and bent, most likely as a result of it not being clasped and she could make out the drawing you had done of a masculine figure. Keeping quiet so as to not garner Din’s attention, she reached for it and took in the broad frame that took up the page entirely. Notes and measurements in a language that wasn’t Basic nor the Mandalorian she was beginning to recognize.

“Any idea what she’s written down here next to what is obviously a drawing of you?” She turned the notebook in her hands to face Din, the black of the visor whipping up as he realized what she held in her hands.

“Put that away, I don’t think she knows it’s out here.”

“I wonder how she knows what you look like underneath all that armor.” A knowing smirk lifted the corners of her lips as he turned the book back toward her. It wasn’t a graphic sketch, by any means. Din’s form clothed in light attire, though he was without his armor in it. Ruffling through the pages, she discovered it was more of a workbook than anything else. More notations and sketches for pieces you had worked on or wished to create. She closed the notebook with a snap, winding the string around it to secure it closed and placed it back into the crate. Contemplative in her silence.

“She’s worried about the Imps.”

“It’s not my information to share.”

“We’ve all had run ins with them, even after they were ‘defeated’,” She used air quotes around the word, knowing full well that there were pockets of them still operating as if nothing had changed. Case and point with what was happening on Nevarro. Such an expansive and all powerful crusade didn’t just fizzle out, too many factions and people of power who knew how to lay low and bide their time to show their hands. “But she seems…extra cautious.”

“You’ll have to talk with her.” Din continued to work on the project laid out before him.

True to his word, Din hadn’t pushed you to disembark from the ship when they landed on the barren, desert planet. A simple announcement to let you know that they were going to close the ramp after themselves that you hadn’t responded to. They were gone for a long while, no doubt laying out the situation to Kuiil and allowing him time to ask questions and make his decision with as much information as they could provide to him.

When the ramp lowered, hours later, you emerged from your quarters. There was a lot of stuff set out at the bottom of the ramp, supplies and a very still Din. Cara was the first to begin moving items aboard and you looked around the general landscape that was visible to you before you moved to help her. A nod shared with Din was all you could manage, though you were sure it was obvious you had been crying.

“You’ve grown, flourished into something admirable.” Kuiil’s voice called to you as he fastened a harness around a few of the blurrgs he had corralled into a small pen. He looked over to the armored man, an unreadable expression that prompted you to follow his gaze. “You didn’t turn her in, you made space aboard your ship for her to live her life. As an equal.”

“I did.” Like it hadn’t been one of the most life changing things could provide for you. Heat bloomed in your chest as you slowly made your way down the ramp. A deep breath in and heavy exhale before your boot settled in the sand beyond the metal.

“Do you have experience with such creatures?”

“No. sir, but other herd species that have been domesticated in much the same way.” You reached out a hand for one of the blurrgs to inspect. The breath hot on the exposed skin of your fingers, the force of it ruffling the cape that covered your body.

“It took this one a few days to learn how to mount, do you know how to ride?” Kuiil nodded over toward Din, a soft smile adorning your lips as you tried to picture the easily annoyed man try to tame the creatures enough to allow him permission to mount. He must’ve been thrown off a few times, creatures like them picking up on emotions as easily as breathing.

“Yes.”

“We will be using them for travel, we should see if they are easier for you.”

“Do they have names?”

“They do not, but they are all very understanding in nature if you aren’t hiding from them.”

“Hmm, will be you a good girl and let me try?” You cooed at the creature, willing to try but not wanting to be thrown off in much the same fashion you were imagining they had done with Din. Carefully entering the pen, with the Ugnaught close on your heels, you approached the creature with steady hands.

It took a few moments of the creature backing away from you and then coming back before they allowed for you to grip a hand around their harness. Once you did, you pulled yourself up and planted your backside firmly in the seat atop their back. She quickly took off, racing around the pen with jumps and hops that you weren’t sure was an attempt to buck you off but to see how well you could handle riding.

Keeping your balance was easy, despite the creature’s efforts to truly test a new rider, your grip tight on the reigns in your hand. Focused on allowing your body to roll with their movements, cape billowing out with every move. After a good while, the creature deemed you okay and began to simple trot around the enclosure.

With a wide smile, you clicked your tongue and guided them back to the post where Kuiil fastened her back up. Your heart stuttered as you realized Din had leaned up against one of the posts with his arms crossed over his broad chest to watch, the glint of the setting suns playing off of his beautiful armor.

Kuiil remained close by the creatures, offering them soft murmurs of comfort as the ship traveled. Surely, they hadn’t ever been aboard such a craft if their anxious rustling was any indication. But they were behaving for the most part, taking to it well with the help of their beloved handler.

Taking over the entire makeshift table, Din and Cara were interlocked in a game of arm wrestling, a cheeky comment from the former shock trooper resulting in the challenge. They were in a stalemate, small grunts of exertion puffing from both of them the longer they tried to overpower the other.

“I got you, Mando.”

“Care to double the bet?”

Suddenly, Cara was gasping, soft grunts waning out as she could no longer seem to take in a breath. Your head shot up, looking over to where ad’ika was secure in a newly constructed replacement for his pod. A small claw lifted up and his eyes clenched shut in concentration was all you needed to know as you quickly pushed up from your seat and moved toward him.

“Nayc, ad’ika! Nayc!”

He didn’t seem to hear you, as Cara let go of the hold she had on Din and her fingers scrambled at her throat. Din’s attention shifted from her, mind recalling the similar way that you had done something similar with Xi’an, to the child. He jumped up, closer to him than you were. He lifted him up from within his makeshift pod, words quick.

“No! No, no! Stop!” Concentration broken, the child gladly accepted Din’s hold and fastened his claws around the man’s arms. “We’re friends, we’re friends. Cara is my friend!”

“That is not okay!”

“I’m so sorry, cyar’ika! He must’ve been trying to imitate me, I didn’t know he was able to concentrate in order to do that!” You were crouched beside her, hands gently caressing her arms as she sucked in deep breaths and tried to fight off the dizziness that had taken over.

“Very curious.” The Ugnaught approached the child with a stoic face, taking in the events with reverence.

“Curious? It almost killed me!” Cara shouted out, understandably upset and worked up.

“He doesn’t realize how strong he is, he’s still learning how to wield it.” You tried to placate her, knowing it wasn’t much.

“The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense. Though what it is, I don’t know. But what it does, what you both do. This…this I’ve heard rumors of.”

“What? When you worked for the Empire?” The accusation was harsh as it flew through the air.

“When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude.”

“Yet somehow you walk free.”

“Hey! We all need to calm down. Yes, he walks free and so do I. Working with the Empire doesn’t make us horrible people.” Items in the cabin began to float, the panels on the walls shaking with the emotions you were feeling, crates jostling in their secure holds against the walls. The agitation of immediate judgement from someone who had been wronged just as much as you had by the very people you had been forced to submit to. She had only been so lucky they didn’t have anything to hold over her and force her to turn to them. Loss was loss, but manipulation was easy for those who had obvious weaknesses to exploit. All of it cruel, no comparison worse than the other, only more heartbreaking.

Silence fell at your loud words; voice elevated to try and take control over the situation. Both Cara and Kuiil turned to you with shock playing across their features, your words revealing more about yourself than you cared to admit. But in order to corral the situation, you had decided to defend the Ugnaught by voicing your own similar experience. Letting him know that he wasn’t alone in the suffering he had endured.

Cara tore her arm out of your light hold, though you had stood up when she had in the heat of the moment. It stung, her rejection in wake of your words, but you understood and moved to give her some space.

“I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes.” As he spoke, voice strict and leaving no room for argument, IG-!! Approached from where the droid had been standing guard by the creatures secured in the back of the space. “Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am nor whom I shall serve.”

Breathe held, you worried for another round of accusations to fly, but Din took control of the situation, not wanting the conflict on his ship among people he recruited for a job that required working smoothly alongside each other.

“Tell you what. I could really use your craft work right now.” Din settled ad’ika back into his makeshift pod, admitting that he had thrown it together quickly, that it wasn’t the best work but what he could manage with what supplies and parts were available. The child cooed and gurgled, seemingly unaware of the tension he had caused with his protective move against Cara. “Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?”

“I shall fabricate a better one.” Kuiil turned to point an accusing finger toward a still seething Cara across the space. “Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one’s hands.”

The moment passed, tension easing a bit as the Ugnaught began to move about the space to collect things for a new pod. You opted to stay down in the hold with him and ad’ika, giving Cara some space after everything.

“I didn’t know they had taken you prisoner.” Cara’s voice was soft, almost hesitant as she approached where you were seated at the makeshift table with one hand wrapped around a steaming mug, the other reaching into the new pod where the child gripped it tight with his tiny claw. “You only mentioned your mother holding you.”

“It’s not something I generally broadcast.”

“I didn’t mean to yell so loudly, it’s just that- that power really unnerves me.” She sighed as she settled into the same chair she had been in earlier, before everything had become complicated and personalities had clashed.

“It unnerves me too, the only surviving rumors and stories are all steeped in the shadow of the Empire. I know the truth of those powers, the origin stories and the people who used to wield them for the good of the galaxy. I’m one of the very few alive, even now after so long. But none of that matters when they’ve been wiped out and their stories erased in favor of those to instill fear. It doesn’t matter that the Empire has been eliminated down to sparse bases of operations and high ranks clinging to the echoes of power they once had themselves. They destroyed so much, they still do.  

I was given an ultimatum, much like Kuiil. And I don’t regret taking the easier road, even it if did land me in the midst of the very people who took everything from me before they fell.” You wiggled your hand from ad’ik’a, his grip loose in his sleeping state.

She whispered your name, unsure of what else to say in wake of such an admission.

“But it’s okay, because it got to me where I am now. Aboard this ship as a free woman. With this little guy to look after so the same things don’t befall him. With…with ner kar’ta.”

You both sat in a comfortable silence, the conflict of earlier not forgotten but mended over. Sharing stories of what had happened during your time apart over a simple meal. IG-11 helping you to prepare enough for everyone and ensuring you they would clean up afterwords while everyone indulged. She had offered to take Kuill a plate while you took one up to Din. Both of you reaching out to bring everyone back together in the effortless way that food was capable of.

Hours later, you retired for the night. The day having been a long one. Another of travel ahead. You had offered Cara your own quarters, should she wish for a bit of privacy to rest. She had taken up your offer with a smug look tossed over to Din as he made his way to his own, though she didn’t make a comment other than to thank you for your kindness.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into the crook of his neck, nose pressing into the warmth of his skin. He was fully dressed but he had removed the cowl about his neck to rest easier atop the bed. Hesitant to undress further with two other passengers aboard the ship, despite his trust in them. Similarly, you had stayed in your outfit, only removing your boots and gloves in order to lay down for the last bit of travel toward Nevarro. “I was…afraid earlier. There are some things that- trigger me in a way and I would rather not face those things if I can help it.”

“Triggering.” One of his arms rested over you, bringing you flush against him. The armor wasn’t the most comfortable to rest against, but the feeling of him breathing beneath it helped to ease your mind all the same.

“Din, my sabers, they’re white.” You whispered into the shared darkness.

“Mesh’la, I’m trying to follow you, but I don’t – I don’t know much about your culture whereas you know so much about mine.”

“I’ve only heard of one other person who carries white sabers.” You took a deep breath, your heart thudding as you tried to calm yourself. He needed to know, you needed to share with him something to help him understand what exactly was at stake with this conflict. “White sabers have been purified. It means that the person who wielded them went to great lengths to find balance within themselves.”

“Because they were not always so.”

“Exactly…”

He didn’t ask you what color they used to be.

And you didn’t tell him that they used to glow as red as the ones in your nightmares.

Gearing up and getting the blurrgs ready for when the ship landed took a collected effort. Between you, Kuiil, Cara, and the IG unit, it was easier but still took some time. The four blurrgs aboard the ship were ready to stretch their legs, restless after having been cramped up for nearly three days of travel through hyperspace. You had calibrated your vambrace to connect with Kuiil’s handheld comm link. The pod he constructed for ad’ika complete and able to be controlled with either yours or Din’s cuffs.

The blurrgs steps clanged as the creatures made their way down the ramp, lining up in a loose formation in front of the man who had reached out to ask for aid.

Greef Karga was a tall man, his clothing neat and put together. Save for the damage done by Din’s blaster over the left breast of his leather coat. You held a hand to your lowest rib on the left side of your own body, feeling the phantom pain of a since healed injury at the man’s hand. There were three Guild members collected behind him, all sporting their own preparations.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando. But things have gotten complicated since you were last here.”

“It appears that introductions are in order.” The man looked over the line the blurrgs created in front of them. Cara and Din flanking the closed and secured pod. Kuill beside the armored man and you on to the right of him. “It seems we’ve both provided a security detail.”

The man’s eyes roved over you all, taking in the way you were simply listening and letting him ramble on in his greeting.

“I recommend the shock trooper guards the ship. These lava fields are lousy with Jawas.”

“She’s coming with me.”

“But the town is now run by ex-Empire.” Karga made an imposing figure with his hands rested on his hips. “If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they’ll all get their hackles up.”

“She’s coming.” Din insisted simply.

“At least cover your tattoo. No need to flaunt it.” He acquiesced. His attention turned to you, the gazes of those behind him following as well. “I see you’ve brought this lovely lady back here, you are looking wonderful in your healed state. That was a nasty business the last time we met, I can only offer my apologies for firing upon you.”

“Apologies not accepted.” You frowned, not liking how he was talking with such disregard for the seriousness of the situation. As if it was all some game or show he was fronting for, not truly concerned with. He balked at your dismissal, his own frown marring his features.

“Surely you must understand that I was merely doing my job as leader of the Guild, Mando here was running off with a quarry he had already handed over. Possibly two, because we both know he had no true intentions of handing you over either. You were simply in the vicinity of such a misguided act.”

“Surely you must understand that not everyone buys into your overly straightforward and charismatic act. It’s simply something that people have the right to be cautious of.” You head crooked to one side, words falling and hitting the man right in his chest. Your eyes locked with his. Behind him, the other bounty hunters reached for their weapons, hands hovering over them as they looked you over. Not outwardly threatening but your words hinting at more than a pretty face or simple quarry sought after by her mother. You had no doubts that Karga had either told them of your involvement with the Empire so they were to keep an eye on you or he hadn’t and kept it simple to avoid any complications with the plan.

“Ooh, Mando, I do like her. Not afraid to speak her mind now that she’s got you to protect her, huh?”

“I’d be more wary of what she’s capable of, I’ll shoot but she’ll make sure you aren’t breathing.” Din spoke up, wanting to hurry this along. But he knew the man standing before him, how he liked to draw things out. Read what he could from long interactions with people. Choosing to ignore the rather heated comments from you both, the man opened his arms in exasperation.

“Now, where is the little one?”

Everyone watched as Din controlled the pod to move out of the line, up toward Karga. As it opened, revealing ad’ika inside and wide awake, your hands twitched around the reigns in your grip just as Din moved a hand to hover over the blaster holstered to his thigh.

“So this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about.” You watched with untethered focus for any signs of discomfort or ill intent as Karga lifted ad’ika with gentle hands from within the pod. “What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.”

He gently placed the child back into the pod, but your grip remained tight on the reigns, tension taut in your body. You didn’t trust him, you didn’t trust the men behind him, you didn’t trust this entire situation. But it was Din’s call and you would follow his lead.  

“Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.”

With the pod safely between Din and Cara once again, you exhaled a heavy breath.

“The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light.”

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[angellurgy2]

Wormom

new story time ^-^ trying out some weirder shit this time

content: worms and abusive mothering. thats all you need to know

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doll’s mother is not a good person. she never was. since the day of her birth, her mother looked down at her with disgust. her father used to “joke” all the time about how she begged him to go into the nursery and switch doll with another baby. that was before he left too. not that he helped, his presence meant mom just had to dodge his gaze. go behind closed doors with her evil. though he wasn’t good in his paternal behaviour either, one of doll’s few comforts is knowing her father hated her mother too. it’s been just them for an infinitely long amount of time now, closely quarted, virile disgust insulated inside and left to stew. it swiftly became prey locked in with predator, like leaving a cat alone with a fish bowl, or letting a child wander into the tiger cage.

the marble kitchen island quakes as two boney white hands slam down in front of doll’s sunken face. mother screaches like a harpy. decades of cigarette smoke and opiate usage slowly abrading her insides have left her with an ever-present coalegenic grate to her voice that has haunted doll’s ears her entire life.

PAY ATTENTION

doll’s needed for something today, so says mother. her calloused and torched hands grasp fiendishly at the black sleeves of doll’s hoodie and pull her off of her seat, sending her crashing into the filthy linoleum floor. pathetic, vertigous doll. waste of a skeletal structure. her mom forces her back up onto her mushy patellas by her ragged hair.

HURRY UP

dirt is picked up along doll’s skin, musky carpet scraping into her. stains and dust and filth writhe up her body horribly.

* * *

a shiny porcelain bowl sits atop a black coffee table directly in front of doll’s eyes. she remembers picking that up from that weird swedish store with her, shortly after dad left taking all the good furniture with him. it was floor cereal for months before they had it. though table cereal wasn’t much better the way she made it.

doll’s face is hidden behind her shivering sleeves. mother forces them away. she grabs the bowl and places it on the floor by doll’s feet. her talons dig into doll’s tremoring shoulders. doll's on her knees, clenching her eyes.

no no no. no no no no no.

I MADE YOU MY FAVOURITE.

scaly fingers pry open her eyelids. the inside of the bowl isn’t clean like the outside, dirt ladens it’s walls. dozens of pink digits wriggle around each other inside. a thick living pasta, crawling for the bits of ground remnants. it’s almost hypnotic. doll can feel herself shaking uncontrollably. her vision spirals and blurs with scolecic tears.

EAT YOUR BREAKFAST.

doll won’t. a river flows down her face torching her eyes. she shakes her head finally managing to force the hydraulics controlling her will to do their job.

DIDN’T YOU WANT ME TO BE NICE? HOW ARE YOU ALWAYS SO UNGRATEFUL.

it’s voice burns with hot breath, searing and rotten like her teeth.

the doll pulls back, but extremities tangled through her long ungroomed hair keep her stuck, lest she rip it out. the voice gets closer. the sound of heavy haggard breathing flooding her senses. she would flail, if she had any fuel left inside of her.

please.

the hand pushes her in.

EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW

tubular pink slime glides across every inch of her soft face, coating her in greasy red worm juice. her lips remain closed until the food begins to search for other orifices. shut eyelids begin to feel probing tips, desperately trying to dig under the grass of her eyelashes and into the supple earth beneath. like rats in a bucket. then mother’s other hand reaches into view from the void behind. hands gripping the rubbery flesh inbetween her lips tight, pushing and pushing and pushing her sharp black nails stained yellow into her poor skin. doll can’t take it, her mother’s going to force her jaw open any second. she can’t take it she can’t take it she opens her mouth to scream STO P STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP PLEASE MOM (she almost bursts out into even more tears just calling her mom) NONO-

and her screams are stifled with a wave of annelid suffocation.

and they don’t stop wriggling inside her until the last one is left worming at the bottom of the bowl. she can feel every inch of their slothful slime dripped crawls down her pipes, hear their shrill dying screams as they melt in her acidic antechamber.

the brown worms atop doll’s head are pulled taught, back up into the air. juice and saliva drool down her quivering chin. mother picks the last surviving soldier out of the trough, dangling him above doll’s mouth, tantalizing her, her baby bird, unwanted but fed. all you are is a baby cuckoo, a brood parasite, locked in the nest with a ‘mother’ who knows exactly what you are. it only makes sense that she has treated you so.

mother slowly lowers the worm into doll’s tear pit of a mouth. its head or tail flails with reckless abandon, excited to be let loose into this dark, wet tunnel. back inside the dirtwomb.

it falls, and doll can tell it does enjoy it. almost as much as her mother.

[his-dedicated-sensei]

In Vino Veritas.

Meals, wines, and fragility.

It's a quiet evening. You're not too sure the day, but that doesn't trouble you much. You rest, as you usually do, upon a chair built just for you - tailored to your shape, crafted exquisitely from the luxuries accrued from the reunification. Your hand idly traces the edge of the cushioned armrests and where the lavish, lacquered mahogany meet in a masterwork of carpentry and joinery.

You wager two Custodians were the craftsmen, given how eloquent and regal the design is. You gaze upon the vaunted ceilings - the countless support beams, holding this place, your home, intact.

A plate rests in front of you before long. Marble, you wager - perhaps porcelain? The Custodian by your side seems eager to serve your food in particular. Your mind briefly ponders if the Blood Games are on. You aren't ever really apart of them, but you have promised to play as the kidnapped victim from time to time.

You see Him enter, coming to rest by your side. It takes Him a moment to settle - to take in the scent of the food, to rest His hand over yours.

"Do you like it," He starts, the voice rolling over your body like a wave breaking across rocks, "the selection for the evening?" His gaze is to the meal but a moment (you feel He is grading it silently), before turning to gaze at you.

"Every meal is delectable," you respond softly, smiling (it's impossible not to), before He carefully pours the wine into your glass. It's red, a deep red. Fulgrim's selection? He raises the glass to you, and you take in the rich bouquet. Definitely Fulgrim's, you wager, as your hands slide in His.

This must be the galaxy to Him, as your hand overlaps His own, twigs compared to logs - the fragility of your hand, and the brittleness of the wine glass, held in the way an artist would hold the finest brush. Humanity in His hands, humanity as the fragile glass that holds blood-like-wine. You take a moment, as He helps you drink it. It's supple, spiced... yet, a moment more, and you feel the complexity rush across your throat, changing to something more... elegant.

"A vintage," the Custodian besides you states, "to pair with the roast." It takes you a moment as the alcohol warms your form, as He moves to sip from the same glass. You wonder, briefly, if He did so to taste your lips indirectly, or wished to try the wine in the same environment.

"It should be chilled more," He finally responds - though you can see the faint smirk curling His lips. "An excellent choice, however."

Soon, His plate rests before Him. How much more He must need, yet, He eats as carefully as He commands. You, in turn, require so little, yet, all of it is important. One could be picky with food, push aside greens, or ignore the wine. He, however, has made sure the meals are properly prepared for you, to the exact amounts, to ensure you would be cared for.

You gaze at the wine a moment as your fork rests. How fragile were you, even surrounded by walls and buttresses and pillars and warriors and He Himself?

You did not think long, as His hand rests atop yours. "You are safe." He assures. "Safe, here. Safe no matter where you travel." Your fragility was tested then, as His hand gently squeezed yours, feeling the warmth of His skin. Nothing broken. Nothing damaged. Just... a moment where you finally relaxed, your head resting upon His shoulder, as you took the wine glass in your hands.

In wine, there is truth. You were fragile, yes - but deserving of the love and protection He cushioned you with - nay, strengthened you with. All of humanity, you wagered, would one day find this peace. It was a hope you shared with Him.

If only the wine wasn't so strong - you laugh after a moment, and He shares it with you, as the evening light fades, and the fragility He has is cushioned by your love.

[kit-williams]

Beauty in the eye

Yandere Emperor's Children

This could be seen as an OC but I'm doing my best with this x reader (please someone tell me if it's working) ((or would it better to switch to you vs she))

tw: Yandere, nudity? body horror? dubious consent? Its slannesh time again, Emperor's children ((Also please let me know if I miss some I'm trying my best to warn ya'll ))

The moans that drifted around the room. The white marble against the gold filigree and royal purple fabrics. As men, women, and everything in between experienced the ecstasy of Slannesh. Palion Hiss ran his tongue against the exposed spine of one of his devotees. Their moans and shrieks of pain fluttered about his gallery as he was searching for a new piece.

Oh how bored he was with all the smooth shapes... the only thing that could stimulate his eyes were the way the silken fabrics would pool and wrinkle... the pulsing bloody forms of peeled flesh. The way thrown paint would chaotically splatter against the wall. It's all because he had gotten a new muse.

He tossed the devotee to the side ignoring the shriek of pain and the way they thrashed in agony. His eyes roamed over the undressed shapes before his muse walked in. Covered in a dark blue robe with a hood and wearing a white porcelain mask. He painted the red lips and applied the delicate blush.

He could see her eyes dart over the sea of bodies and shy away as one thrashing body gets too close. White gloves cover her hands... every inch of skin covered... he knew her feet were bare but the length of the robes.... hid it all from their eyes. Palion bit his bottom lip watching her eyes shy away from the more lurid acts going on in his gallery. It made his tongue tie knots on itself with how shy she would be.

She walked closer to his throne as she held a tray with food for him and drugs. Hmm he's sure he ordered that ages ago... no wonder he was bored he had been out of his muse's light for so long. How he watches, clawed fingers just idly playing with his long silver locks, her move closer and waits. He'd have to train her more... doesn't she realize that she can just walk up to him climb into his lap even he wants her to be his muse. A jerk of his chin as his eyes flick over to a cacophony of sounds for a moment as her voice is nearly drowned out by it. "Forgive my delay my lord... I was... um kept."

Palion felt his jaw tense. Did someone touch something that was his?! She was his muse, would one of his brothers dare even touch her. "Explain now." He said far too gruffly as he watched the tray start to shake.

"I had... I had to take the long way back. I don't know who they were but... they just were harassing me and trying to pull off my mask." Her meek voice sings to him of fear and shame.

"One of my brothers?" He sees her hesitate, his tongue rolls the drug laced food inside of his mouth. His muse experiences far many more luxuries than any of these drugged out devotees or playthings and one such luxury is her being allowed to hesitate, "Pretty little muse... you'll be safe with me. You just have to only move your head yes or no..." He watched her slowly nod. His hand gently grabbed her chin as he placed a chaste kiss on the porcelain forehead leaving a ghost of purple lipstick on the smooth material. "I'll take care of it... and of course you."

-----

Perfect bodies move all around you. Perfect breasts... waists that are attractive... muscles that run over the body... literally everyone in this room is a work of art. All in the throws of pleasure or pain. Perfect flesh being flayed from a body... the perfect face of pleasure as someone else is fucked dumb... even the ones you think have overdosed lay there looking perfect.

Your skin itches and buzzes as you feel so out of place... you're horribly imperfect as you stand besides Master Palion's throne as he eats and drinks with a bored look on his face. He looks so perfect... everything is perfect. You rapidly blink away the tears as you look down at the floor. You're still upset about earlier... about someone trying to touch your mask... trying to see your face. You're too ugly to be here!

"My muse?" You heard Palion's voice as your head snaps up in worry. Did you breathe too loudly? Did you let out a sad whimper? You can't stop the tremor of fear as he looks at you concerned. He has been a good master but he is in the depths of the Prince's embrace... you're use to masters like that being unpredictable... its how you had gotten disfigured.

"Master?" You whisper softly.

"EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT!" He suddenly snarls slamming his hands on the marble arms of the throne and you bow as you go to scurry off but he points at you muttering, "Stay."

It's quiet... saved for the dripping of blood and wine as you follow that perfect stride of his. The way his silver hair sways back and forth like a silken furred tail. You hate it here. You hate having Slanneshi masters... it makes you feel so hideous.

You whimper as your feet leave the bare marble floors and you find yourself sinking into a sea of plushness. Yet you know the bed is firm just you have your own little plush space on his bed. You hear the lock of the door as you roll over and hide your face into a pillow.

"My muse. Look at me." You shake your head at that request. You can picture his worried face... he's too pretty to look upset its why you can't look at him. "Why not?"

"I'm so hideous master! Why do you let me look at you!" You finally start to sob. The bed moves as you try to hide your face more but he calls you his little doll for a reason. He pulls your gloves off delicately... your flesh trembling under his touch as he rubs your left hand. You slap his perfect chest and try to get out of his grip. The blessed and damned mask on your face makes getting oxygen in for your temper tantrum hard. Your robes are the next thing to go.

His hands move over your left side no mater how hard you try to slap his hands away as you shriek at him to stop. You sob as he moans and kisses your ruined flesh. His long forked dark purple tongue works its way into the spider web patterning of your burned flesh. You can feel his hard cock against you and being the brat that you feel like right now you kick it hard.

He moans in rapturous delight as the heel of your foot dug into the sensitive flesh. "My beloved muse... let me see your face!" He moans as you just sob and cover your eyes not being able to handle the way he looks at you. You cry more as he crawls over you, rutting against you, "Mmmm feel what you do to me. Let me see your face my muse! I know you've locked away your beauty... I am but a groveling mortal unable to handle basking in your grace all the time... but please let me just gaze upon your beauty. Let my muse grace me with her smile... let her grace me with her beauty!" He sings to you as you sniffle under him.

When you gently press against his chest he moves back watching with such reverence as you sit up and just gently touch your mask. "I can't... I'm so hideous." You sob out.

"Then let me take it off of you my goddess. " He all but moans out as you sit there and nod. The manic reverent look in his eyes makes you squirm as he pulls the mask away. The entire left side of your face... acid and flames burnt your skin... most of your left arm... your left breast... lucky for you your leg was spared but you have been burnt. Your left eyelid droops slightly as you look at the perfect angel... you run a hand over the bald spots on the left half of your scalp and the sad patches of hair that try to grow through the ruined skin.

You avert your gaze feeling embarrassed at the way he goes to touch himself... lewdly moaning as he pleasures himself to you simply sitting there. It doesn't take too long before you feel warmth spray against your skin as he paints patches of your skin white. "Stop... please stop." You sob.

"Why?"

"I'm hideous."

"If you think that... " He says pushing you onto your back as he looms over you and his eyes glow a purplish-pink from this angle. "It means I haven't worshiped you enough recently. Oh my poor little muse no wonder you weren't having fun at the party or trying to distract me. I can tell you're feeling self conscious. Let me worship you. Not anyone gets my cum little muse. And I have so much to give you. So... will you let me worship you?"

You feel your breath shutter at the intensity of his gaze just like the first time you two met... you whimper softly, "Yes." You say and wrap your arms around his neck as he greedily goes for a kiss... and the hours- no days blend together as he worships you.

[xlovingcupcakex]

GN!Kylar x GN!Reader - Welcome to Cafe Cuties!

1.7k words. You are in the world of Cafe Cuties (LoL) where you work as a waitress. Kylar is a regular. Fluff.

Although the Reader wears a dress, the writing is pretty gender neutral. Recommended songs can be found at the bottom. I reccomend listening to one of them while reading the chapter!

A comfortable job. That’s how you would describe your job at Café Cuties.  

The customers were nice and respectful, coming to the place to enjoy various magic tricks, all the while enjoying something sweet and tasty to eat.  

Cream and yellow walls decorated the interior, with delicate marble flooring. Comfortable chairs, cheerful, vibrant flowers. A big, glass ceiling that let light shine through, seeping into the local establishment. Popular among both young and old – and anywhere in-between – it’s no wonder that the eatery was staffed full most of the time.  

You shifted in your green maid dress, a white, frilly apron was draped over your form. With an emerald ribbon hairclip to match your outfit, you strutted to your customer, taking in their order. A cheerful smile – as always – was on your face as you wrote down whatever your customer wanted. 

Shortly after, you turned on your kitten heels, walking in the direction of your own small helper. Teacub, was their name. A small, magic-filled bear, which gladly helped you serve your customers.  

“A strawberry shortcake and our special matcha tea latte, Teacub. Care to bring the cake?” you gestured with your hands, smile stretching wider as you saw your cute little helper move about, before nimbly moving on their feet, small sparkles following after their form.  

You wasted no time, placing a porcelain pitcher on your tray, along with some matcha powder, ice cubes and milk. As you finished getting your tray ready and started to walk in the direction of your client, Teacub wobbled behind you, a small plate with the strawberry shortcake above their head, levitating above them with the help of your magic.  

Your heels clicked against the marble floor as you neared a familiar mop of black hair. Their back was turned towards you. They seemed to be busy with a phone game. You leaned towards them, your vanilla perfume hitting their senses as you placed the tray before them, giving them your signature smile. Kylar’s chest felt like it might burst open any second now. They could almost feel the warmth radiating off of your body.  

With a snap of your wrist, the water from the pitcher escaped and the matcha powder swiftly fell into the bone china cup. The water twirled around your arm, steam escaping the hot liquid as you continued on with your performance. The water descended gradually into the cup, familiar glittering sparkles following after the liquid. You placed your free hand behind your back. As you finished pouring in the water, you used the same hand to whisk the tea with your magic.  

Finally, you used the hand behind your back to move the honey into the cup, making small gestures with your pointing finger, conducting the direction of where the honey went. Adding the usual amount, you whished the tea again, before quickly adding the ice cubes and as a finishing touch, frothed milk. You made sure to make a drawing of a cute teddy bear. Teacub gently placed the cake at Kylar’s side.  

“Your order is ready, Master! I hope you’ll have a pleasurable experience. If you need anything, just ring the bell, and I’ll come right away, Master!” 

Kylar’s cheeks flushed red as you finished your speech. You bowed your head and turned around, getting ready to tend to your other customers, Teacub following after you.  

The time passed, but Kylar stayed fast in their place, even when the cake has been eaten and the matcha tea latte has been drank until the cup remained empty. You obviously noticed. It was hard not to. After all, they looked at you often, a dazed expression on their face, a small blush coloring their cheeks as they played with their hands idly. Each time you met their gaze, they would look away to the side, an inaudible gasp leaving them as they pretended to do something else in embarrassment.  

Cute. That’s all you could say.  

You were no amateur when it came to love. You had to be blind to not notice the crush they had on you.  

Luckily, it gave you more chances to tease them, often playfully being closer to them than you should. Sending them more smiles than you could count, maybe even adding an extra pastry from time to time. Especially with strawberries, since they seemed to be their favorite.  

It kept you wondering about how long you had to wait before they would make their move. With how they were still today, you could take a guess that you didn’t have to wait much longer. 

They always stuttered whenever you said something to them, but today, all they did was nod their head. Face more red than usual, easier to embarrass as you came up to ask if you could clean up after them, since the closing time was nearing.  

As you were about to grab the cup and place it on your tray, Kylar’s grabbed your wrist, using an amount of strength you didn’t expect from someone so petite and delicate looking. You tilted your head, hair swaying to the side along with the ribbon you wore, casting them a curious glance.  

“Yes, Master?” you asked, sending them the softest and most encouraging smile you could muster, patiently waiting for them to say anything as lots of “Um...”s and “Uh...” s were almost coughed out with how nervous they were.  

“D-Do you want to go out, s-some time?”  

There it was. A simple question. Luckily, you didn’t have to think long about your answer. Otherwise, you were sure Kylar would burst into tears if you took too long, with how stressful they were. You swore you could see a small bead of sweat forming on top of their left temple. Their eyes moved almost frantically from left to right, anywhere but your eyes.  

“Of course! Would you like to walk me home after work, Master?” 

Kylar’s heart fluttered and they let go of your wrist, nodding their head eagerly, ruffling up their hair as a result.  

Feeling particularly bold, you brought your hand to their hair, gently patting them in place and smoothing them out. They leaned into your touch instantly, no hesitation on their part. Their earlier tensed posture has relaxed again. Cute. Adorable.  

You continued for a few more seconds, before bringing your hand back to your side, a content smile on your face. A small giggle left your lips and the corners of your eyes wrinkled slightly as a result. You were like an angel. A pure-hearted, kind and gracious angel in the eyes of Kylar.  

“I’ll be back in 20 minutes. Is that okay, Master? Then we can walk home, Master.” 

As soon as Kylar nodded again, this time more calmly, you finished up your work enthusiastically, eager to finish at least 5 minutes early so you could spend more time with Kylar. It didn’t take much longer until you changed into your usual clothes and exited the café, where Kylar was already waiting for you in front of the entrance.  

You brought their smaller hand into yours, giving it a squeeze and startling them, a squeak audible in the air. They looked you directly into your eyes, before calming down at the realization that it was just you, a blush appearing on their cheeks again.  

How sweet.  

“Ready?”  

You didn’t wait for an answer, instead you walked ahead, Kylar trailing behind you slowly, taking in your appearance under the moonlight that shone on both of you. You looked to pretty. So beautiful. Ethereal. The wind picked up and they could smell your perfume again. It didn’t take long before they completely melted, head empty, being in heaven just from being around you.  

Although there wasn’t much conversation, you didn’t mind much. It was a comfortable silence. Their hand was warm, with an occasional twitch here and there. You guessed they were still nervous. You slowed down your steps so they would have an easier time walking with you. Soon, both of your steps were synced together.  

“Thanks for walking me home. I hope to see you tomorrow, Ky~” the teasing tone of your voice made it obvious you weren’t done yet. It made them nervous. They didn’t know what you have planned, but they were quite keen on knowing what it was.  

You pressed a soft kiss on their cheek, sending them straight to heaven. They looked at you with wide eyes, surprised and happy, before bringing you into a tight hug. Another giggle left your lips as you pet them on their head again, gushing at how cute and bashful they were being, which only made them hide in the crook of your neck even more.  

Their locks tickled at your neck, making your giggles turn into laughter. You tried your best to push them away gently, wanting the tickling to stop. But between laughter and gasps, it was hard to do. They continued to press themselves harder into you, not finally realizing that they were tickling you with their hair by mistake. Still, they didn’t let go.  

Instead, they nuzzled into you as aggressively as possible, which only brought out more of the sweet melody they wanted to hear. They will make sure to remember that sound forever.  

When you were really out of breath, they finally stopped and pulled back, a shy grin on their lips as they looked at you with such lovestruck eyes it made you melt on the spot, instantly making you gush again at how cute they were being. Compliments left your mouth automatically, which only made them more bashful, still having that lovestruck expression on their face.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” with a last kiss on the cheek, you opened the door and went inside, getting ready to unwind after a day of work.  

Meanwhile, Kylar was holding their cheek, far away in their imagination, not registering yet that you already went inside. They could already see a future with you, visions of a wedding already forming before their eyes. Motivated, they decided that they’ll make you the happiest spouse in the whole world, at any cost possible.  

.

.

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